Page 109 of The Right Kind of Wrong

Finally, Blake gentled the kiss, and Monroe wondered if this was where their night would end. She could say, without reservation, that it would go down as the most gratifying sexual experience of her entire life.

But Blake seemed to have other ideas. She leveled Monroe with a Cheshire cat smile, her eyes narrowing with intense focus. She watched as Blake took a few long, deep inhales, seemingly to steady herself.

It happened quickly then, how she slid off of Monroe’s thighs so gracefully and, by the time Monroe realized what was going on, had seated herself between Monroe’s knees on the floor.

After showering, Monroe had thrown on a pair of mid-thigh, spandex shorts. Blake was going to have to peel them off of her to get them down, but she seemed more than ready for the challenge.

“Can I take these off?” Blake asked, her voice still raw, looking up from between Monroe’s legs.

The timbre of her voice alone, not to mention the way her fingertips were flirting with the waistband, waiting for permission, had Monroe groaning as she fell backward on the bed, holding herself up with her elbows.

“Yes,” she managed, throwing her arm over her face, wondering if she could make it through whatever Blake was about to do to her without crying out.

She knew that she was already dripping with need, which Blake would discover shortly. Her fingers were dipping under Monroe’s waistband and grabbing fistfuls of the material on both sides.

She’d felt so different since coming back to Cypress Falls. More open, even as she tried to keep everything bottled up inside. And it was clear, her stomach already clenching, that the potent, overwhelming feeling of desire racing through her veins was on a whole other level, too.

Her back arched when Blake skimmed her fingers up Monroe’s bare thighs, exploring her slowly. Monroe’s body responded to every touch, whether featherlight across her lower stomach or a forceful scrape of Blake’s knuckles against her tightened muscles.

“I’m sort of the end of the line for Maisie, so please take care not to kill me,” Monroe bit out, surprised that she could string so many words together.

Blake eased her thighs open even wider, putting Monroe’s pussy on full display. She should have felt exposed, but all she could think about was that she was so fucking turned on at every single thing Blake was doing to her.

“I can already see how wet you are,” Blake murmured before she ran an exploratory finger up Monroe’s slit.

Monroe tilted her head sideways so that she could see Blake, who tore her eyes away from Monroe’s center to meet her stare.

Maintaining eye contact, Blake brushed her knuckles against Monroe; her hips jerked in response. “Seems like you really enjoyed making me come.”

“Yes,” Monroe admitted quickly, hoping—god, she fucking hoped—that Blake would keep touching her.

“I liked it, too,” Blake said at the same time she eased a finger inside of Monroe.

She let out a shuddering exhale, feeling the full intensity of Blake’s focus still on her. Blake exhaled, too, as her finger slid easily Monroe’s wetness.

“Do you like this? Touching me?” Monroe asked. It was clear that Blake had really loved being fucked, but Monroe didn’t want Blake to do anything she didn’t feel ready for.

Blake could just spend the next hour sitting between her legs, watching her, and Monroe would have still come away with the same impression of their night together.

And it’s not that Monroe wasn’t a thoughtful lover—she always checked in, made sure that she and her partner were on the same page—but she’d never thought so actively before about their comfort.

Honestly, Sylvia would have hated that. She’d never wanted to be seen as wanton. Had never really let herself just let go.

Sylvia had been . . . detached, for lack of a better word. It had felt like she liked the idea of sex more than the act itself. Almost like it had been some perfunctory expectation of being in a relationship.

Until this exact moment, with Blake’s big, expressive eyes trained on her, filled with so much desire for Monroe, she hadn’t realized the stark difference.

Or how the lack of true, visceral wanting had made her feel.

It was completely different now, with Blake’s intense focus leveled at her. Her finger, ghosting just inside Monroe’s entrance, twitched once before she pushed it in deeper.

“Like that,” Monroe guided her. “Just like that.”

And Blake obliged eagerly, developing a rhythm, sitting up higher on her knees to get a better angle.

Monroe’s breath caught in her throat when she felt a second finger join the first one, and Blake’s lips parted as she let out her own sound of, well, something akin to wonder.

“You feel so good,” Blake informed Monroe in a whisper, which, god, if only Blake could feel this from her perspective.