Braver

“I don’t think he minds baby, he’s asleep” I hear someone whisper in my ear before I'm pulled from the bachelor's lap before I can fully register the shift. The dark-haired guy who gave me the bottle earlier has me by the hips, swinging me over onto his thighs without ceremony. I land in his lap facing him, my knees bracketing his waist, the latex pressing wet and tight between my thighs. His hands settle on my waist with an easy confidence, like he's done this a hundred times.

I let out a surprised little laugh, breathless, my fingers gripping his shoulders for balance. The boots make it awkward, but I find my rhythm quickly, adjusting my weight so I'm straddling him properly. His chest is warm under my palms, and I can feel the solid muscle of his thighs beneath me.

"Well, aren't you eager," I murmur, tilting my head at him. "The bachelor barely got a taste before you stole me away."

I hear the others laugh, someone clinking a bottle, but I'm mostly aware of you. I glance over my shoulder at you, still on the couch, drink in hand. My smile is slow, a little guilty, a little hungry.

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