Free Too Wild to Hold by Julie Leto Page B

her center throbbing as blood rushed to her clitoris. Behind her, she could feel Michael respond as well, his penis lengthening and hardening. She’d nearly had him inside her, and she still desperately craved to make it happen.
    When he moved to step back, she stopped him. She needed to feel his rigid length cradled between the curve of her buttocks.
    She needed him.
    Claire had seen public displays of carnality before—any dark alley on a weekend in the Quarter provided quite the education. But she’d never been so turned on by it. There was something about the garden, the moonlight and the utter sexual abandon in the woman’s face that caught her entirely unaware, snaring her in a rush of need.
    “Is it her?” Michael asked, both of his hands now lightly encircling her waist, as if he was afraid to touch her, afraid to mimic the trio playing out an erotic tableau only twenty paces away.
    Claire nodded.
    “Do you want to leave?”
    She hesitated, then shook her head.
    No, she didn’t want to leave. She most definitely did not want to leave.
    “Does this excite you?”
    She nodded again.
    “Two men. Is that your fantasy?”
    She didn’t move, unable to answer. She’d always considered herself a free thinker when it came to pleasure, but she’d never been much into porn and had certainly never had sex with more than one guy at a time. She’d truly never imagined either the logistics or the decadent possibilities of four hands and two tongues on a woman’s willing body.
    Watching men touch, tease and pleasure a woman unhampered by any expectations beyond orgasm pushed Claire to the edge of her comfort zone. Had she ever truly been that free? That wild? That open to the endless possibilities of sensual ecstasy? When Michael spread his hands along her waist, the tips of his fingers caressing the underside of her breasts, she fell into a twirling abyss.
    He pulled her flush against him. His every taut muscle enflamed her, swirling her into a maelstrom of conflicting emotions that ranged from shock at what she was witnessing to the reignited passion of having Michael’s hands on her. His palms smoothed down the soft folds of her dress, stopping at her thighs, where he inched the material of her skirt upward as if they were gathered curtains being pulled above a stage. He bared her flesh to the elements with such incremental slowness that she registered the sultry air on her skin one body part at a time. First, her ankles. Then her shins. Knees. Thighs.
    Claire retreated into the part of herself that did not overthink, did not rationalize, did not judge. She only wanted to feel what he offered, experience what she needed.
    “Hold this,” he said.
    She latched on to the gathered hem and held tight. Through the foliage, she watched the woman on the dais yank up her skirt and swing the material behind her so she could watch the man feasting at her core, his fingers stretching her labia, her sex pink and swollen. Through the pounding in her ears, Claire heard her demand that he lick deeper, harder, faster.
    His partner took the bulky skirt over his arm and grabbed at the woman’s ass, kneading the flesh hungrily. She cried out as his fingers disappeared between her cheeks, spreading them. He ground his pelvis against her, simulating what he wanted to do to her—what he would likely do to her very, very soon.
    The instant the men ripped away the rest of her dress, Michael’s gentle touch inched through the slit in Claire’s bloomers.
    She was wet. She was hot. Unlike the man ravishing the woman in front of them, Michael was passionately hesitant, his finger skillfully soft. He teased her with his touch, exploring every curve before finally breaching the fold between her outer needs and her inner desires.
    He was not rough. He was not desperate. He was tentative. Sweet. And oh-so-precise.
    “I’d never share you,” he whispered, the pad of his finger connecting with her tiny swollen center. “But it’s hot to