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But Reid’s fingers chased away the discomfort, replacing it with a reckless kind of desire that left me breathless. She shoved the short length of my dress up to my hips, her fingers raking up my thighs and I turned molten at her touch. I flipped between consciousness and downright disbelief that her hands threatened to mark up my inner thighs.
Reid’s fingerprints scorched into my skin. I almost wished she would leave physical marks. Just as proof she’d been there.
Proof that I wasn’t hallucinating any of it.
Too easily, her fingers hooked into the lace of my underwear and pulled. I lifted my hips, the incessant throb between my thighs too much to ignore.
I just needed…
“Off,” I groaned, yanking uselessly at the collar of her black silk shirt. She hummed around my nipple, her tongue laving over it with a mean little flick.
“I’m busy,” she said, and in the light from the street lamps outside, I could see the wild need in her eyes. “Sit tight.”
She pressed a line of hot, wet kisses across my chest, her teeth teasing my neglected nipple while her fingertips brushed along my slit.
“Oh!”
A brand new wave of pleasure rippled through my body as her fingers teased the entrance of my vagina, dipping in and out while she sucked dark splotches into my breast.
“Reid, holy shit,” I managed to grit out, each of my senses dominated by the woman in front of me. My fingers quivered as they struggled to unbutton her shirt, the process slow and frustrating.
But all the frustration evaporated when her fingers pumped inside me, each drag long and lazy. With a gentle push, she lay me down on my back, kissing her way back up to my lips. I finally popped the last button on her shirt, almost tearing it off her shoulders.
“So eager,” she breathed, like she didn’t have me writhing on her fingers. “You feel so good.”
Did I? I wondered. Reid’s fingers played me like she’d spent years learning exactly how to pluck at my strings, wringing every chord from my throat, and I was delirious before my common sense could catch up.
I was lost to her.
Chapter 22
Blame It On The High
REID
Iwassurethat,at any moment, my alarm would haul me out of this dream.
Because that’s what this was: a dream.
Mia’s long, raven curls spread out on the pillow like liquid onyx, clumps of sand hardening her curls into sweet spirals. Her hands clawed at my skin, and I thanked past Reid for deciding against wearing a bra. Her fingers curved around my tits, her thumbs rolling over my nipples while I slipped another finger inside her clenching vagina.
“You’re still wearing too much,” she gasped, her back arching a little when the pad of my index finger brushed a particular spot inside her.
“I’m enjoying myself.” I giggled. And I was.
My knee pinned her thighs apart, my palm so, so slick with her arousal that my mouth watered.
But she was close. The walls of her vagina fluttered around my fingers, her hips bucking eagerly for the tiniest bit of friction against her clit. I moved my thumb to glide teasingly over her clit, drinking up the heavenly little noises she made.
Frustrated, desperate, beautiful.
My body easily responded to hers, as if it had been waiting to do so for years. And maybe it had, maybeIhad, but Mia’s fingers popped the button on my pants and any logical train of thought blinked out of existence.
She wedged her fingers between the fabric and my skin, her legs hooked around the back of my knees as if she was scared I’d disappear. Her thighs twitched and she gasped.
“Wait!” she cried, her free hand wrapped around the hand I’d nestled between her thighs.
“Are you okay?” I asked, breathing hard, kissing the side of her mouth. “Do you wanna stop?”
