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“I thought you were going to do this at dinner.”
“Did you want me to?” I murmur, running my finger along the lacy edge of her underwear.
“No.”
There’s no confidence in the syllable, and I call her out on it.
“Liar,” I say before dropping my hand and stepping back.
Sutton surprises me by spinning around and moving forward, closing the physical distance between us once again. “Do you think there are cameras in here?” She grips my shirt as she asks, so her cleavage is pressed against my chest.
I smirk. “Why?”
She doesn’t answer. She kisses me. Soft and teasing at first. Slow and sensual. Her tongue traces a path across my bottom lip, followed by the gentle tug of her teeth and a warm imprint.
We’re at a slow simmer. This is afirst datekiss. Aget to know youkiss. Afeeling things outkiss.
This is aproceed with cautionmoment. Athink about what you’re doingdecision.
The girl I’m kissing isSutton Everett, and that’s a name that meant something to me long before it meant anything to a large percentage of the global population.
Fame has nothing to do with the way I’m kissing her.
I’m kissing the girl who told me I was awfully confident to be wearing a Yankees cap thousands of miles from New York City. Who made me a CD of favorite songs after my Grams died. Who is the only person who knows my father isn’t dead, but alive and well, albeit serving a fifteen-year sentence at a medium-security prison in Arkansas.
She’s the girl I can’t forget, even when I’ve tried to.
The temperature rises between us. Rather than simmer, we’re starting to bubble into a boil.
My hand returns to its favorite spot on her thigh—at the very top of the high slit. Sutton gasps when I slide higher, rubbing her through the soaked lace of her underwear.
My mouth leaves hers as I ghost my lips along her jawline and pause at her ear. “Is this what you want, baby? Were you imagining my hand between your legs at dinner?”
“Yes.” The word is an exhale, slipping out between choppy breaths.
Even if my fingers weren’t coated with evidence of her desire, I’d know how much this is affecting her.
I yank the scrap of lace to the side with a sharp tug, so I’m pressing directly against her entrance. “Fuck. You’re so wet.”
Her legs widen as I slide my hand between them, and she grinds against my fingers as she tries to force them inside. I slip one finger in and then two, my jaw tightening as I feel her clench around me.
Sutton moans my name, and the slow, steady rhythm I was planning on teasing her with turns rapid and desperate. She rocks against my palm and tilts her head back, closing her eyes. I lean down and press my mouth against the elegant column of her neck, grazing the soft skin with my teeth as I pump my fingers faster.
I feel her start to pulsate around my fingers and move my lips back to hers, giving her a dirty, open-mouthed kiss that’s a tangle of teeth and tongues until she’s no longer pulsing around me.
My fingers slip out, but I don’t step away. I stare down at her as she looks up with lidded eyes, pouty lips, and mussed hair—all thanks to me. I didn’t intend to finger her on a fancy-looking Ferris wheel, yet here we are. Based on Sutton’s satisfied, sated expression, she didn’t mind.
“You need to work on being quieter, if you want me to do that to you at dinner,” I tell her before sliding my hand out from under her dress and licking my fingers clean.
Her eyes widen with shock. In response to my words or my actions, or maybe both. I’ve never had a sexual relationship with someone I considered a friend, completely separate from the physical or romantic.
Being with Sutton draws a bolder, more adventurous side out of me. I trust her. I also want to surprise her. Pleasure her. It’s like that feeling when you’re anxiously waiting for someone to open the perfect gift you got them. You’re not focused on what you’ll receive in exchange or how much you spent on it. You’re fully focused on their excitement and their excitement alone.
I step back, giving her a chance to adjust the wrinkles in her dress. I didn’t pull it up the way I’d wanted to, letting the green silk cover everything in case there are cameras in here or someone on the Thames below has binoculars.
We’re past the peak of the ride, about halfway back toward the ground.
“I was worried about you seeing Ellie again,” Sutton admits. “She still cares about you, Teddy. A lot.”
