Page 104 of In Your Wake

Steamy with a side of fuck, his words light up my insides like the Fourth of July.

“I hate when you call me Toots,” I say.

A wide smile stretches across his face, and he winks. “Something tells me you like it when I’m a little bit of a prick.”

I frown, shaking my head. “No, I don’t.”

I do. I so fucking do.

Distracted by his soft chuckle, I’m barely aware of his hand slipping down from my chin to my throat. His grip isn’t tight, but it’s enough that when I swallow, my throat rubs against his palm. Back and forth, his thumb traces along the bottom of my jaw, forcing me to squeeze my thighs together.

He must notice the shift, because he tilts his head. “Are you sure you don’t?”

“I hate you.”

His smile drops and he nods once. “That’s nice to hear.”

He relaxes his hold as if giving up, but the momentary release has me lunging at him.

In a nanosecond, his hands are beneath my ass, scooping me up, then he throws me onto the bed. He hurries to cover me with his body, his hard cock pressing deliciously against my core, teasing my need that’s near boiling point.

His lips land on my throat, traveling down and over my chest, where he sucks a nipple into his mouth through my bathing suit.

From beneath his hooded gaze, he glances up, silently asking if it’s all right. Needing him to continue, I push down on his head, because if he stops, doubts will come screaming in. And the last thing I need is a reminder of how wrong this is, or how badly this will complicate our lives. What I need is to live in blissful ignorance and have Mitchell destroy my body, taking as many bites or kisses as he wants.

I need him. I need this.

Using his teeth, he pulls my top down, exposing my breast, then circles my nipple with his tongue, slowly at first, before nipping down lightly. The hunger in his dark, green gaze is as clear as if he’d spoken the words aloud.

“Harder,” I answer, surprised by the urgency in my voice.

That smart-ass smirk appears, and Mitch bites down. The small twinge of pain mixed with pleasure is enough to make my hips lift off the bed. He does it a few more times before moving to my second breast, and repeating, circling my sensitive flesh with his mouth.

The sight of him feasting on my body is so unbelievable it doesn’t feel real. But I need more and rub my pussy against his thigh, desperate for release. He keeps sucking on me, biting, twisting, bringing his hand to the apex of my thighs, sliding my bathing suit bottom aside and running his fingers along my slick core.

I’ve imagined this happening once or twice. Okay, maybe more than that. And every time, I wondered how I’d feel if it were to happen in real life. Would it be awkward? Uncomfortable? Would I giggle and get embarrassed? Never in a million years did I expect to react this way. Even what happened in the woods didn’t come close to this.

There’s a burning, spiraling in my head and in my body. Fiery heat pulses through my veins, and my skin is cold, yet electrified at the same time.

And when Mitch pushes his thick fingers into me, circling my clit with his thumb, bringing me to the best orgasm I’ve ever had, I know I’m screwed.

There’s no way I can turn back now.

Mitch

I try not to focus too much on the fact that I’m sucking on Maxine Nolan’s nipples. Or that she keeps rubbing her pussy against my crotch, as if trying to tear off my bathing suit.

Instead, I focus my attention on her taste, on how delicious her skin is, like some sort of rare wine. On how her body molds beneath my touch, and her nipples call out for my tongue. How she bites down on her lip, running her fingers through my hair, guiding me with her hands.

She keeps her eyes open the entire time, watching me, too, as if she’s taking in every single second of this, like she can’t believe this is happening between us—again—either.

Even with her dripping wet and riding my fingers like she’s chasing her orgasm, something’s missing. I want to move down, to pair my tongue with my fingers, but each time I make a move to, she tugs on my hair, keeping me above her waist. It’s like a need for control.

Is it because my going down on her would mean something greater? Like opening a door neither of us is quite ready to walk through. Or maybe I’m overthinking things.

She tightens around my fingers and her hips lift off the bed, and suddenly I’m wondering if this isn’t so much about sex, but more about her… using me.

I shouldn’t mind, after all, this is just about sex, right?