He leans back, arms spread out across the length of the couch.
“Ain’t got much time left. Twelve minutes, tops… ” His brow lifts again, all smug. “Was really hopin’ to spend ‘em makin’ you come.”
Her heart stops.
He’s gotta be jokin’, right? He’s gettin’ her naked to make fun of her.
There’s no other explanation.
But she’s been made fun of plenty of times.
She’s willin’ to risk it.
Her heart kicks back in hard, agreein’. It’s now or never.
She grabs the hem of her shirt and pulls it up fast, arms gettin’ tangled, shirt stuck around her neck. Andrew stands, towering over her, slidin’ her shirt off the rest of the way. It drops somewhere at her feet. And when she looks up, he’s crowdin’ her close, eyes slidin’ down her body, breath hittin’ her lips.
He wets his lip. “Keep goin’.”
She reaches behind her, loses her bra next, lettin’ it fall.
And there she is. Bare. Brown freckles all over pale skin.
His gaze moves down her body, a lopsided smile breakin’ across his face, as if she’s somethin’ he’s been wantin’ to touch all night. And it still ain’t sinkin’ in right. She’s bare-ass naked in front of Andrew Harding, and hewantsto touch her. This can’t be real. It’s too big. And good. And not-hers.
He takes her hands, guidin’ her back step by step ‘til her ass hits a wall.
His smile brushes her damp shoulder, and Abigail’s whole body’s buzzin’, hairs standin’ straight, her heat throbbin’ for friction. And when one of his hands finds her waist, and the other comes over her breast, thumb brushin’ across the peak, a shiver races up her spine.
He turns her ‘til her boobs scrape the wall, then his breath hits the back of her shoulder. The sensation shoots through her, andLord, help her,it drops to her clit.
“Mmm… mmf—okay—” A half-bitten moan like she ain’t got no control left.
“Mhmm—”Andrew teases back, guidin' her legs open wider with his knee, one hand tracin’ her spine.
Other dippin’ low between her thighs.
Then from behind, strokes her with two fingers.
The touch is so gentle it makes somethin’ inside her chest tremble.
The shake that comes right before cryin’.
A gasp stumbles out of her mouth.
“This alright?” He keeps his fingers skimmin’ soft, the pads grazin’ lazy over her lips and through the hair. She nods, heart gone—somewhere in this closet. Then he sinks in the middle, his finger sliding up through the heat.
“And what about this?” he asks, rollin’ two fingers over her clit, slow and heavy. Her whole body’s shakin’, thighs tight, mouth spillin’ embarrassin' sounds. Then her hips grind against his hand, needin’more.
“You can… put your fingers in me if you want,” she breathes. “It’s okay.”
“Yeah? You lettin’ me in?” He smirks, his hand slidin’ down, two fingers draggin’ through her slit until they stop right at her entrance. Then he circles heavy where she’s hot, opening her up, fingers tracing the wet rim. “Right here, huh? This where you need me?” His words are warm in her ear.
And there’s a tremor in her thighs that won’t stop.
Every breath leavin’ her leaves broken.
Then he eases his thumb inside her.
