Page 70 of Trick or Tease

“Wet,” he whispered against my lips.

“Have been.”

He pushed them aside and traced one fingertip down my slit. I groaned in desperate need for him to ease the ache he’d left me with. He slipped one finger inside me and then another. Pleasure swam through my veins. My head went back and my nails scored down his biceps.

“Yes,” I murmured.

“So wet,” he whispered. “Damn, girl.”

I could barely think straight as his fingers moved inside me, stroking in just the right way to make my hips buck against his hand. Everything about this felt perfect and insane at the same time.

“More,” I whispered, tugging at his boxers. “I need more of you.”

“Not yet,” he murmured. “I want to watch you come apart.”

That was going to happen a lot faster than he probably expected. It had been too long. The orgasm was one stroke away.

And then he rubbed his thumb over my clit and I was a goner. I cried out, my hips bucking as he kept rubbing that sensitive bundle of nerves.

When he hooked his fingers in the waistband of my panties, I lifted my hips to help him slide them down my legs.

“Do you have—” I started to ask, but he was already reaching for his wallet, pulling out a small foil packet.

“Thank God,” I breathed, watching him tear it open with shaking fingers.

“I’ve been carrying this around like a hopeful teenager,” he admitted with a self-deprecating laugh. “Ever since that night on my balcony.”

The confession sent heat flooding through me. He’d been thinking about this, planning for it, wanting it as much as I had.

When he settled between my thighs, I was more than ready for him. The first touch of him against me made us both groan, and then he was pushing inside, filling me completely.

“Fuck,” he gasped, his forehead pressed against mine. “You feel incredible.”

I couldn’t form words, could only hold on to his shoulders as he began to move. There was nothing gentle or slow about it. We were both too wound up, too desperate. It was urgent and raw and exactly what I needed. It had been nearly a week of foreplay. I felt ready to combust.

The old house creaked around us as we moved together, but I barely heard it over the sound of our breathing, the soft moans I couldn’t hold back. Garrett’s mouth found my neck, my collarbone, leaving a trail of fire wherever he touched.

“More,” I whispered, my nails digging into his back. “Please, more.”

He obliged, changing the angle until I saw stars behind my closed eyelids. I was climbing toward something bright and overwhelming, my whole body tensing with the approach of release.

“That’s it,” he murmured against my ear, his voice strained. “Let go, Sabrina. Let me feel you.”

His words pushed me over the edge. I came apart in his arms with a cry that echoed through the empty house. He followed moments later, his body shuddering against mine as he buried his face in my neck.

We lay there afterward, breathing hard and tangled together on our pile of clothes. The dust motes continued their lazy dance in the afternoon light.

“I really hope Samuel Hogan isn’t lurking,” I said with a laugh.

“Are ghosts voyeurs?” he asked, kissing the side of my neck and then up to my mouth.

“I think we gave them a show.”

“A short one. But next time, I promise I will last a lot longer. You just had me too worked up. I’ve had a case of blue balls for days.”

“Well, you could have had me last night,” I teased. “You left me high and dry.”

He chuckled. “Probably one of the dumbest things I’ve ever done.”