Page 57 of Gin and Bear It

His hand spans across my thigh, leaving tingles behind. Every man who’s touched me before has had soft hands, but his are rough from playing the bass. The slightest bit of friction makes me want to open my thighs and let his hand wander.

Another feather-soft kiss under my earlobe unlocks that door.

He lets out a small, appreciative sound and lets his hand wander up just a little. Just enough to make me throb. Would he really go for it? He’s managed to shut off my brain with just this little bit of contact. I don’t think I’d survive him actually touching me between my legs.

His lips trail toward my lips, which he brushes with his so lightly that it gives me chills everywhere. It’s so distracting that I let my thighs relax and his fingertips barely brush the fabric over my clit.

Yep, I’m barely going to survive this. His lips trail down my neck and he lightly bites down, pressing a little more firmly. I let out a soft moan and makes an intentional circle that makes my hips jerk.

His fingers move slowly, like he’s trying to give me a moment to back out, but I don’t want him to. I want him to slip my panties to the side and push a finger where I need it.

Then, a burst of laughter nearby brings me back to reality and I snap my thighs shut again. He extracts his hand from between them and gives me a little space.

“I need to pee,” I blurt, extracting myself from him as quickly but as naturally as I can.

“Okay,” he says, clearing his throat.

I slip out of the car as normally as I can, even though I’m wet and aching. How mortifying. We needed to show the PI that we’re married, not…all of that, even though they couldn’t see everything.

I head to the bathroom—some surprisingly well-maintained porta potties—and get ahold of myself. The five-minute warning chime brings me back to the car. I sit in my designated seat instead of smushed up against him. I’m too overstimulated being in this same car, much less being all over him.

“Can you put the popcorn between us again?” I ask as I settle back in.

“Why?” He plucks two kernels out of the tub.

“People might think…y’know.” I gesture vaguely at where the popcorn tub is sitting on his lap, my face and neck heating up.

Ash laughs and puts the popcorn between us. “That you’re giving me a hand job through a bunch of salty, buttery popcorn? I’d have to punch a hole through it wide enough to fit my dick, then get popcorn oil all over it. And the texture isn’t really conducive to getting jacked off.”

My face gets even hotter at the hole being wide enough—unfortunately, I have a general sense of that diameter because of our night cuddles—then I remember this conversation is ridiculous and focus on the moronic thread that my brain pulled out of nowhere.

“Obviously we’d empty it first. But we probably wouldn’t need this massive tub, then.”

“It has to fit the length of my dick, too.” He smirks and I roll my eyes, even though I walked right into that one. “You’re the one who had the idea. I haven’t chosen to get a hand job since high school. Not that I’ve turned them down, but I haven’t flat out asked for one.”

“What’s wrong with hand jobs?” I ask. My curiosity is going to kill me someday and hopefully that isn’t today.

“Nothing. It’s just that I prefer oral instead.” He puts the popcorn back in his lap. “Wouldn’t most people, regardless of whatever genitalia they have?”

I bite the inside of my cheek and look at the screen. I prefer fingers—every time an ex has tried to go down on me, it’s been either too much or too little stimulation. Even those toys that simulate oral don’t do it for me.

I throb between my thighs, like my pussy is trying to remind me that we have unfinished business with Ash’s hands.

But talking about sex with Ash is going to take me down an increasingly embarrassing path.

“Interesting,” he says when I don’t respond, drawing the word out.

Thankfully, the music starts up again, signaling for people to go back to their cars. My face is still hot and I can tell his mind is still on our conversation despite the movie starting up again.

“Very interesting,” he says again.

“Oh my god, forget I said anything about it,” I say. “Just pretend I didn’t start with the whole dick popcorn thing.”

He laughs, putting his arm across the back of the seat. His fingers lightly touch my shoulder, and it’s more than enough to distract me the rest of the movie.

SEVENTEEN

ASH