Page 145 of The Right Kind of Wrong

And Blake loved every fucking second of it.

Quickly, in case Monroe changed her mind, wanting to drag Blake’s torture out, she pushed a hand between her legs, her other arm and Monroe’s body holding her up.

She was so wet, she found, as her wrist knocked into Monroe’s hand, still fucking her. She could barely keep her fingers against her swollen clit given how sensitive it was and how slick everything between her legs had become.

“Come on, baby,” Monroe coaxed. “I know you can do it. Quietly, like you promised. Let me see you play with yourself.”

Blake moaned. The sound tore from the back of her throat, uninvited.

It wasn’t fair, the effect Monroe had on her. Blake couldn’t control how badly she wanted her. How good it made her feel to please Monroe. How everything between them was so heady, all the time.

Finally, she pressed three fingers flat against her clit and started rubbing hard, fast circles.

The sensation shot a jolt of heat from her spine down to her center, radiating outward.

Building.

Clawing.

Aching.

“Fuck,” she whimpered, biting down on her lip.

Monroe’s arms pulled her back into a standing position as her hand wrapped gently around Blake’s neck, holding their bodies close. Then, Monroe made eye contact with her in the mirror. “I want to watch you while you come.”

“Yes,” Blake panted. Monroe’s soft but insistent palm applied the perfect amount of pressure, ratcheting up the moment into something that had her⁠—

“I’m coming.” Her words were a whimper more than anything else, every ounce of energy in her body concentrated in her clit.

Blake lengthened against Monroe as she came, Monroe kissing her shoulder and her neck, watching Blake in the mirror as she continued to fuck Blake with her fingers and as Blake continued to rub forceful circles against her clit, dragging her orgasm out.

Finally, Blake let out a shuddering exhale, and she collapsed back against Monroe, who held her up, rubbing soothing lines down her arms. Slowly, gently, Monroe extricated her fingers, wiping them on a towel before she wrapped her arms around Blake.

Through it all, Monroe continued to place gentle kisses on the exposed skin that she could reach, telling her what a good job she’d done.

“Let’s get you dressed, and then we can cuddle in your bed for a little bit?” Monroe said, feeling the goose bumps that had erupted on Blake’s skin.

Blake lifted her arms so that Monroe could pull the T-shirt Blake had brought into the bathroom over her head. And then she’d had Blake place a hand on her shoulder to help her into her shorts.

It was so soft, so loving that Blake felt a catch in her throat.

She cleared it, only for Monroe to immediately ask, “Are you okay?”

“I’m okay,” she confirmed, nodding.

They exited the bathroom then, and Blake glanced at the far side of the surprisingly spacious room, where Maisie was still sleeping soundly.

Monroe held the covers open for Blake to slide in before following suit. “I’m sorry that I can’t sleep here with you.”

Blake’s heart fluttered with Monroe’s admission because . . . she felt the same. Probably more intensely than even Monroe did. So quickly, sleeping next to Monroe had become her normal, and the few nights that they had spent apart over the last couple of weeks had her tossing and turning in her bed at home, wallowing in a feeling of wrong that she couldn’t escape.

Last night, she’d managed to fall asleep, but only because Monroe had slept on the side of the bed that was closest to Blake, which meant she’d been able to gaze over at her until she’d finally drifted off.

“We’ll survive,” Blake said, trying to put on a brave face.

Monroe pulled Blake in closer. “Thank you for coming with us this weekend.”

Blake looked up, catching Monroe’s sleepy stare. “I love hanging out with you two.”