Page 158 of The Right Kind of Wrong

And wasn’t it the one thing that had truly eluded them both for far too long?

Her words came easily then. “I love you, Blake. You are genuinely the best person I’ve ever known, and I’m so lucky that, for some insane reason, you seem just as crazy about me as I am about you.”

Blake’s inhale was audible, and Monroe jumped in, saying, “And I’m not expecting you to say it back. I know that we’ve been moving quickly. But there was so much I didn’t do with my mom and say to my mom, and I don’t want to make that mistake anymore. I wanted you to know because it’s how I feel.”

Cupping Monroe’s jaw, Blake looked at her, eyes brimming with her own unshed tears. “I’m going to kiss you right now, and you need to tell me no if you’re not okay with it happening here.”

Instead of answering with words, Monroe leaned forward, pressing their lips together. It was soft and sweet and a promise more than anything else.

There was a way Monroe had thought her life was going to go once she returned to Cypress Falls. Blake had changed everything about it.

And that type of love wasn’t going to be something that she’d ever hide.

“Blake,” Monroe groaned quietly, every molecule in her body screaming for relief.

She threw her arm over her face, trying not to focus on her aching clit.

Because Blake seemed intent on torturing her tonight.

She was on top of Monroe, running her fingers down Monroe’s thighs. They were already quivering with need, as Blake traced lazy patterns over her skin.

They’d gotten back from the drive-in less than an hour ago and had both tucked an already sleepy Maisie into bed.

Blake had been quick to undress Monroe. And when Monroe had tried to put on a pair of shorts and a T-shirt, she’d been led over to the bed instead, where Blake had laid her down gently and told her that she better not move a muscle or there would be consequences.

That had been five minutes ago, and Monroe wondered how long she was going to last.

Not long, judging from the strain in her thighs and the breathy little sounds Blake was making as she leisurely explored Monroe’s body.

“I want to see you.” Blake, above her, was still fully clothed. That was a problem for Monroe.

If she was going to be tortured, she’d really prefer to make a whole event out of it.

“I got you something for your birthday,” Blake said, pushing up onto her knees.

“It’s not technically my birthday anymore.” Monroe didn’t care about a gift. She was laser-focused on how Blake was running her fingers along her own stomach, just under the hem of her shirt.

“Are you sure?” Blake teased, a playful smile on her lips. “Because I’m wearing it.”

Monroe’s stomach bottomed out. “Let me see it. Please.”

“This is sort of fun. Being in charge,” Blake said, toying with her shirt. She pulled it upward gently to expose more of her toned stomach before she let it flutter back into place.

“You can be in charge any time you want.” And Monroe meant it, too. Even if it was slowly killing her.

Heat skittered down Monroe’s spine when Blake finally—finally!—pulled off her shirt, exposing a turquoise lace bra. It was sheer, so that Monroe could see Blake’s hard nipples, already puckered and straining against the light fabric.

“Baby,” Monroe husked out, sitting up on her elbows. “You need to let me touch you.”

It was art. Blake was art.

And Monroe didn’t know if she’d ever been quite so turned on before, her eyes darting wherever Blake was gently running her fingers. Along the top of her rib cage. Over her nipples, which Monroe desperately wanted to drag into her mouth and flick and suck and roll across her tongue.

There was an ache expanding from her pussy that was making it hard for her to think. To remember what she’d already agreed to before she’d understood the torture Blake was going to put her through.

She ran a hand up Blake’s hip and had it summarily slapped away. Blake looked down at her. “You’re watching me, Monroe. I thought you liked that?”

“I do,” Monroe breathed, meaning it. She loved watching Blake.