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Brock thankfully takes the lead and pulls her to the sofa.“Have you seen Missy around?” he abruptly asks.Sylvie shakes her head. “I haven’t been home much, but no, I haven’t seen her.”“She’s been gone since that night,” he offers.Sylvie’s spirits sore. Her jealousy is dampened, though she is scared he may distraught over the cat’s absence. “Is that a problem?” she asks, sounding hopeful.The boy opens his mouth to tell her what Missy had said that night, but he quickly closes it and shakes his head. Happy to know this, Sylvie is still reluctant to push. She isn’t like Missy. Maybe that night was just a one-time thing. She shakes those doubts away. Her arousal demands it, as it demands she do something. So she turns to him and places her hand on his thigh, watching his reaction. “So, we haven’t sat down to talk about what happened the other night”Brock’s cock twitches in his jeans. He swallows. “Did you like it?” he asks.Sylvie’s hand creeps up his thigh slowly. “I did,” she replies.He. ‘Only two more groups for the night, kitten.’ A fresh shiver of heat spread through her body. She was glad that the room was dim and her panties were black, or her wetness might have been found out by a room full of strangers. She shut her eyes tight and willed them to move through quickly. She became aware of another sensation. Her left arm, the arm that was dangling over the far edge of the table, was being touched. Stroked, really. Alex used the tips of his fingers to taunt her with the lightest, slowest sensation, hidden from view by the table. He was tracing the veins from her wrist to her inner elbow. And her every nerve ending was on fire from that simple touch. The nervous part of her mind — the practical side that, for years, had blocked any thought of Alex in any realm beyond friendship — was trying to break through the heat of her sensations. But her mind was flooded with drunken fog, her body was swelling alive, there was no place for cold logic amidst the delectable.
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