Liza shifts in her seat. “This is the dream you want me to interpret? You fall from a cliff into my bed and then put your face between my legs. And you want me to tell you why that’s significant?”
“Give me some credit, DeWalt. I didn’t just stick my face there and fall asleep. I’m no fool. I put my hands on the backs of those thighs I like so much and I spread you wide. Then I started to kiss all the soft flesh around your center. You startedsquirming when my mustache tickled all your sensitive spots, but don’t worry, I distracted you.”
“How’d you do that?” she asks, biting down on her lip.
“I pressed my thumb to your clit and started rubbing circles over it. Tight little circles. Fuck me, you were already wet, so I had to taste you, too. I hate to know if you taste as good as you smell.”
Her lips part as she lets out a gasp, and I know it’s because of the words I’m using. I’m no expert at dirty talk, but Liza gets a little shocked in the very best way when I’m direct about what I’m doing. I don’t use words as shields and I’m not going to be coy when I talk about what happens between us. I want her to know in no uncertain terms exactly how hot her body is and the effect it has on me. That’s why I can’t resist stroking the length of my hard cock against my jeans as I close my eyes and picture us doing what I’ve been describing.
“I was wet for you?” she asks. “Maybe I was having a sex dream of my own before you fell into my bed. Maybe I was picturing you doing all those wicked things to me. And maybe, in my dream, I got to do them in return.”
I squeeze my cock because holy fuck do I want that. It doesn’t just bend the rules, it outright breaks them. And this arrangement is about Liza. I can’t forget that. Any pleasure I receive is secondary, but it’s so damn hot to fantasize about what it would be like if Liza put her mouth on me. If she ran her thumb over the head of my cock. If she licked at the precum that’s pooling in my boxers right fucking now.
“Oh, god,” she gasps, knocking me out of my dirty daydream to watch as she slips her hand into the waistband of her sweats. Sweet Jesus, is she trying to kill me right now?
My eyes are locked on her movements and I watch with rapt fascination as she dips her finger lower. She slowly drags it upand brings it to my lips and it’s al I can do not to fucking unload right here and now.
“You did it,” she says, painting my bottom lip with her desire. “You made me wet just by talking about it.”
I feel invincible, but I’m not done yet. “I need to touch you,” I say, not bothering to hide the desperation in my voice. “I need to watch you come apart right here when anyone could walk right in and catch us.”
My hands drift over her hips as I watch her stiffen slightly. I knew that bringing up the possibility of getting caught was dicey, but that's the point of this, right? To see if the risk heightens her sensations.
“What if somebody walks through that door right now?” I ask, my hand skimming the elastic band of her joggers. “Could you hide what I do to you? If I tuck my hand away and duck over to the pantry, could you sit here and pretend that everything’s normal and you’re not fucking dripping for me?”
Liza spreads her legs as wide as the chair will let her, granting me access and holy freaking hell she’s soaked for me. Her lips are swollen and she’s so damn wet that I turn my hand and slip two fingers into her entrance. She moans at the contact and I have to physically restrain myself from brushing my lips over hers. God, I want to kiss her right now. It feels so natural to want to connect in that way, but I have to remind myself that that’s not what I’m here for.
She pumps her hips, urging me to start moving my fingers, and so I do. I’m tempted to drop to my knees, but I’m being selfish because I want to watch her face and body as she takes her pleasure. This angle is pressing my dick against my jeans in the most painful way possible, but that’s probably for the best. Once again, this is about her, not me.
But when my name falls from her lips on a sigh, it’s damn hard to remember that.
“Blue,” she pants again, almost whining as I increase the rhythm and the pressure. My thumb keeps working her clit as my fingers drive into her. There’s nothing new or revolutionary about what I’m doing, but it feels damn good anyway. And the way her eyes are fluttering and her pulse is skittering? I want more of that. “Shhh,” I say, playing up the danger angle, even though we’ve got plenty of time until anybody comes home. “What would somebody think if they walked in here right now?”
“They’d think you’re good with your hands,” Liza says, wrapping her slender fingers around my wrist. “But they’d also think I need more. That I need you to?—”
“You need more? If I give you much more, Tiger, you’re going to squirt all over my hand and then we’ll both be soaked. Damn, that would be hot, though.”
Liza’s eyes are comically wide. “That’s a real thing? I don’t think that’s a real thing. I think it’s just a tactic to sell women’s magazines.”
“It’s real,” I promise. “Just relax and let me get you there.”
“You want me to relax?” she asks, her inner muscles choking the life out of my fingers. “That’s impossible when you have me so worked up.”
Before I can get her out of her own head, a series of unmistakable beeps cuts through the air.
Holy fuck. Somebody’s entering the alarm code.
We share a look of panic before I do the only thing I can think of, and drag us both under the table.
We’re completely still and totally silent for a minute while the guys walk through the door and drop their bags in the entryway. Thank fuck for Deano’s weird-ass tablecloth because it’s sheltering us now as Mickey bounds into the kitchen and over to the fridge. I swear the guy doesn’t walk—he bounces. It takes a second for the guys to raid the pantry, but soon they’re trooping their way out of the kitchen.
I’m praying they take their little party upstairs to Ollie’s old room. The freshmen turned it into a gaming cave after Ollie and Fallon got married in Vegas and it would be the perfect hang out spot for the guys right now. Actually, anywhere would be fine. They could chill in the garage or jumping in the freezing cold pool for all I care. I just need them the hell away from this kitchen.
But my luck has run out. They all congregate on the couches in the living room, propping their feet up and settling in for an epic video game battle before we need to head over to practice. It could be worse, I guess. They could have pulled up seats around this table. But one glance at Liza’s frozen features tells me nothing could possibly be worse than this. There’s a direct line of sight from this table to the center of the living room. If I lifted the table cloth right now, I could easily see Mickey and Leo’s sock-clad feet resting on the coffee table. I can hear Deano chomping on his beloved tortilla chips, and I’d bet a hundred bucks he’s got salsa on his chin right now.
I hear a blast from the TV and I know for sure that Leo just wiped the floor with Mickey’s ass. That guy is ridiculously good at video games.
“You’re up, Sparky,” Mickey chirps.
