“Oh—God.”
“Not him,” I say against her skin.
That gets a shaky laugh out of her, which turns into a moan when I flick my tongue over the peak again and drag my free hand up her thigh under the shirt.
She shifts in my lap, instinctively seeking pressure, and the movement grinds her exactly where she needs against my leg.
Her whole body jumps. “Mean,” she whispers.
“Yes.”
I move to the other breast, kissing, licking, biting lightly until she’s squirming and restless, hips rolling helplessly over my thigh. The shirt is half off her now, twisted around her waist, and her skin in the moonlight looks almost unreal.
I can feel how wet she already is when my hand slides between her legs.
No panties. Of course not.
A pulse of satisfaction moves through me so strong it borders on possession.
“You came to find me like this?” I murmur, fingers gliding through slick heat. “No underwear?”
Her face flames, though whether from embarrassment or arousal I no longer care to separate. “I was sleeping,” she says, and breaks off with a gasp when I circle my thumb over her clit.
“Mm.”
“You’re awful.”
“Still in my lap.”
Her nails bite into my shoulders. “That’s not the defense you think it is.”
I kiss her again while I work her open with my fingers, stroking slow and deep until her breathing gets ragged and her whole body starts to soften against me.
She tastes like sleep and salt and woman, and I am losing the thread of restraint faster than I care to admit. Her hand moves down between us, fumbling for the button of my trousers.
I let her.
She gets them open with more determination than grace, and when she wraps her hand around my cock, I groan into her mouth.
“That,” she whispers, pleased with herself, “seems fair.”
I look at her through half-lidded eyes. “Careful.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m already trying not to pin you to this chair.” The challenge in her face flares instantly.
Too late.
I lift her just enough to free myself fully, then hold her there over my lap, one hand gripping her waist, the other guiding my cock between her thighs.
She looks down. Then up at me.
And if there was any doubt left in either of us, it dies in that look.
“Tell me to stop,” I say.
Her answer is to sink down on me slowly, taking me inch by inch until both of us are shaking.
