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“You were really kissing me,” I point out since, well, you can’t fuck semantics.
He runs a finger over my lower lip possessively. “I was. It’s important that our affection seems real,” he says, and there’s a wink in his voice.
“Are you going to kiss me like that in front of our customers?”
“No. But no one will doubt I do.”
I flash back to Sebastian’s eyes on me the other day. To the jealousy I saw flame in them. “No one does.”
“But there’s a loophole in your purse, baby. I think we should use it,” he says, then nuzzles my neck, kissing me savagely, inhaling me, traveling to my earlobe. “Let me.”
It’s utter desperation in his tone.
And between my thighs.
Who am I to argue? I’m a little helpless to this man today. But then, it’s not only today. It’s been this way the last few weeks. “Do it now,” I urge.
In no time, I’m fishing around in my purse, swiping past makeup and tampons, sunglasses and energy bars, hair clips and hand sanitizer, then finding the little faux lipstick tube.
He’s all determination, the man in the movie tasked with breaking into the vault in less than five minutes. With a feral sort of focus, he tugs up my skirt, turns on the vibe to its lowest setting, then rubs it on the outside of my panties.
“I hate that you were so wet, so turned on, so needy,” he says, stroking me with the toy.
I suck in a breath. My thighs tighten. “I was.”
“Makes me so fucking sad when you’re so wet and I’m not fixing that problem for you.” His voice is gritty, needy too.
The toy buzzes, a low hum as he coasts it across my soaked panties, teasing me from the outside.
I’m so aroused already that I barely have any flirt left in me. I just lean my head back against the shelves. “Please,” I pant out.
His smile is too pleased. His hand is too skilled. “Please what, baby?”
“Please make me come,” I whimper.
“I’m working on it,” he says, his grin deepening. This man loves to play. He’s sliding the toy slowly in a maddening circle over the outline of my aching clit.
I moan in agony. “Work harder,” I demand.
A sensual laugh. Another tantalizing circle. A lingering glide.
I grab his shirt. “Gage!”
He glances down at me, tsking. “I thought we said no touching?”
“Fuck that loophole. You kissed me senseless. That was touching,” I say.
He dips his face to my neck again. “You’re fucking sexy when you’re horny, Elodie. You know that? You’re so fucking sexy when you need to get off,” he says, stroking me a little faster now, then turning up the vibration a level.
I gasp. Then shudder. “Yes. Please. God.”
“Mmm. That’s what I want to hear,” he says. Then he pulls back from my neck, tugs down my panties, and slides his hand inside. His fingers don’t touch me. He’s really sticking to his rules as he gives me the relief I seek.
He presses the buzzing vibrator to my aching bundle of nerves.
I grip his shirt harder, my legs like jelly, my stomach flipping. I’m moaning, sighing, melting into him.
Soon, it’s only the pulse of pleasure, the heat of my skin, the gravel of his words—words like yes, so fucking sexy, so hot, love it when you lose control.
