“Oh.”
I stand, adjust myself, and then stalk toward her.
“Do you want to tell me what’s going on in that head of yours?”
Our eyes lock.
“I don’t know if I should.”
“Oh, you should.”
“Will you tell me what’s going on in yours?” she asks.
“Yes. Always.”
She swallows, her eyes scanning over me before she reaches out to touch my stomach.
“These don’t seem real,” she says with a huff, her hand moving lower.
I step closer, my hand reaching out to cup her face, and my thumb brushes against her lower lip.
“I think about these lips far too many times during the day.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“What do you think about them?”
“I think of how they might taste against mine.”
She sucks in a breath as I move close enough to press her back to the wall and cage her in.
“I bet they taste sweet,” I add. Her breathing picks up, and the hand not resting against my stomach grabs my wrist, as if she needs to hold on.
“I want you to find out,” she whispers.
“You do?”
I press my body against her so she can feel how hard she makes me. So she knows I’m not just saying this to say it. I mean every single word.
“But I'm not sure we should,” she adds.
The leg wrapped around my waist, fitting our bodies together perfectly, says another.
My hand skims over her outer thigh until it reaches her ass.
I grip the entire cheek, and she moans.
My forehead falls to her shoulder.
“Should I stop?”
“No.”
Zero hesitation on her part.
Skimming my fingers under her cheek, I brush against her thong.
