Page 70 of Flirting with 40

I run my fingertips over the top of her mound in lazy circles before adding my other hand to the mix and sliding it below. Within seconds, I’ve parted her lips so that I can have a little better access.

I grit my teeth to hold back the groan I want to emit when I slide my fingers lower, finding her already wet and wanting.

Her contained moan is an aphrodisiac in and of itself. The sound embodies how I feel every time I look at her: want wrapped in need and desire forged with lust.

She coats my fingers so that when I slide back up to where my other hand still has her parted, I’m able to find purchase on her clit. I take my time with slow circles over the bundle of nerves. My movements are lazy, my intentions are singular.

There is a heightened awareness of what we’re doing, knowing we could be caught, and it has me noticing every little thing about her. The dig of her fingernails into my skin. The lift of her hips into my hand. The grind of her ass against my cock. The stuttered laboring of her breath. The scent of her arousal that’s like a pheromone egging me on.

I create a rhythm: play with her clit for a little bit, adding friction so it swells before slipping back down and into her center and fingering the rough patch of nerves there. All the while, my lips focus on the skin just below her ear, which I learned last night is one of her most sensitive erogenous zones.

So many places to get a response from. So many ways to bring her pleasure. So many means to get her to the end.

Do I want to flip her over and bury myself in her? Hell yes. But there’s also something incredible about knowing I can bring her to this point with my fingers alone. There’s something heady about testing her limits and seeing just how far she’s willing to go. And goddamn it, there’s something to be said about anticipating her coming undone.

Her breath becomes shorter pants, and I survey everyone near us to make sure no one is paying attention as I work her toward that edge, one finger at a time.

And just when she gets close, just when I can feel her body tense and my hand becomes soaked, I whisper in her ear, “I dare you not to come.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Blakely

“You’re such a bastard,” I say as I push Slade from behind.

But I don’t mean it.

Not a single word of it.

Not when I’m riding that high of disbelief and desire that he left me with during the movie.

He walks in front of me, hands in his pockets, whistling a tune as if nothing happened, while I’m back here, slowly reliving every single adrenaline-filled moment of it.

Heck, I’ve never done something like that in a movie theater with a boyfriend before, never mind in an intimate setting where my boss and coworkers were so damn close.

How did no one notice?

How did no one mistake the laugh I barked out when Slade made that dare two seconds before I actually came for what it really was?

And oh my, did I come hard.

It had to be the thrill of being caught that edged that orgasm. That, or it’s just what Slade does to me, and I’m not sure which one unnerves me more.

“You can call me a bastard all you want, but I do believe I won that dare.”

“You played dirty,” I say as I jog up next to him.

“Only when it’s fun and games,” he taunts me with his grin.

“What if we had gotten caught?”

“But we didn’t,” he says and takes the final steps up to the cabin.

“What would even make you think to pull that?” My straight and narrow brain has a hard time computing.

“Because, sometimes in life, Blakely, you need to do what you want, and right there in that amphitheater, watching that stupid movie, I wanted you. Simple as that. I couldn’t get you out of my head, so I wanted you to feel how I felt.”

“Oh.”