“Probably the storm,” Brock said, completely unbothered. “We could be up here a while.”
I let out a long breath. “Great.”
“I’m not complaining.”
I looked at him. He was leaning back against the seat, long legs spread, eyes on me.
The soft mood from a minute ago was still there, but something hotter was creeping in, the way his gaze kept dropping to my thighs, the way his chest rose a little faster now.
“Come here,” he said.
He caught me by the hips and pulled me across the bench until I was sitting between his knees. My denim skirt had ridden up my thighs, and his eyes followed the movement.
“That skirt,” he said, rough and quiet over the rain, “has been driving me out of my damn mind all day.”
I chuckled. “I noticed you staring.”
His thumbs brushed just under the hem. "I’d like it a lot more pushed up around your waist."
He tugged the denim higher, baring my upper thighs. The cool air washed over my legs. His thumbs traced the lace edge of my panties.
He let go of my hips and leaned back against the seat. His blue eyes met mine, completely serious. "Take off your underwear."
“Brock, we’re on a Ferris wheel.”
“We’re stuck on a Ferris wheel.” A teasing smile tugged at his mouth. “Might as well use the time. Take ’em off, Starlin’.”
A warm, fluttery feeling stirred low in my belly. I’d spent my whole life keeping everything under control, but the way he looked at me, so sure, so hungry, made me want to be reckless for once.
I reached under my skirt, hooked my fingers into the fabric, and shimmied it down my legs.
I stepped out of them and picked them up. Before I could do anything else, he took them from my fingers. He folded the lace and slipped it into the pocket of his shorts.
“Come here,” he said quietly. “Straddle my leg.”
I moved into his space, hiked my denim skirt up around my waist, and swung a leg over him. When I straddled his thigh, a soft gasp slipped out the moment I felt him.
The muscle locked like a carved statue, thick and burning hot. The contrast of his rough skin right against my most sensitive spot made my pulse jump. I braced my hands on his chest.
“Just relax,” he murmured, his big hand settling heavy on my hip.
“I’ve never done anything like this,” I said, glancing at the blurry glass. “We’re in public.”
A teasing smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Good thing I’m the only one who can see you. You’re safe.”
He flexed his thigh, lifting it just a little. The sudden upward pressure pushed him right against my clit, the coarse hair on his leg creating a sharp spark of friction.
I let out a shaky breath, fingers curling tight into his gray T-shirt. I couldn’t stop my hips from rolling down on their own.
“That’s it,” he coaxed. “Ride my thigh, baby. Let me feel how wet you are.”
I dragged myself forward in a slow, aching slide. A quiet moan slipped from my throat.
The heat between my legs was building fast. I got so wet that each roll of my hips left a slick, smooth glide over his skin.
Brock sucked in a sharp breath. “Fuck… you’re soaking my thigh.”
“I can’t help it,” I moaned, pressing down harder. “It feels too good.”
