Page 22 of Phobia

She was the most beautiful fucking thing I’d ever seen, and I wanted everyone to know it. I wanted them to know who made her come, whose cum she swallowed, whose name she cried out.

Me.

The guy all of five feet away from us let out a throaty laugh to his female companion. “I expect nothin’ less from someone who doles out pity fucks to half the town.”

Katrina lifted an eyebrow, unimpressed.

“Jackass,” the woman spit out, storming off.

“Aw, c’mon, Sarah. I’m just playin’. Come back.” He chased after her.

We lost our audience. “I want them to come back,” I taunted, running my mouth along the fleshy inside of her thigh, her breath shuddering. “I want someone to watch me feast on you.”

She lifted her eyes, guiding my attention to the camera above us, the red light flickering, indicating it was recording. “Someone already is,” she guaranteed.

I lowered my eyes, glancing in the direction of the sentinel Founding Fathers, staring directly back at us. “Then let’s give ‘em a show worth watching, Little Rabbit.”

Chapter 6

With my right thigh slung over his shoulder, Adam tugged my panties to the side, tucking them over my swollen labia, the cold draft in the air lingering over the heat of my skin. He ran his tongue along his bottom lip, his eyes darkening as though he were already feasting on me.

My leaking pussy fluttered in response, my inner muscles contracting and squeezing around nothing, accompanied by the phantom sensation of him stretching me just by the way he studied me from below.

I loved being his favorite fixation.

His lifelong obsession.

His wife.

He inclined his body forward, and I tracked his hand as he closed it around the stiff tenting in his joggers, the anticipation registering under my spine.

“Look at you,” he said hoarsely, his teeth digging against his bottom lip. “So fucking pretty and ready for me, huh?” His knuckles whitened when he clenched at himself, his thumb seating itself against my entrance, circling me in delirium-inducing circles. My thighs quivered, fighting to keep me upright, the tiny mewl slipping free from my lips.

A lock of his mahogany hair slipped across his forehead, his head slanting, his expression fixed with concentration while he teased my slit, gathering my cream along the pad of his finger and dragging it upward. My equilibrium almost tilted on its axis and my hands brandished to his shoulders to keep me upright when he brushed against my clit, a million nerve endings in my body singing with life. Adam’s dark and throaty chuckle reverberated through me, something promissory in the vibration.

The short edges of my fingernails fisted the fabric of his hoodie when his lips closed around my clit, his teeth brandishing the nub for a beat of a second before replacing them by the deep, intoxicating pulls between his lips. I threw my head back, my hair gliding along the wall while the muscles in my left thigh cramped and screamed at me.

I wouldn’t stop this for anything. The pain was delicious.

The suction on his mouth lessened, his tongue flattening against my clit, circling around me. Adam’s arresting hazel eyes rolled up to me, browner than they were green in this moment. The shadows from the muted light in the distance played against his sharp features. I had the weighted feeling that despite the room being absent of people; we weren’t alone.

My skin prickled, every hair on my body upright, detecting a threat despite there being none. But that wasn’t entirely true, was it? Within these four walls, someone—something—was always watching.

There was a term for this.

Scopaesthesia. The paranoia provoking phenomenon of being watched without identifying the source.

But we had a source, didn’t we?

I lifted my head, staring at the wax figure, who stared right back, frozen. I’d known what I’d seen, heard its silent struggle and unspoken plea behind its sealed lips.

They’d been watching us just as much as we’d been watching them.

There couldn’t be people behind those layers of wax, no matter how hard my mind wanted to convince me otherwise. It was an illusion, an atmospheric farce, much like the rest of this place. Where the structure communed with you and inanimate objects tracked you in lifeless interest while your gaze-detection radar went nuclear.

A chill followed the thought, crawling up my spine like a sickening traipse of fingers. I stared up at the flicker of the closed-circuit camera, the slow blink of the red light hypnotizing me, my pulse storming wildly in my throat. But its lure was no match against the brandishing of Adam’s deft tongue, swirling along my core, followed by the sensory shift of his playful nips, coaxing me back to him.

This place couldn’t contend with the magnitude of him. No matter how hard it tried.