Then take it off

The quiet guy finally joins in. He catches me around the waist from behind, his chest pressed against my bare back, and his fingers find the underside of my breasts. I arch into him instinctively, my head falling back against his shoulder, still giggling breathlessly.

"See?" I manage, my voice high and giddy. "The quiet ones are always the worst."

The muscular guy kneels in front of me, his hands sliding up my thighs, thumbs pressing into the wet crease where my legs meet my hips. The pasty over my mound is clinging to me, soaked through, barely staying put. He looks up at me with that lazy grin.

"Think this might need to come off soon," he says, tugging at the edge.

I look over at Joe, still snoring on the floor, completely oblivious. I should probably stop this. I should probably push them away and go wake him up. But the sticky heat between my thighs and the buzz in my head say otherwise.

I bite my lip, my eyes half-lidded. "Then take it off."

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