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"Okay."
He leans down to press his lips to my neck. He pushes my dress higher. High enough to cause a scene. His fingers skim the edges of my thong. "You think you can handle that, baby?"
I have no fucking idea, but I want to find out.
22
Lacey
The entire meal, I think about Mal peeling my dress to my waist.
Binding my wrists to his headboard.
Spreading my legs and diving between them.
The entire drive home, he keeps his palm placed on my thigh. His thumb strokes my quad. His fingers stroke my inner thigh. They get closer and closer to where they need to be.
When he parks, and pulls his hand back, all that pent up anticipation pools in my core. God, I can't believe it's possible to be this achy. This needy. This desperate.
I'm not sure how I get out of the car and follow Mal into the house. Walking is nearly impossible with the way my sex is throbbing.
He presses his palm against my lower back and nods to the kitchen. "You want something to drink?"
"No."
"To eat?"
"Mal…"
"You want to come on my hand?"
My yes is more groan than word.
Mal's smile is somehow playful and demanding at once. It shouldn't be possible for him to make me feel like it's safe that I'm jumping into freefall, but he is.
His hand slides to my ass as he leads me up the stairs. With every step, my thighs beg for his hands.
Mal pulls my body into his as he leads me into the bedroom. We've been here before, but this feels different.
More intense.
More intimate.
It's in his posture. In his breath—it's steadier, heavier.
He pulls his hand back to his side to take a seat on the bed. He looks inviting just sitting there, one palm planted at his side, his posture strong and confident.
His deep blue eyes fix on mine. "Come here."
I take a seat on the bed next to him.
Mal gives me a long, slow once-over as he drags his fingertips up my thigh. He gets higher, higher, there-
Fuck.
His fingers brush my clit, over my panties.
Oh.
