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Her pussy was waxed bare, the folds of her lips already shiny with the evidence of her arousal.

The frenetic energy of my own desire shifted at the sight into a calmer, more welcome heat.

Morgan and Steph were my favorite couple to watch.

Not only were they both hot as hell, but their love for each other was palpable.

And their lust? Good lord. It set the room on fire.

They also came from a theater background, so they had fantastic stage presence and understood how to pose themselves so the audience got the best view of every touch, stroke, and lick.

I’d been hoping to find a willing partner in the crowd—audience participation was more than welcome at Velvet—but this might be even better, getting turned on to the point of discomfort before finally finding release on the fingers or tongue or cock of someone else.

If Kevin/Carl was no longer an option, I’d seen Moriah downstairs earlier, a gorgeous femme who bore a striking resemblance to Zoe Saldana.

We’d hooked up here several times before, and she’d recently split from her girlfriend.

Was two weeks post-breakup too soon to make my move?

Up front, Morgan made a low sound of masculine approval that rumbled through the room. I shivered. His voice was trained for the stage, deep, resonant, one of those voices that could probably talk you into an orgasm under the right conditions, no touching required.

He glanced up at his wife. “You’re soaked, Steph.”

She drew him closer, her smile turning seductive. “What are you going to do about it?”

With a low groan, he leaned in. If they were alone, he probably would have gotten straight to work, but a little teasing went a long way, both for the audience, and your partner, and Morgan understood that better than most. One big hand went to her knee, spreading her wider, showing us just how much she wanted him.

“Here?” he asked, kissing her thigh.

She shook her head and exhaled a breathy “no.”

He shifted to the other leg. “Here?”

“Almost,” she told him.

He lifted a finger and stroked it down the crease of her inner thigh, and I was close enough to see the full-body shiver roll through her. Morgan repeated the motion on the other side, taking his sweet time, moving his finger a little so that he nearly brushed her folds on the way past. The tease.

Behind me, people started to shift in their seats, and I grinned.

Their impatience was palpable. I could almost hear them begging, Just touch her already!

But Morgan was immune to peer pressure. Instead, he leaned in and breathed over Stephanie’s heated flesh, making her toes curl and her arms strain from gripping the chair so tightly.

Just when I thought he might finally taste her, he started to pull away.

Someone let out a disbelieving whimper in the crowd, and we all laughed, glad that the tension had been broken.

There was almost always a moment like this in a scene, usually early on, that helped both the performers and the crowd settle in.

“Let’s get you out of these,” Morgan said, his melodic voice tinged with amusement as he gripped the sides of Stephanie’s underwear.

She lifted just enough to let him slip them over her hips. And then he was dragging them down her legs, taking his time to drop kisses on her skin. Once her underwear were past her feet, he pulled them to his face, breathing deeply.

“I love the smell of you,” he said, low, guttural.

Junior shifted beside me, dragging me out of the moment. My gaze snapped to him, expecting the worst, even though he’d promised to behave, but he was only readjusting himself.

Don’t look, don’t look, don’t look , I begged myself, but down went my eyes, just in time to catch the outline of his obvious arousal beneath his dark pants.

Goddamn it.

I wrenched my gaze away, trying to calm my pulse. Junior was as turned on as I was by what we were watching, and I didn’t know what to do with that information.

How about this? my brain helpfully supplied, flashing an image of him fucking me from behind, one hand dug into my hair, the other gripping my hip, his expression ruthless, thrusts brutal. I nearly swore, wondering what I’d ever done to my brain for it to suddenly turn against me like this.

Onstage, Morgan balled his wife’s underwear up and slipped them into his pocket, and I lost all control of my heartrate.

Something about that was so innately sexy to me.

Like he’d put them there for safekeeping, or to pull them back out and sniff them later, whenever he needed another hit of his wife.

It spoke of possession, obsession, and there was nothing hotter to me than someone who was so unselfconsciously infatuated with their partner.

Morgan leaned back in, his wide shoulders making room between Steph’s knees. She arched her back, scooting closer to him, and he wrapped his arms under her thighs and gripped her hips, holding her in place.

A low moan echoed from the far corner of the room.

The sound of shifting fabric filled my ears.

We’d reached the point of audience participation, and I knew that if I turned around, I’d find people making out or surreptitiously touching their partners in the darkness.

Some nights, I sat in the front row because I wanted all my focus on the show.

