I Like Being Watched by Jessica Gadziala

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Seventeen

Fitz

 

 

 

 

"Get out of that water right now and fuck me," Wynn demanded as I surfaced for some air after almost finishing my laps for the day.

I'd needed to add ten more laps since Wynn had become a staple in my life. Well, Wynn and her fast food addiction and snacking habit. Which meant I was eating a lot more crap than usual.

Doubly so since I'd needed to fire Elsbeth, my cook that I'd had for years who made all of my—as Wynn would put it—"bland" meals.

See, I'd done what Perry had suggested with tracking devices and new cameras, then I'd given Wynn some time off.

And, sure enough, the new camera caught her red-handed, stealing some vase my father had brought into the house before his death.

According to Elsbeth, she and my father had been involved in some lengthy affair, and she'd felt slighted when he'd left her nothing in the will.

I doubted that story and fired her, but chose not to press charges.

Call it the Christmas spirit.

But Christmas had come and gone.

We'd spent the morning in bed before going down and surprising each other with gifts, then I got to watch—since she refused to let me help—as she made us Christmas dinner.

Then, trying to mend half-burnt bridges, she'd even invited Blake over for dinner.

We'd eaten and talked and then watched a movie.

And it had been pleasant.

No arguing, no hurt feelings, just a group of people enjoying a holiday together like we were supposed to.

Eventually, Blake had taken off to finish sleeping off the party from the night before, and Wynn and I had snuggled on the couch watching Christmas movies.

We'd stuffed our faces with cookies then headed upstairs where we'd made slow, sweet love until we were both spent.

It had been the best holiday of my life.

And I knew as I held her while she drifted off that I wanted a lifetime of Christmases just like that one. Though, eventually, we'd throw some kids into the mix too.

"Wynn..." I said, shaking my head even as she yanked down her bathing suit bottoms, and slid into the water. "Oh," I said, smiling at her as she swam over to me, wrapping me up with arms and legs, and trailing kisses up my neck, attempting—and succeeding—to get me hard. "The pool guy just pulled in, didn't he?" I asked as she reached down into my shorts, pulling out my cock and stroking it until it was straining.

"Yes, and you need to fuck me before he gets here and sees what we're doing," she said, a wicked glint in her eyes as her thighs grabbed my sides as she lifted her body upward, and slid down on my cock.

Her hot, tight pussy was such a change from the cold water that a shiver racked through me at the sensation.

Wynn's arms went around my neck, her forearms braced on my shoulders for stability as she started to lift up, then drop back down. Slow and measured since she didn't have much leverage.

"Unless, of course, you want him to watch us fuck," she added, eyes already getting heavy-lidded. "I'd be okay with that too."

On a groan, I slammed her back against the wall of the pool, pistoning inside her. Fast, deep, driving her up hard and fast.

I didn't give a fuck if the pool guy caught me fucking Wynn. There was even a small thrill at the idea of him seeing, a hidden sort of desire I never would have known about if not for Wynn.

But once my cock was inside her, I needed a release just as badly as she needed the thrill of maybe being seen, being watched.

"Harder, Fitz," she begged as her nails scratched my back bloody as her pussy tightened around me. "Fuck, yes, just like that," she cried between her moans that echoed loudly off the walls in the room. "Don't stop," she cried, her legs starting to shake.

"You're so fucking tight," I growled, fucking her harder still, spurred on by her loud moans, her filthy demands as she got closer and closer. "Fuck," I hissed as her pussy clamped my cock harder as she got right to that edge. "Come for me," I demanded, voice rough. "Let me feel you squeeze my cock," I told her.

And just like that, she was crying out my name as she came.

I fucked her through it, wanting to drag it out.

But before I could slam deep and find my own release, she was all but leaping off of me, then dropping low in the water, and opening her mouth wide.

I didn't need more than that.

I slipped my cock between her lips and fucked her mouth until the climax was slamming through me, making me shove my cock deep into her throat, and coming so hard I was fucking blinded by it for a moment.

