“I’m going to kiss you. While my lips are on yours, I’m going to reach under your skirt and touch you.” The fear she was showing disappears, arousal taking its place. “When you come, you’re going to say my name.”
“Please,” she pants, widening her stance before I can even lower my mouth to hers.
That one plea wipes every ounce of caution from my being. Her mouth is hot and wet, her pussy when my fingers find her delicate flesh is even hotter, even wetter.
We groan in each other’s mouths, my cock a throbbing iron bar against her stomach. Jesus, fifteen seconds in, and she’s already fluttering around my fingers. I shouldn’t be surprised. The foreplay started the second I saw her tonight, only taking a break while we ate and talked before roaring back to life the minute we climbed back into the car. Just the grip of her tightness on my fingers is almost enough to make me blow in my pants.
“That’s it, baby,” I praise when her hips begin to move against my hand. “Take it.”
She whimpers, and I know I’ve hit one of her musts. She wants to hear me, wants to know when she’s pleasing me. There will be times when moving will be a violation of my command, but tonight isn’t one of them.
“Jesus, Whitney. I can smell that sweet pussy of yours. Will you come for me?”
Her mouth is moving, her tongue twisting around mine, but she’s lost all control. There’s no finesse to her kiss. No rhythm to her hips.
But when she gasps, her core clamping down on my digits, she obeys.
“Wren!” she husks out, the broken sounds landing straight in my gut, making my balls pull up tight.
“Good girl,” I whisper against her lips, smiling when she grips my wrist when I attempt to pull away.
“Orgasms,” she whispers, her voice sounding tired and wholly satisfied. “As in plural.”
I can’t help the laugh that escapes my mouth, and she buries her face in my shirt when I throw my head back.
“I think your punishment will be knowing how good the second one would’ve been had you obeyed.” I pull my hand free, tracing her release on her lower lip before swiping my tongue across it.
And fuck if that wasn’t a mistake. She moans, either due to my kiss or the taste of herself. No matter the reason, the sound makes me want to drop to my knees right here in the hallway and worship her with my tongue.
“Just a taste,” I pant against her mouth. “Honey so perfect.”
“Are you real?” she asks, her half-lidded eyes looking up at me.
“So real.” I take a step back, urging her to stand her ground instead of following. “Get inside before I take things further than they need to go tonight.”
I stop her hand as she reaches for my dick. “Will you wear panties the next time I tell you not to?”
“Probably.”
Man, I fucking love her fire.
“I’ll talk to you soon,” I promise as I lean in for one last brush of my lips against her. “Get inside so I know you’re safe.”
After opening her door, she gives me one last look over her shoulder before disappearing inside. I blow her a kiss when I feel her eyes on me through the peephole before walking toward the elevator. This time, I manage to make it over the threshold without tripping, and it seems like tonight has been nothing short of miraculous.
The best fucking night of my life, in all honesty.
I don’t overanalyze anything.
I don’t question my choices to get us to where we are now.
I don’t feel guilty for the things I did in the past.
And I sure as hell don’t regret the depraved fucking things I did to her panties once I got back to my apartment.
Chapter 18
Whitney
“Wow,” I mutter as I watch the bride and groom slow dance in the center of the room, looking at each other as if none of us surrounding them exists.
What would it be like to have someone look at me like that?
“Disgusting, isn’t it?”
I look over at Wren, ready to bite his head off, but he’s grinning as his friend glides his new wife around the dance floor.
“That love is decades in the making,” he whispers, a longing tone to his voice.
“I’m just glad he’s no longer sitting in his truck refusing to talk to her,” Flynn grumbles, a glass of amber liquid in his hand and a dazzling grin on his handsome face.
It’s been three days since Wren commanded an orgasm from me right in the middle of the hallway. In that moment, same as with the couple smiling at each other across the room, we were the only two that existed. The apocalypse could’ve ravaged the city around us and we wouldn’t have known it until the walls started caving in, and I’m certain if his hands were still touching me, we might not have noticed even then.
But then I didn’t see him. I spent the next seventy-two hours alone. Yeah, we chatted online and played a few games in Orc’s Realm, but our tryst in the hallway wasn’t mentioned. Either he wasn’t very impressed with the sounds he forced from my throat, or he was an expert at building suspense.
When he invited me to this wedding late last night—like a woman didn’t need time to prepare mentally and physically for these things—I wanted to say no.
But then the thoughts of his hands on me, the fingers that have haunted my dreams since he pulled them from my body, made my mind up for me. Could five minutes of him touching me make me this obsessed, this desperate to feel him again?
I know the answer to that question, and it makes my cheeks heat because we’re surrounded by his closest friends and my mind is in the gutter.
“You’re quiet.” I look to Wren, expecting to find a knowing smirk on his face, but he looks uncomfortable at best.
And there’s the guilt I was hoping wouldn’t rear
