Page 107 of The Right Kind of Wrong

The reality of Blake on top of her. Pressing against her. Inundating all of Monroe’s senses.

“You seem to like being on top of me,” Monroe managed to say at the same time that Blake looped her arms around Monroe’s shoulders.

“I went home and touched myself on Wednesday, thinking about us in this position. It only seems fair that I should get to know if it lives up to my imagination.” Blake’s lips were inches away, her breath ghosting across Monroe’s cheek.

And Monroe was . . . surviving. Barely.

It’s not like Monroe hadn’t done the same thing later that night, but hearing Blake say it somehow made everything more real, and she couldn’t wait another second to be enveloped in Blake’s heat.

She slid one of her hands from Blake’s hip across her stomach. “Take your shirt off?” she asked. “I want to be able to see all of you.”

It felt unfair that Blake would be completely naked while Monroe was still mostly clothed, but there was no way she wasn’t going to have access to Blake’s perfect, perky tits while she fucked her.

Blake grabbed her shirt and tore it off with almost comical speed. Monroe would have laughed in a different situation, but now Blake was entirely naked, straddling her.

There was nothing funny about the way Monroe’s heart was hammering in her chest. About the way it was hard for her to take in a full breath, like all the air had been sucked out of her lungs.

Because right in front of Monroe were the most enticing breasts she’d ever seen, with a tan line cutting across the swell of cleavage and pebbled, pink nipples Monroe couldn’t wait to take in her mouth.

“Blake,” she breathed out, her hand sliding over until she could cup Blake’s pussy, her index finger pressing gently without pushing inside.

Blake was clearly just as affected by the touch. A strangled moan fell from her lips as she opened her hips up wider, sliding down lower so that Monroe’s palm pressed more fully against her.

“I want to feel you,” Blake demanded, and her hips started to rut downward, chasing the friction Monroe hadn’t yet given her.

Monroe wasn’t going to deny either of them the opportunity. She wasted no time sliding her finger along Blake’s entrance, pushing inside with an exploratory touch. This caused Blake’s hips to jerk, and they both moaned as Monroe eased into impossible wetness.

“Fuck,” she hissed, her finger sliding easily against Blake’s soft folds, slipping against her without resistance.

She moved slowly, allowing Blake to adjust to the touch. For as much as her body was screaming at her to go faster, push deeper—to really fuck Blake—she tried to temper her own immediate need to know what it felt like to be fully enveloped in Blake’s heat.

Because this was about Blake. And she would go at whatever speed made her comfortable, even as Monroe could feel wetness dripping down her own thigh.

It was an unnecessary thought, though, because, in response, Blake wrapped her arms more tightly around Monroe’s shoulders, bracketing her in place. “I need you inside of me.”

Blake stared down at her with a look that Monroe could only describe as wanting. Her big eyes were lidded, like she was caught in between two states of existence.

Blake’s fingers dug into Monroe’s shoulder—hard—when Monroe pushed her finger in deeper.

“More,” she begged immediately, hips grinding down in a haphazard tempo. “Please.”

So fucking polite, even when she was being fucked.

The second finger slid in just as easily, but Monroe held for another beat so that Blake could adjust to the change.

Then those eyes that had just seemed unfocused turned laser sharp as Blake’s hand wrapped around her neck, pulling their faces close together. “Fuck me, Monroe. I need this. I need you.”

The words I need you were like a gunshot echoing through a quiet room, and all that Monroe could do was give herself over to what was happening between them.

She started thrusting her fingers inside of Blake in a controlled, deliberate movement.

In and out.

In and out.

Her own heart was fluttering in her chest with the sense that she, too, was being pulled higher and higher, so far up that everything was just a speck below.

All that existed was the two of them.