“But?” she prompts.
I lick my lips, trying to remember what I was saying before her ass distracted me. “But tonight I need to be selfish and use this tight body before I fucking explode. Are you gonna let me do that?”
With a tiny smile, Blake rises on her tiptoes and leans in until her mouth is a scant inch from mine. “Wyatt?”
“Hmm?” I’m still squeezing her ass.
“Give me your dick.”
And then my good, obedient girl turns around and lifts up her skirt.
Goddamn perfect.
I undo my pants and slip my fingers in the crease of her ass, dragging them lower until I find her pussy. She’s wet and ready for me, and while I’d love nothing more than to slide my bare dick in there and feel her soaking me, we’ve already been there, done that, gotten the Plan B T-shirt. I’m not taking that risk again.
I fish out the condom I stashed in my back pocket and roll it on, then follow through on my seductive threat—I bend her over and thrust deep inside her. When she moans, I curl my arm around herbody and bring my hand to her mouth to cover it. She bites my palm, and I have to choke down my own moan.
“Be quiet,” I say. “Just let me use you.”
Rather than take offense, she bucks against me, her inner muscles clamping tight.
I smile. “Oh, you like that, don’t you?”
The back of her head moves as she nods.
“Can I take my hand off your mouth?”
She nods again.
I move my hand and slide it through her hair, wrapping a hunk of it in my fist. And that’s how I fuck her—fast, deep strokes, one hand pulling her hair, the other hand squeezing her tits. I drive my cock into her until we’re both breathless. I come without telling her, jerking with pleasure, my teeth digging into her shoulder to stifle a groan. I don’t know if she has an orgasm, but she looks sated when she twists around to kiss me.
I pull out and wrap the condom in a tissue I also brought for this exact purpose, then shove it in my pocket.
“That was fun,” Blake murmurs, and I grin.
“You head back first. I’ll wait a few minutes.”
Before she can go, something thuds inside the boathouse. We both freeze. That sounded like footsteps.
Her hand closes around mine. “Did you hear that?”
I nod warily. “Raccoon maybe?”
“Raccoons don’t sound like human footsteps.” Blake creeps along the wall. “I think someone’s in there.”
It’s one in the morning. There’s no reason for anyone to be inside the boathouse. On the roof, maybe, if you’re smoking a late-night joint. In the apartment, sure, if you need somewhere to crash. But among the boat slips? No.
I move ahead of her and quietly round the side of the boathouse. I wince when the wooden planks creak under my shoes.
“Stay behind me,” I murmur. “Could be someone breaking in.”
I reach the door, my hand hovering over the handle. Before I can ease it open, there’s another muffled sound. A giggle.
I turn to Blake, whose lips have twisted into a frown. “There’s a girl in there,” she whispers.
She comes up beside me as I open the door just a tiny crack for us to peer inside.
At first, all I see are shadows. The cruiser is tied off on the pier, but the bowrider and motorboat bob gently in their wells, and I don’t see anybody on them. My gaze travels across the huge space toward the old workbench against the back wall. I glimpse another shadow. No, two shadows. The bench jostles and a coil of rope falls to the ground, the soft thud reverberating through the boathouse.
