Several minutes pass where the only sounds filling the room are the slapping, gagging, slurping, and groaning brought on by the blowjob in action.
Close to my climax, I’ve closed my eyes, but the unmistakable sound of something falling on the other side of the rack of linen has my eyes flying open. Are we not alone?
Sara must have heard it too because she’s trying to pull her face away from my body. But I’m too close to coming, and I realize I don’t really give a shit if one of the housekeepers sees us in action. Every one of them knows who I am and the power I hold here at The Whitney. It would be career suicide for them to complain.
A few long seconds pass without any more noises. I’ve almost convinced myself I was hearing phantom sounds when a flicker of movement catches my attention from behind the rack of clean linen.
I smile. Knowing we have an audience only enhances my pleasure as Sara continues deepthroating my shaft. The rhythmic gagging along with her regular gasps for air push my desire higher.
It isn’t until I see the jet-black head of hair in the opening that I start to worry about who our spectator might be. My suspicions are confirmed when none other than Katja Belov, only daughter to the man in business with my father, pops up higher, clearly trying to get a closer look at the sexual favor already in progress.
Fuck. I pause my thrusts, my cock still shoved down Sara’s throat.
Katja is just a kid. She’s too young—maybe fifteen—to have a front row seat to a blowjob. Hell, she’s the closest thing I’ll ever have to an annoying baby sister.
We should abort. I know it, but I’m so damn close to shooting off I hesitate, giving Sara the chance to gasp for a few breaths.
I keep my eyes trained on Katja’s location until she pops up again. This time our eyes meet in a heated gaze from across the room. Eyes wide, her cheeks are pink with embarrassment, betraying just how innocent she really is. My brain shouts to put my dick back in my pants, but it’s no surprise to find that my brain is not in charge… my dick is, and right now, its throbbing with the need to come.
I’m just starting to pull my hard-on out of Sara’s mouth when Katja sticks that pink little tongue of hers out to wet her lips unconsciously. Even with a few feet separating us, I see her eyes glazing over with a soft sexuality that in that moment feels like my kryptonite.
Seconds later, I see her panic at being seen by me, erasing the beautiful submission I saw seconds before—and I hate it.
When she glances away, eyeing up the door as if she’s going to run, I grind out one word.
“Eyes.”
Perhaps Sara is looking up at me from her knees, but I’ll never know because Katja has obeyed my order. It’s easy to forget that I’m supposed to feel brotherly toward her since she’s broadcasting nothing but raw sexuality through those big green eyes of hers.
Our gaze is intense. When she tries to glance away, I shake my head, silently warning her to stay still.
It’s a fascinating feeling to have one woman sucking my dick while making love with another woman in my head, but I don’t even try to deny that’s what I’m doing. I’ve always known Katja was going to be a beautiful woman one day, I just didn’t know that day was today.
I know I only have a few minutes before she’ll bolt from the room so I decide to see how far I can push my luck.
“Touch yourself,” I order, gazing directly into Katja’s eyes.
They widen as she realizes I’m talking to her. It’s tempting to reach out and yank the linens from the shelf between us. I don’t want anything hiding her from me, but I also know she’ll run if I take away her cover. Regardless, I know she’s following my orders when that pretty mouth of hers forms a perfect O and her eyes flutter, glazing over with a beautiful wave of innocent bliss.
Just knowing her fingers are touching herself—and at my demand—has ropes of cum shooting down Sara’s throat in seconds. The sound of her gulping me down almost covers the quiet whimper coming from behind the linen as I enjoy watching Katja close her eyes while she clearly enjoys her own orgasm.
Time stands still for a few long seconds as all three of us recover from our exertions. I’m watching Katja’s face as Sara demands from her knees, “Okay, it’s my turn.”
Her voice ruins the moment and I’m stuck there watching as Katja emerges from her sexual haze and bolts for the door. It’s stupid, but I want to call after her for some reason. To explain to her that Sara means nothing to me, but then I realize how stupid that sounds. Katja’s just a kid. She doesn’t mean anything to me either.
But as I make my excuses and ditch out, like an asshole, without reciprocating in any way, I know it’s a lie. I do care about Katja, like a brother should, except the feelings barraging me as I finally start my long drive to Boston don’t feel very brotherly.
It’s a good thing it will be a few months before I see her again. Maybe by then, I’ll get my head screwed on straight again.