“Liar.” I linger along the waistband of her shorts. “Tell me.”
She parts her lips, but she doesn’t speak. The demon I am, I change tactics. I pull my finger away, and she grabs my wrist, but I shake off her hold. “Don’t worry, Fizzle, this is just the beginning.” I move aside her shorts and underwear and slide my index finger along her slit. A single finger to taunt her. And holy shit, she’s so warm and slick. My cock swells and kicks in my pants, the throb quickly becoming full-on agony. And when I circle her clit, and she rolls her hips over me, it takes all of my control not to fuck her first and play later.
“That feels so good.”
“I’m going to make it even better,” I promise. “But first, you’re going to tell me who you thought about when you had your hand here.”
She licks her lips and throws back her head, exposing her throat. I’m opportunistic and accept the invitation. I kiss my way up her neck as I slip my finger into her tight pussy. “You. I thought of you.”
“Yeah, you did.” I nip her shoulder hard enough to leave a mark. She answers with a moan. I curl my finger inside her and hit the spot that has her digging her nails into my shoulders. “Tell me what I did to you.”
“Everything.” She moves her hips to my rhythm, and when I add a second finger, she gasps and cries out my name.
Not in anger, or hatred, or disgust. But with an urgency as she gropes at me. Pulls me closer as if trying to fuse our bodies.
“Details or I’ll stop.”
Nah, I’m lying. I wouldn’t stop if the sky fell on us in a rain of fire.
“Evil bastard.” Faith isn’t shy or delicate. Her eyes lock with mine, her breathing ragged as she rides my hand. “You fuck me. Hard. Rough. Like you used to. Because you never treated me like I was broken.” She hitches in a breath when I hit that sweet spot again. “You’re the one who taught me what makes me feel good, and oh God, Jester, I’ve missed you.”
Her big, beautiful, soulful brown eyes fill with tears, and if even one of them slips down her flushed cheeks, I’ll come apart. Instead, she grips my chin with one hand and my wrist with the other. She pumps my hand inside her—as if I need instruction. I remember exactly how to finger her. I’d sooner forget my name than how to please this woman. But I let her control me, loving how she’s not afraid to take control.
My fingers stretch her the deeper she pushes me into her. And when her muscles tense around me, I feather my mouth over hers. Tease the seam of her lips with my tongue. “Come for me, Faith.”
She shakes her head on a moan. Stubborn as always. “Not yet.”
As if she has a choice.
She said it herself. I’m the one who taught her what her body likes.
I ignore her protests and shake off her hold to thrust deeper. My memory drifts back to when we did this very thing farther down this same river over at Devil’s Peak. But we’re older now. Not teenagers experimenting in the dark. We’re two whole adults, and as I finger fuck her, my dick is so hard, I’m shocked the seams of my jeans haven’t split.
I rub the sensitive set of nerves inside her, and she nips at my shoulder. Grabs at my shirt as she rides my hand. And my God, she’s so friggin’ hot, I can barely hold myself in check. I want to lay her out right here in the dirt and fuck her surrounded by Mayhem.
“Right there,” she rasps.
I fucking know. Because I remember where to touch her, inside and out. But okay, I’ll stay right here, doing exactly this. And when her muscles contract around my fingers, I’m a teensy bit afraid she’s going to snap off both digits. I make a mental note to ask if she does those Kegel exercise things or something becausegoddamn.
Faith’s entire body stiffens. She even ceases to breathe, and I swear to God, I almost stop, afraid she’s seizing (which is a real thing for a diabetic). But then she drags in a breath, and her body relaxes a fraction of a second before she comes—and cries out my name while doing it.
Trust and believe I won’t stop until she rides out her orgasm to the last tremor.
She blinks at me, face flushed, and with a dazed look in her eyes. “That was incredible.”
“You’re welcome.” I slide my fingers out of her. Wipe them on the hem of my shirt before readjusting her shorts.
“But do you always have to be arrogant?”
I lift a brow. “Did you meet me five seconds ago?”
“Good point.” She sits up and shoves her hair away from her face. “I can’t remember the last time I came that hard.”
“But can younotmention when you were with other guys right now?”
She has the audacity to smirk at me. “Jealous?”
“Hell yes,” I admit without the least bit of hesitation or shame. Why bother? Life is too short for bullshit.
