My cock grows painfully hard in my jeans and only gets worse when I feel her tighten around my finger as I play with her soaked pussy.
“That’s it,” I coax, fingers paying special attention to where she needs me most as I work a digit in and out of her slowly, then carefully add another. She’s so tight I worry I’m hurting her, but the way her hips lift to meet my hand as she holds onto my shoulders in a strong grip tells me otherwise.
“Garrick—” Her breath hitches as I quicken my pace, hooking my fingers and finding the perfect spot. “Oh God.”
Needing the pressure in my groin to ease, I turn her on her side and tuck myself behind her so we’re spooning. Pulling her toward me so we’re as close as we can be, I start grinding myself against her pert ass until I hear her gasp and clench the two fingers I’ve managed to ease inside her.
I don’t want to make her feel like she has to do anything more, but if I don’t cum—whether in my fucking jeans while listening to her noises, or with my cock in my hand in the bathroom replaying every second of what just happened—I’m going to fucking combust.
What does me in is the way her ass keeps the pace with every thrust of my fingers, keeping us in sync as I hear the wet, slapping noises of my hand and digits entering her pussy until she breaks apart in a shattered cry.
The second I hear the drawn out, orgasm-induced way she says “Garrick” has my cock emptying right fucking there along with her like a fourteen-year-old dry humping his first girlfriend.
We lay in silence, my fingers easing out of her and adjusting her pants back into place before my arm curls around her side to keep her against me.
Her body is sated, resting against me as she catches her breath. Burying my face in the crook of her neck, I murmur, “I’m looking forward to doing that again. And more.”
“More?”
Smiling against her skin, I press a kiss there and nod. “Definitely more, love. Ever had an Australian kiss before?”
There’s a moment of pause. “I don’t even know what that is.”
So fucking innocent. I swear I’m ready to go again simply from that alone. “It’s like a French kiss—” The tip of my tongue ghosts over the back of her neck and trails over to find the pulse on the side. “—except down under.”
I hold her while a shiver runs down her spine, but don’t push her to reply.
Sometimes the silence says it all.
21
Rylee
Garrick gives me a jacket to put over my head and sandwiches me between him and a beefy officer who’s leading us out of the airport. Hidden away, I see the telltale signs of cameras flashing from my view of the ground as I keep the barrier up to shield me and hear masses of muffled voices that are drowned out by the headphones put on me before we left the plane.
Unlike me, Garrick isn’t covered by anything besides sunglasses and a backwards baseball cap to cover his unruly blond hair. Nothing that conceals his identity. He stays close, always touching me to reassure me he’s there, knowing what he’s doing since I keep stumbling as we rush through the cleared area security prepped in advance of our landing.
We’d made it an hour into the flight before I noticed a cell phone pointed in our direction from the corner of my eye. I’d leaned into Garrick, burrowing into his side, and whispered, “Someone is taking pictures.” He dropped an arm around me, shifted his body to shield me from the people pointing phones at us, and gave me one of his earbuds to watch a movie with him as a distraction.
The protective side of him is still strong, but I know if I look back he’ll have a neutral expression on his face—not smiling or frowning, not paying any attention to the people calling out to him or stopping to sign things and take pictures.
He used to do that.
People applauded him for it, said he was one of the few who happily interacted with fans wherever he went because he was grateful.
Until people like me ruined it for him.
I frown as we stop at a sleek black vehicle, the windows heavily tinted, as the door opens. I slide in first, followed by Garrick, and only lower the jacket when he taps my leg and peels it off me, then moves the headphones to rest around my neck.
My hesitant eyes go to the windows where a huge crowd of people are being kept back by police barriers and officers. Eyes widening at the sight, I slowly shake my head.
The car starts moving a few moments after someone puts our bags in the back, and I find myself moving toward Garrick until our sides are pressed against each other.
He puts my seatbelt on as I lose myself in my surroundings, then takes my hand, threads our fingers, and squeezes my palm once. “It’s a lot to take in.”
That’s an understatement.
He says something to the driver before we make our way through the crowds, a sheriff’s vehicle leading with its lights on, and a regular cruiser tailing close behind.
It’s only then I say, “I’m sorry.”
I don’t tell him why.
But he understands. “You didn’t know.”
“I should have.” The crowd of people seems endless, and the idea of everyone being here because of him…us…seems unbelievable to me.
Suffocating.
Sarina used to say that the repercussions of our work doesn’t matter as long as the job is done, and our purses are padded. For a while, I pretended I was okay with that.
But this…
“I should