"Shit," a third-party voice hissed, making my eyes shoot open, looking down at Wynn who, with my cock still dripping down her throat, attempted to shoot me a smile at the fact that we'd been caught. "Sorry. Sorry," the guy said again, and there was a crashing noise as he rushed out of the pool room.

"You," I said, shaking my head at her as I pulled my cock out of her mouth.

"I know. I'm a dirty little slut, huh?" she asked, eyes triumphant.

My hand reached out, my thumb gliding across her lower lip.

"But you're my dirty little slut," I agreed, feeling that familiar warming sensation across my chest. I got it every time I was close to her, but especially anytime one of us referred to her as mine.

Because that was what she was.

Mine.

I had a ring waiting in my study drawer to seal the deal.

I was just waiting for the right time.

I knew when it was, too.

The night of her art exhibit.

The same art exhibit I'd arranged for her as a Christmas present.

"That's true," she agreed, moving to stand again, wrapping her arms around my neck. "Do you think we traumatized the pool man?" she asked, looking pleased at the prospect.

"I think he's probably out jerking off in his truck," I corrected.

"Yeah?" she asked, eyes heated again because she got off on having that kind of power.

"Yep," I agreed. There was no way I could have walked in on some beautiful woman getting throat-fucked without ending up with a hard-on either.

"Hmm," she said.

"Woman, I need some recovery time," I told her, recognizing that light in her eye.

"What? About an hour or two, you think?" she asked, eyes dancing. "I could get some painting done," she declared. "And by then, the guys should be here to put down the mulch," she told me, beaming at the idea.

I needed to get some work done.

And I did.

For about an hour and a half while Wynn painted.

But then she was barreling into my study, grabbing my hand, and dragging me upstairs and into our bedroom, pushing me onto the bed, and doing a striptease that turned into a lap dance that, despite my certainty that I needed more time, made my cock rock fucking hard in a moment.

"Come on," she demanded, pulling me forward with her, turning her ass toward me. "Fuck me against the window," she added, wiggling her ass against me until my cock pressed against her wet cleft.

My gaze moved over her shoulder to see the guys moving around, gathering their wheelbarrows and shovels and landscaping tarp. Busy. They were all busy with their task.

It didn't matter to us if they actually saw, but that there was a chance for it.

My balls felt ready to burst at the idea as my cock surged inside her.

"He's looking," Wynn groaned out as I started to fuck her harder, her whole body jolting each time I thrust inside her.

"Let him," I growled. The whole world could watch me fuck her if they wanted. She was mine. No one else was going to touch her. They could all go green with envy for all I cared.

"I'm..." Wynn choked out even as her pussy started to clench my cock, dragging me through my orgasm too.

I yanked her backward with me, collapsing back onto the bed with her sprawled over me, her back to my chest.

"This is never going to get old," she declared after a long moment.

"No, it's not," I agreed. "But you need to go get to work on your pieces for the exhibit," I reminded her.

"I'm suddenly feeling very inspired," she told me.

"We talked about this. No cock canvases," I reminded her, walking my fingers across her stomach.

"Those are for our private gallery only," she confirmed, rolling onto her stomach, and smiling down at me. "How about while I work, you order in something greasy and fatty?" she suggested. "Then when I finish, we can eat and watch Perry's soap."

"I'll never forgive you for getting me hooked on that show," I griped, like I'd been griping for weeks, since Perry finally made an appearance.

"Oh, you love every second of it, and you know it."

"I still feel like she has a freaky amount of chemistry with those two male leads of hers. What?" I asked when a mischievous smile toyed at her lips.

"Nothing. Nothing at all."

"Best friend stuff," I assumed.

"Exactly. You will have to compliment her the next time you talk to her. I still have to call her about the exhibit. Speaking of, did I thank you for setting that up yet?"

"Not in the last... thirty minutes."

"Well, thank you," she said, sealing her lips to mine.

"You're welcome," I said as she slid off of me and walked bare-ass naked out of the bedroom, across the hallway over the foyer, and into her studio she'd set up in one of the spare rooms.

When she emerged a few hours later with paint staining various parts of her bare skin, curling up with me on the couch eating Chinese and watching an over-the-top soap opera, I was overcome with the rightness of it all.

I was one lucky fucking man.