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My hand falls to the space between us and smooths along her hip. She delicately shivers as my fingers trace her thigh.
“What about you?” I murmur, toying with her skirt in the darkening room. “You want to fuck me, baby doll?”
“Right now I want to kick you,” she gets out between clenched teeth. “Keep your hands to yourself. There are nosy-ass people everywhere.”
“They’re all watching the movie, not us.” Focusing on the screen, I keep my expression neutral as I ease my hand under her skirt. Her skin is smooth and warm. The movie starts in a blast of music and the familiar old logo as I trace over her knee and up her soft thigh. “And that wasn’t a no.”
She makes a cute growl in the back of her throat, but her legs part just enough to give me room to delve between them. Her inner thighs are hot and damp, and my cock twitches.
The storyline rolls along; my touch roams. Libby remains utterly still, but I can practically feel the tension vibrating within her. When the tip of my finger skims the crease where her thigh meets her hip, her breath catches, legs parting wider.
“Have I mentioned how much I appreciate this new skirt-filled wardrobe?” I whisper, drawing circles along her skin.
“Brenna’s idea.” Her hips shift just a bit, following my touch. “Right now I’m missing my shorts.”
I smile, my eyes on the screen, my fingers drifting to the edge of her panties. “Later, you can put them on and we’ll play Fuck the Farmer’s Daughter.”
She stifles a laugh, which turns to a strangled whimper when I pluck her panties. Her voice goes breathy. “I’m trying to watch the damn movie. I’m not interested in fooling around.” She moves a tiny fraction, nudging against my finger.
In the dark, I grin, heat and lust pulling my abs tight. “I’m sorry,” I say, not sorry at all. “But I don’t believe you. I’m gonna have to check.”
“Killi—oh, hell.”
I’m thinking the same as my finger slides over slick, swollen skin. And it makes me feel like a fucking god. Because I did that to her. I’m the one who gets her this wet. The one she needs. I’m the one she’s panting for right now, moving against my touch with a tiny whimper.
I’ll make it better. It’s my job now. My privilege. And I’ll be damned if anyone tries to take that away.
Libby
I really should stop Killian. We’re playing with fire, fooling around in so many public places. A reporter just implied that I whored myself to him. And here he is fingering me in a movie theater.
I should protest, but the man is a damn musician; he plays my body like a master, never missing a beat. I can’t resist that. I don’t want to, not when each sure, sly touch sends heat and pleasure shimmering over my skin. Not when I can almost feel him holding in a grin, his shoulder pressed against mine, his eyes on the screen as he oh-so-gently circles my clit.
He plunges a finger into me, and it’s all I can do not to moan and part my thighs wide, ride his hand. I struggle to keep still, keep my eyes on the fire fight playing out in some distant galaxy.
God, he’s too good. Every time he pushes in, his finger crooks, hitting a spot that has me biting my lip. I can feel myself getting wetter, my flesh plumping. Beneath the sound effects and music of the movie, I can hear the sounds of him working me—wet and deep, slow and steady torture.
My head falls back against the seat, my breath coming in sharp bursts. Above the waist, I’m still, my hand only shaking a bit as I take a bite of caramel corn, pretending all is normal. But below, my thighs part wider—the simple act illicit and ratcheting up the tension in me—my hips make small movements, pushing each thrust of his finger in deeper.
Another whimper escapes me. Killian leans in, his lips close to my ear. “Shh…I’m trying to watch the movie.”
The rat bastard gives my clit a flick with the tip of his thumb. I twitch, and he plunges two fingers in deep. My lids flutter, my heart pounding. I’m going to kill him. Soon.
“Mmm…” he says, his thumb continuing to fondle me. “I love this part. Such a sweet movie.”
My breaths are coming fast and light. Heat swarms my body. The fact that someone might see, that we could get caught, intensifies everything.
Maybe I should be ashamed of that, but I can’t be. Not when an orgasm is stealing over me, creeping like a hot hand over my thighs, down my back, along my breasts.
It catches and holds, taking my breath. I stiffen against the seat, practically vibrating.
Killian’s deep voice, barely a whisper in the dark, is at my ear. “This one is mine. Give me what’s mine, baby doll.” Teeth nip my lobe, his fingers pushing up into that spot. “Come.”
