“Her pussy is dripping for you, mate,” Klay pushes through his teeth. Ruger makes a doubtful sound, but doesn’t stop pumping his hips against me. “No. It’s for you, Klay. Not me.” “That’s not true,” I blurt, before I can stop myself. And there are my fingers, threading into his long, black hair, tugging him closer. As if my body is obeying some urges that my mind can’t comprehend. What is happening to me? “It’s for you, too,” I whisper against Ruger’s mouth when it reaches mine. “It’s for both of you.”
