Page 40 of Blue Moon Love

My breath caught in my throat. Was he actually saying what I thought he was saying? Before I could wrap my head around the offer, he scooted up on the pillow, lifted his hands and formed an O with one hand and then jabbed his finger in it with another.

Right. He meant show me, not show me.

“Most guys do this; what they need to do is the Spiderman.”

“The Spiderman?” I breathed.

“Yeah, see.” He flipped his hand so his palm was facing up. “You make your hand like you're shooting a web and keep your forefinger and pinky stretched out straight, and you take your middle and ring finger and push them inside just about an inch.”

I watched as he demonstrated on the O of his left hand.

“Then you curl the tips of your fingers up and tap against the anterior wall until you find the G-spot. And that leaves your thumb free to tease the clit.”

The ache between my legs was increasing by the second. I watched his fingers flex as his thumb made a rubbing motion. I imagined him doing that to me. His fingers inside of me. His thumb brushing over my…

“That’s the right way,” he stated flatly before lying back down and turning over, so his back was to me. “Sweet dreams, pretty girl.”

I lay there, unable to think, move, or even breathe. I was dumbstruck, gob-smacked, stunned, and very turned on by what had just transpired. Hormones were rushing through me like white-water rapids. Bliss was swirling low in my belly, making me feel a desperation I’d never experienced before.

Did females get blue balls? Because if they did, I was pretty sure that’s what was happening to me.

Not knowing what to do, I rolled over, so I was facing the wall once again. After lying there trying to ignore it, the ache was so heavy in my core that I slid my hand between my legs just to put some pressure on the area. When I did, it felt good. Very good.

I’d only ever reached climax with my toy, but I was so close to it already that I wondered if I’d be able to achieve the same result with my hand. Slowly, careful not to make a sound or even disturb the mattress, I slipped my hand into my sweats and then panties and when my finger grazed my clit, I felt a burst of bliss explode in my center. Then I grazed it again, and that explosion continued.

My mouth opened in a silent gasp as I buried my face in my pillow, and I fisted the comforter with my hand that wasn’t between my legs in my pillow as I tried to be as quiet and still as humanly possible. The entire experience probably only lasted a few seconds, but when it ended, I felt exhausted and a little naughty. A lot naughty. I wondered if this was the first time Sam had gotten someone off without even touching them. I doubted it.

The longer I lay there, the more I was convinced that Sam must have known what had happened. He was the most perceptive person I knew. But he didn’t say anything, and I wasn’t going to ask. Instead, I just closed my eyes and drifted into the deepest sleep I’d had in a very long time.

18

SAM

“Mind yer own biscuits, and life’ll be gravy.” ~ Archie “Witty” Whitlock

I hadn’t been to the Tipsy Cow since before my accident and surgery. This might have been the longest stretch I’d gone without visiting the local watering hole. I usually stopped by several times a week. One visit was typically social, and the other two were while I was on duty and Kenna was working. I liked to make sure the idiots she was serving knew there was a police presence around.

Tonight, as I opened the door and hobbled inside, I instantly clocked three targets sidled up to the bar with their sights set on the sexy redhead behind it. All three men were staring at Kenna like she was a gazelle, and they were lions in the Savanna. I didn’t recognize any of the trio, which meant they were from out of town since I knew everyone in Wishing Well.

Since I didn’t know their names, I nicknamed them Curly, Larry, and Moe because they were as silly as the Stooges if they thought they were going to get somewhere with Kenna.

Larry wore his hat backward, which was fine if you were under twenty-five, at a barbeque, or working outside, but this man had gray in his beard. He was old enough to know better. He was probably hiding a bad hairline.

Next up was Curly, a six-foot-six beast of a man with a shaved head and neck tattoos.

And finally, Moe was rocking a bowl cut. In fairness, there weren’t a lot of men who could pull that particular look off, but he actually didn’t look as comical as he should have with the style. His strong jawline and jacked arms detracted from his shitty haircut.

All three subjects were drooling over Kenna like they were on death row, and she was their last meal. I’d been protective of her before I found out that she was a virgin. Since acquiring that knowledge, my protective instincts had increased significantly. Internally, I was growling and snarling as I limped past the trio of predators. Externally, I was giving them all the same death glare Kenna had given me at the festival.

When I sat down on an empty bar stool in front of Kenna, she was holding the soda gun, filling a glass. As soon as the amber liquid reached the top, she sat the pint of Coke in front of me.

If I was going to sit here and watch Larry, Moe, and Curly salivating over Kenna, I was going to need something stronger than a soda.

“Can I get a beer?”

“No,” she stated firmly.

“You’re not going to serve me?”

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