Page 71 of Mr. Wicked

He was rubbing my clit and I was doing all I could to hold on, my fingers suddenly digging into his shoulders, my legs spreading on their own.

My back grinding against the wall behind me.

“If I knew you were this wet, I would have fingered you over dinner and eaten you instead of that fucking pasta.”

I could no longer concentrate on his words.

I heard them.

They hit my ears.

His breath traveled through my body.

But I couldn’t respond.

The only noises I could make were tiny moans.

Especially as his thumb stayed on my clit and his hand turned, so his pointer and middle finger were rubbing my entrance. Dragging the wetness around in a circle.

I swallowed.

My mouth dry and scratchy.

“Grayson . . .”

“I know. I can feel how much you want it. I’ve been fucking dreaming about how tight you are.” His lips were now in front of mine. “I remember. I haven’t been able to forget.”

And just like that, he was sliding into me.

“Goddamn it, Jovana.” He rested his forehead against mine while he matched my sounds. “I can even hear how wet you are.”

He wasn’t going slow.

He wasn’t savoring the moment.

He was pushing his thumb against my clit, moving back and forth, like he was swiping the screen of his phone, and at the same time two of his fingers plunged in and out of me.

“I can feel you getting close.”

My fingers tightened on his shoulders, holding him as though I were about to fall.

But he wouldn’t let me.

Neither would this wall.

They were both holding me, sandwiching me.

“Fuuuck,” I cried, losing air.

Along with my ability to hold off this orgasm.

Things were building.

Rising.

It had been too long since I’d felt anything like this, and he was far too good.

Too consuming.

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