Seventy-One

Isobelle

“Lucas,” I murmured.

“Yes, Madame Bennett,” he replied as if he expected me to concede.

“Stop touching your cock, or I'll bite it off,” I threatened, casting him a pointed look.

His hands dropped to his sides and his jaw flapped open and shut like a barn door on a windy day. It was Grayson's turn next. He licked his lips with a wandering gaze.

"If you ride me or suck me like you just did with those two, I won't last five seconds," he panted. "That was such a fucking turn-on!"

"Do you think you could handle more torture?" I asked, straddling him, so I could rub my sparsely covered pussy against his rock-solid shaft. Once, twice, three or more times he almost slid into me, but I wouldn't let it happen.

"I deserve it, baby . . . I mean, Madame Bennett," he corrected himself.

He produced a set of keys from behind his back, then placed the fob between his teeth so the metal object dangled from his mouth. I didn't know a great deal about cars, but I could recognize a Mercedes logo