Page 210 of Call Me Baby 2: Side B

starving for his fingers,

wanting to be wanted by him too.

My body’s crying out:

I am nothing if not touched by you.

His fingers curl into the back of my head, and he palms my ass, grinding me down across his erection, making me feel the ridge of his cock straining in his jeans.

My thighs squeeze tight to keep from soaking my panties, but it’s useless, the warmth pools between my thighs.

He feels it, and his inhale catches.

My hand falls to his waistband,

eager to slip under the hem of his shirt,

feel his skin, his stomach, his hips,

but before I get the chance,

he stops me, snatching my wrist,

and hauling me against his chest.

Our lips bump and brush together, the taste of Coke and cinnamon gum on his breath—sweet, dark syrup, spice, spit.

It’s tempting, sinful.

When I dip closer for more, his fingers curl into my hair, and he tugs me back before I can have a taste.

He gives a slow shake of his head—a no, a reminder: you signed all rights to touch and kiss me away…

The loss of it hits me,

an ache in my chest.

I drop my head and suck in a breath,

hating myself in the moment for it.

When I look back into his eyes again, the tunnel lights flicker in his dark, heavy gaze—gold, then black.

His fingers skim over my tailbone, then dip under the thin strap of my thong.

Our mouths share the same ragged breath as he drags lower, knuckles sliding under the thin cotton string, the tips of his fingers following the line straight down.

The slow torment shudders through me,

and I can’t fucking take it.

I’m a skinless body in his hands,

drowning in sensation.

And when two fingers drag over the wet heat of my entrance, I choke on a moan, my body curling into him, falling into the crook of his neck.

Right there, he circles the rim,