“Simon.”
“I rather like when you chide me.” He licks the tip of my breast oh-so-lightly, the barest touch, making me shiver again even though it’s a hundred degrees in here. “Perhaps I should misbehave more.”
“You’re misbehaving—plenty.” Talking is hard. Breathing is hard.
Not coming is hard, but I can’t come.
I’m not quitethere.
He rubs his chin around my nipple, the stubble setting my skin on fire.
“If I were to misbehave more—” he starts.
“Please play with my breasts and stroke my pussy,” I gasp.
“Your pussy?” he murmurs.
“Why is it so much hotter when you say pussy?”
“Because you haven’t tired of me yet.”
“Simon.”
A mischievous grin flashes at me, and then the man is sliding his hand beneath the cotton of my panties to stroke my hot, wet flesh, and?—
“Bea!” someone bangs on the back door. “Open up. I have lettuce and tomatoes for you.”
“Oh my god,” I gasp.
I’m halfway into an orgasm andmy brother is here.
I shove Simon back and try to yank my sports bra back down, but it’s stuck.
Of fucking course it’s stuck.
It’s a hundred degrees in here and I’ve been sweating like my sweat glands are waterfalls all day, andoh my god, that’s Simon’s first impression of me naked.
“Bea?” Ryker calls again. “It’s too hot for you to have the doors shut.”
Simon’s eyes snap into focus.
He looks at me while I’m trying to pull the tight, wet material back over my boobs, then at the exit at the front of the bus, then down at his own bare chest.
“Why’s the goddamn door locked?” Ryker yells.
Simon meets my gaze.
His blue eyes are black as midnight, pupils dilated. He sticks his thumb in his mouth and sucks on it, and that orgasm that was half-started makes my legs wobble.
He’s tasting me.
My brother’s trying to break down the door to get in here, and Simon Luckwood is licking me off his thumb.
“Bea?” Ryker yells again.
“Hold on, I had my head in the fridge,” I yell back.
It’s a gaspy, whimpery yell.