Others, I chose the way back, so I could watch not only the stage, but everyone around me.

I was still undecided as to which was hotter. As a voyeur, it was hard to choose.

Morgan finally put us out of our misery, leaning in without hesitation, his fingers dimpling his wife’s hips as he fit his mouth to her pussy.

The moan she let out was low and ragged, a sound that raised goose bumps along my skin.

Morgan angled his head slightly, and whatever he’d done made Steph shudder, her lips popping open to form a perfect O of surprise.

“Again,” she said, releasing the chair to palm her own breasts.

Morgan repeated the movement. With another moan, Steph exposed her chest and bumped her fingers over her nipples. The sight made me want to squirm in my seat. God, these two were fucking hot.

“Touch yourself,” Steph panted.

Morgan didn’t have to be told twice. He dropped a hand to the waistband of his pants and made quick work of the button and zipper. His cock sprang free, and then one big hand was wrapped around it, his arm bobbing as he worked himself.

My curiosity got the better of me, and I glanced sideways again, wondering what Junior thought of all this.

The mob was notorious for its misogyny and machismo.

Watching another man jerk off was probably against all their unwritten rules and could get you labeled as whatever their current favorite homophobic slur was.

But Junior didn’t look like he was ready to bolt.

He was tilted just slightly forward in his seat, watching the stage with rapt attention, his gaze shifting from where Morgan’s head was buried in his wife’s pussy, up to where Steph played with herself and back again like he couldn’t decide where he’d rather look.

Was he... into this ?

A glance at his lap revealed that he was now rock hard.

I could see the entire outline of his large dick shoved down a pant leg.

That couldn’t be comfortable. It must have been hot and tight, cutting off blood flow, and.

..oh no. Now wasn’t the time to imagine him pulling it out to readjust himself.

But there went my goddamn mind anyway, reminding me of how smooth it was, the way he’d liked it when I’d licked my way around the underside of his head.

Saliva pooled in my mouth at the memory of trying to fit something that big down my throat.

He shifted, like he felt me watching him, and started to turn my way.

I snapped my gaze back to the stage before getting caught. Real nice, Lauren. Vow to never think of the man again only to imagine gagging down his dick five seconds later.

An image of Taylor chanting Hate sex, hate sex, hate sex popped into my mind unbidden.

No. I couldn’t. That would be too much. Hook up with the man who’d stood by and watched my world burn to the ground?

Absolutely not. I had too much self-respect for that.

As soon as this scene was over, I’d go grab Moriah and the biggest strap-on I could find and fuck her in one of the upstairs bedrooms like the well-adjusted adult I was.

Stephanie let out a desperate moan, her hands falling from her breasts to her husband’s head.

She dug her nails into his hair and gripped him tight, her hips shifting as she rode his face.

Softer moans echoed hers throughout the crowd, and I heard hot, wet noises from a few rows back.

I wouldn’t be surprised if Steph wasn’t the only one getting great head right now.

Instead of working himself faster, Morgan released his dick to put both hands on his wife’s hips, helping her thrust into him as he tongue-fucked her. I had to bite my lip to keep from whimpering at the sight, especially when Steph’s eyes fluttered shut and her head fell back.

“Babe, I’m close,” she said, moving at a frenetic pace.

Morgan, knowing what she needed, stayed right where he was, pulling her into him as she started to lose the rhythm.

She came a heartbeat later, shuddering and moaning, a blush stealing into her cheeks as she called out her husband’s name.

It was stunning, beyond sexy. All it would take at this moment was the brush of someone’s fingers against my clit and I would come, too.

Junior let out an audible exhale beside me. I saw his right hand white-knuckling his knee out of the corner of my eye. He turned my way, and, knowing it was probably a mistake, I lifted my eyes to his.

“Lo,” he said, his voice deliciously rough. His pupils were blown wide, a wild look in them that made me worry he was about to drag me to the floor and fuck me right here in front of everyone.

God help me, in my current state, I might let him.

This was the real reason I’d been so desperate for him to leave.

I’d told myself that it was because I was afraid he would embarrass me, but the truth was, I was more worried I’d embarrass myself.

Ryan and Taylor were in the crowd, and I’d just spilled my guts to them about how much Junior had hurt me.

How pathetic would it look if I hooked up with him right after?

Movement onstage drew my gaze forward again. Morgan had scooped Steph off the chair, her legs wrapped around his waist as he carried her to the bed.

The real show was about to begin.