Page 159 of The Right Kind of Wrong

But she needed to touch her, too.

All night, they’d been in close proximity. Holding hands. Blake resting her head on Monroe’s shoulder. Monroe had even fed Blake bites of the piece of cake she’d been eating.

And, really, she’d loved all of those moments.

But they also highlighted that it was never enough. Blake caused an insatiable need to lodge itself deep inside of Monroe.

She wanted. She craved. She yearned.

She needed.

And right now, what she needed specifically was to be able to run her hands across Blake’s exposed skin. To slide her fingers inside of Blake’s pussy, enveloping them in warmth and softness and wetness.

“Do you want to see the bottoms?” Blake asked, standing up fluidly on the bed.

There was no better view anywhere in the world, as far as Monroe was concerned.

She licked her lips. “Yes.”

Because Blake had decided to move at the speed of molasses, just to prolong the torture, she shimmied—or whatever the slower, more agonizing word for that was. Her feet flexed against the comforter for balance, and slowly, the view of a matching pair of underwear, with the same gorgeous, sheer lace patterns, came into view.

Monroe could feel her heartbeat in just about every part of her body. Rushing through her ears. Almost painfully, at this point, in her clit. Behind her rib cage, where her heart was threatening to thump right out of her chest.

“You’re beautiful, Blake,” Monroe said through her ragged breathing. Pushing herself higher against the pillows, it was easier to see the intricate patterns of the material. And what it was covering.

She was desperate for Blake to come closer. To drop back down on her knees and at least allow their legs to brush together. Anything to steady the out-of-control feeling rushing through her body.

She held her hands up, and blessedly, Blake allowed herself to be guided back down to the bed, in between Monroe’s thighs.

“Do you like it?” Blake asked, leaning forward so that her boobs were at eye level with Monroe.

“Like isn’t a strong enough word.”

“So you love it? The same way that you love me?” Blake questioned, dark eyes boring into Monroe when she looked up.

Monroe felt the weight of that look. Blake wanted to make it certain before she gave more of herself away. More of the incredible person she’d worked so hard to rebuild.

Monroe nodded resolutely. “I do love you. I meant what I said at the drive-in. I have never met anyone like you, and I don’t plan on letting you get away.”

She knew that it was a serious declaration. A promise, more than anything else.

And she meant it with every fiber of her being.

“I love you, too.” Blake held her hand over Monroe’s erratically beating heart, holding it there, steadying her.

Warmth flowed outward from Blake’s fingertips. Her touch was healing something in Monroe. A sadness that she hadn’t ever been able to name. Something that she’d only, even superficially, explored in her paintings.

But Blake was here, with her palm pressed against Monroe’s chest, telling her that she loved her.

And Monroe absolutely believed it.

The soft moment turned, and an electricity crackled through the air when Blake skimmed her hand down, across Monroe’s breasts, her own nipples straining, begging to be touched.

Lower, Blake’s dextrous hands traveled, across the soft swell of Monroe’s stomach before settling in between Monroe’s legs, causing her need to flare to life again.

“Please,” Monroe begged when Blake slid her finger up to her center, toying with her.

“You’re going to let me torture you,” Blake said before adding, “and then you’re going to let me take care of you.” She rubbed a slow, focused circle around Monroe’s clit. “Can you do that for me?”