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I crept down the stairs in my socks, every step a betrayal of the deal and I didn’t care.
From the bottom step, through the glass panel in the living room door, I could see the sofa.
Fiona was lying back on it, her dress open, her bra pushed down under her tits. Ross was kneeling on the floor between her legs, his face buried in her neck, one big hand squeezing her breast, the other sliding slowly up the inside of her thigh.
She had her eyes closed and her mouth open. Her hips were lifting off the cushions to meet his hand.
I’d thought I would feel jealous. I did, for about a second, a hot hard punch under my ribs. Then the jealousy turned into something else entirely, something that made my cock throb so hard I had to lean on the banister.
His fingers reached the lace of her knickers. She gasped. “Ross.”
“Okay?”
“God, yes.”
He slid his hand inside her knickers and she arched off the sofa with a moan I felt in my teeth.
Then her eyes opened. And she looked straight past his shoulder at the glass panel. Straight at me.
She didn’t stop him. She didn’t say anything. She just held my gaze while his fingers moved inside her, and slowly, deliberately, she licked her lips.
My hand was on the door handle. I could walk in. Or I could stay right where I was, on the other side of the glass, and watch.