Page 160 of The Right Kind of Wrong

Monroe wheezed out a tremulous breath, her head falling back against the pillows. But still, she kept her eyes on Blake. “Okay,” she agreed.

“Good,” Blake murmured before dragging her fingers, the ones just toying with Monroe, into her own mouth and sucking on them.

She felt her own eyes widen, taking Blake in.

She was taking her time, licking and sucking at her fingers, tasting every drop of Monroe that covered them.

Once she was certain that she’d gotten it all, Blake used the same hand to run down her own body. Toying with her nipples. Scratching down her own stomach.

Monroe watched, mesmerized, until finally, Blake’s hand disappeared under the flimsy band of her underwear. Monroe could see her fingers through the sheer fabric, pushing against her center.

“Don’t take your eyes off of me, Monroe,” Blake directed, and Monroe’s gaze flicked up to her face.

It was flushed and so fucking perfect that all Monroe could do was stare. It was an easy promise to make. “I won’t. Wherever you want them.”

Monroe was doing a decent job of keeping it together until Blake sank down on two of her fingers and began working her hips in slow, methodical circles.

Monroe moaned into the room, her fingers fisting against the comforter to stop from touching herself. Or touching Blake.

The ache in her cunt was so fucking heady. So overwhelming.

And she knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that Blake was going to deliver on her promise to take care of Monroe.

In every possible way.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

Now that school had started again, Blake’s dance schedule was changing. The roll into September brought competitions and more structured classes and recitals for the fall and spring sessions.

Honestly, Blake was looking forward to it. And she loved that Holland was giving her more responsibility with the older students.

It meant something, that she’d proven herself. Holland took the education of her dancers extremely seriously, and Blake knew that it wasn’t an offer that Holland would have made just to be nice.

So when she’d asked if Blake had wanted to take over one of her more advanced classes, she’d gotten the same kind of rush that came whenever she’d felt the thrill of a job well done.

Because she was far more than Noah Duvall’s ex-wife.

She knew that now.

On Tuesdays and Thursdays she’d teach longer days, but she’d have Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays free, which would leave more time to spend with Monroe and Maisie.

And that was a relief because her days were filled with so much more than work now.

It was Wednesday, and Grace, plus her kids, were coming over for a playdate at Monroe’s.

She was just wrapping up a few things at Gumby’s before she headed home to meet everyone.

Shockingly, it had been Grace’s idea. As it turned out, Chance, her middle child, and Maisie were in the same kindergarten class.

That had been an interesting discovery on Monday, when, at Maisie’s request, both Blake and Monroe had dropped her off for her first day of school.

Maisie had proudly given them both hugs before she’d skipped through the entrance of the two-story, brick building, braver than Blake had probably been when she was thrust from the nest as a child.

But, she knew from experience, stability could make you feel like anything was possible.

She and Maisie both had that now.

Maybe that was why the idea of her and Grace finding their way back to one another felt a lot safer than it had when they’d talked last week.