Free Guilty Pleasure by Jane O'Reilly Page A

tiled floor and carved newel post, but before I can point them out to Ethan, he tugs me forward, deeper into the house. There’s no sign of Cal, but the house is busy, packed with bodies. Cal seems to know a hell of a lot of beautiful people. In fact, pretty much everyone here is young and gorgeous and stylish, and it strikes me how well Ethan fits in. Women slide up to him, kiss his cheek, and he greets all of them like they’re old friends.
    I’m swamped with inadequacy until he locks an arm around my waist and takes great care to introduce me. ‘This is Tasha,’ he says.
    ‘Oh,’ says one of the women, twisting a strand of hair around a manicured finger. ‘Does that mean you’re not playing tonight, Ethan?’
    ‘Not tonight,’ he says, and she sighs and glides away.
    ‘What did she mean, not playing?’ I ask him, because I’m starting to get a vibe from the room. There’s an atmosphere in here, amidst all the gloss and mood lighting and Jo Malone perfume. Everyone seems so…friendly.
    And by friendly, I mean that on the huge leather corner sofa, there’s a couple making out. Which isn’t so weird, in and of itself. I mean, people are clearly a bit tipsy, and you can’t put this many drunk, unnecessarily attractive people in a room together and not have the odd few decide to cop off with each other. But the woman is sat on another man’s knee. And that man has his hand inside her T-shirt. I feel like I shouldn’t be watching, but I can’t seem to stop myself, and god, it’s hot, watching the three of them, even though they’re not really doing anything.
    There’s still no sign of Cal, and Ethan is close behind me, so close that I can feel the press of his long, lean body. His hands come around my waist and settle themselves over my belly and we stand there, not moving, not speaking, simply watching the three of them as the woman strips off her T-shirt and things get a little out of hand.
    And by out of hand, I mean that the man she’s sitting on carries on playing with her nipples, and the other guy, well. He gets to his feet and unfastens his jeans. I’m blinking fast, too fast, sure I’m imagining it. This can’t be real, can it?
    But Ethan is real, I’m sure of that. His hands are real, where they’re sliding under the hem of my T-shirt and gently stroking my skin, and his mouth is real, when it bites down on the side of my neck, and the hard cock pressing between my bum cheeks is definitely real, I’m sure about that.
    The man pushes his jeans down to his knees, and his boxers quickly follow, and he pulls his shirt out of the way as he puts his other hand on the back of her head and pulls her forwards. I’ve never watched anyone do this in real life before, and I jerk back in shock, fascinated, enthralled, utterly awestruck. It seems such a brave thing to do, and envy rears up inside me, until arousal swamps it, and then that’s all there is.
    I can’t stop watching. I don’t want to stop watching. She’s sucking his cock with such blatant enthusiasm, loud and sloppy, and I can see that other people in the room are watching them too. ‘Ethan,’ I whisper.
    ‘Tasha,’ he says. He nuzzles my neck.
    I feel like we shouldn’t be here, like we shouldn’t be watching. It seems so naughty and wrong, and I guess that’s partly what makes it so erotic. One of the men catches my gaze, catches me looking. I don’t look away and neither does he, and suddenly I’m part of it. And I begin to understand that this isn’t just about him, or her, or the three of them, it’s about everyone in the room. They’re going at it in this room because they want to be watched just as much as everyone here wants to watch them.
    I pull in some air, the room suddenly hot and claustrophobic, almost too much for me. As if he senses it, Ethan takes my hand. ‘Shall we see what else we can find?’
    ‘Yes,’ I whisper, though I turn my head and keep watching as he leads me out of the room, long enough to