But, on the other hand, we’re not really involved. We can’t truly hurt each other. This is…safe enough. We’ll be faking it anyway, so what’s the big deal if we have some fun?
And, wow. The second the zipper’s down and his hand slides over my panties, I’m feeling exactly how fun this is. I shudder out a hot breath as his big hand covers me, sliding between my thighs, cupping the damp panel of my panties.
He groans. Taps a finger across the soaked cotton. Murmurs against my neck, “You’re infuriatingly sexy.”
Best. Compliment. Ever. “Same to you,” I say, even though I’m aching for his touch.
With my panties still on, like he has all the time in the world, like he’s confident that no matter how fast the clock ticks, he’ll beat the buzzer, he strokes me. Slow, teasing circles through my panties. Winding me up. Making me shake. Making me tremble.
I grip his shirt harder. Clutching it. “Ford,” I demand.
“Yes, Skylar?” He sounds far too happy to taunt me.
I glance toward the kitchen. A kitschy clock with rubber ducks on the ends of the hands ticks maddeningly closer to my departure.
“If you don’t make me come in the next three minutes, I swear I will go upstairs, grab a toy, and take care of myself. I am not going to meet Sofia Ximena with a lady boner.” I stare him down. Two can play his game. “Get moving.”
His smile is bright, as if he’s slightly thrown off in the best of ways. “You’re fucking perfect,” he says, then he finally—fucking finally—dips his hand inside my panties.
I shout in delight.
His fingers are magic. He slides them through my slickness, groaning so damn approvingly as he strokes, like he’s never felt anything better than me.
That’s a wild thought—that I could have this effect on him. But it’s there, taking up space in my head as he touches me. Teasing my mouth with a barely-there kiss as he coasts his fingers across my hot center, then circles my clit.
I moan as I lean my head back. “Yessss,” I say.
“No need to use a toy, Skylar,” he murmurs as he draws dizzying circles right where I want him most. Making me rock into his hands. Making me chase my pleasure.
Making me hot and hazy and close to the edge already. My pulse beats mercilessly between my thighs.
I’m breathing out hard when he changes his pace, cupping me once again, rubbing my needy clit with the heel of his hand.
Holy fuck. That’s good. That’s so good.
What’s even better is his mouth on my jaw. He’s traveling across my face, leaving kisses all over me while he strokes.
And then?—
I gasp out a longyessss.
His nimble fingers return to my clit once more with faster strokes, touching me just right, circling me just so. The whole time he’s kissing my neck, my cheek, the corner of my lips.
And I understand the phrase, finally—he can’t get enough of me.
Ford kisses me like his need can’t be quenched, he fucks me with his fingers like once will never be enough,and I rock into his hand like nothing exists beyond this door.
Nothing but the way his body molds to my side. Nothing but the feel of him making me ache. Nothing but the pleasure roaring through my body as I seek the other side.
Or really, as he takes me there.
I’m hot everywhere, my neck burning up, my legs shaking as pleasure coils inside me, then all at once…explodes.
I cry out, dropping my head back, barely able to hold on, my vision blurring as I break apart and shatter into brilliant, beautiful pieces. Pleasure pulses in me for a long, delirious minute.
I’m panting, sighing, laughing, then opening my eyes—and, like a stupid, lust-drunk idiot, I blurt out, “I watched you do yoga.”
His brow knits, and it takes him a beat to connect the dots. He tilts his head, curiosity seemingly piqued. “Right. The day that I saw you?”
