“Does this make you feel good?”
I push my finger inside her, and she moans. Her hot breath forms a steamy circle on the window, and I can feel sweat beading at my brow even though my thermostat is permanently set to a comfortably chilly sixty-two.
“How about this?”
I add a second finger and bend down to nip her shoulder. She sucks in a ragged breath and closes her eyes, resting her forehead on the glass.
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
She moans again, and that’s all the encouragement I need to go further. I kick at her feet in those fuck-me pumps, nudging them apart.
“Open your eyes,” I demand.
“What if I don’t want to?” she asks, eyes still closed.
I withdraw my fingers. “Then I won’t let you come.”
“Bastard,” she hisses. But her eyes open and she lifts her head off the window.
“That’s better.” I grab the thin lace of her tiny panties and tear them off in one quick move, the sound of ripping fabric echoing in my cavernous bedroom.
“Hey,” she protests even as her breathing quickens and she widens her stance. “I liked those.”
“So did I.”
“You could have asked me to take them off.”
“I could have. But I didn’t want to wait that long.” She sighs as my hand returns between her legs, my fingers pushing into her again. “I’ll buy you a new pair. Hell, I’ll buy you a hundred new pairs.”
“What do I need a hundred pairs of underwear for? Unless you’re going to keep tearing them off me.”
“Better make it two hundred.”
“They’re not cheap, you know. I have expensive taste in lingerie. It’s my one indulgence.”
“Then it’s a good thing I’m filthy rich.” I suck her earlobe between my teeth and bite down. Not hard, just enough to draw out a sexy little gasp from her pouty lips. “Now stop complaining so I can make you come.”
She wiggles her ass, pushing back against me, fucking my fingers. I can see her seductive smile reflected in the glass, and her next words make my answering grin even broader and my dick impossibly harder.
“As you wish.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Brie
WHOISTHISGUY?
I know who he is, obviously. I’m not in the habit of having sex with strangers. But the man pinning me to the window, torturing me with his fingers as Manhattan continues to go about its daily business below us, is not the man I’ve been living with for the past month.
Sure, that guy likes to take charge in the bedroom. And his dirty talk is off the charts. But this? This is next level alpha male. He’s bold. Daring. Reckless.
And if he doesn’t quit dicking around and make me come soon, I’m going to end him.
“Quit teasing me. What happened to making me come?”
I grind against his fingers, desperate for release. He, of course, pulls them out ever so slightly, enough that he’s no longer hitting my g-spot.
Fucking tease.
