After a shaky inhale, I manage. “You can find vanilla on the pink shelf.” Never mind that I already told her that or that a very sexy man is currently teasing me under the counter while a complete stranger stands a few feet away.
But the woman doesn’t notice or doesn’t care, and thank God because I can hardly concentrate on anything other the heat of Benji’s hand. He explores over my underwear, avoiding my clit. It’s driving me mad with anticipation.
I exhale shakily and slowly press into his touch.
“How much?” she demands.
And, wow, she’s really just going to stand here and treat me like a dog, huh?
Meanwhile, I’m at Benji’s mercy, unable to plead for more, not with someone here.
“Oh, uh …”Think. Candles. Vanilla. Right.“Those are twenty-eight each.”
My senses are pulled taut, buzzing with the need for more, begging to come.
My pussy is pulsing with it.
And just when I think I can’t take any more, he slides his fingers under the cotton and finally, blissfully touches me.
I gasp, then quickly cough to cover it, falling to my elbows on the counter as my bones melt with pleasure.
Fuck, it’s good.
The woman—and, fuck, she’sstill here—clicks her tongue, typing rapid-fire into her phone. I could vanish into thin air right now, and I bet she wouldn’t even notice.
“That’s ridiculous. I can get five candles for that price.”
Then leave,I want to scream.
Benji moves frustratingly slowly, dragging out every swipe and curl of his fingers, moving from my clit to my pussy as he pleases and taking his time doing it. He spreads my wetness as he goes, and, God, I must be dripping down his fingers by now; I’m so pent up.
Hidden behind the counter, my hips begin to rock forward, every part of me aching for more.
“Sorry,” I squeak.
The thrill of being caught, being seen, only makes it hotter. Anyone walking by can look in, might see my blush, and know what he’s doing to me. I squeeze around his fingers and just make out his exhale under the tone of the woman’s voice.
I need to get her out of here. Ineedto come.
“I can see you’re no help,” she says, slamming the candle down and—at last!—leaving.
Immediately, I run to the door and lock it behind her, my pulse tattooing Benji’s name against my throat.
Fuck.
“I think you should go,” I pant against the door.
“I think you should let me finish.”
He hasn’t moved from the floor, and when I round the counter, I’m almost undone. He’s hard. The heel of his hand is pressed against where he’s tenting his jeans, and I don’t know if he’s trying to hold it off or release some of the pressure. Maybe both.
I know how he feels.
“Come back here, Paige.”
He beckons me with his fingers, and I can’t help it; I need this. I don’t even care that it’s the middle of the day. People are walking past. They can’t see him, but they can see me. So, why does that make me want to do it more?
I plant my feet back on either side of him.
