Page 9 of Emerald

She grinned, slow and wicked as she licked her lips. "Oh, I hope not. You promised me plans for that cock.”

Jesus Christ. I squeezed my eyes shut, fighting the urge to grab her and make every single one of those filthy promises a reality. "You're playing with fire, little girl."

"Maybe I like the heat." She took a step back, her hands going to the hem of her dress. For a second I thought she was going to strip right there, to offer me her naked body. But she just smoothed the fabric down. "I should go. Let you finish your shower in peace. And I have plans of my own now.”

"Fuck you are killing me," I growled, my fingers flexing with the need to touch her.

She laughed. “Does it make a difference if I told you my plans involve my fingers, my pussy, and a lot of hardcore fantasizing about a certain tattooed bodyguard."

My cock jerked hard, a bead of moisture appearing at the slit. "Fuck, Cara..."

She winked at me, already backing towards the door. "But I think I'll leave the real thing up to you. You know where to find me when you're ready to finally put that big dick to some use.”

And with that, she was gone, the door snicking shut behind her. I stared after her, my cock throbbing and my mind reeling. I knew I should be angry, or at least annoyed by her blatant cockteasing. But all I could feel was a bone-deep sense of anticipation, a savage thrill at the thought of the pleasure to come. Because Cara Maguire might be a virgin, but she was no blushing innocent. She was a woman who knew what she wanted, who wasn't afraid to go after it with both hands and a filthy mouth. And what she wanted, apparently, was me. In her bed, in her body, in all the ways a man could have a woman.

Chapter 7: Cara

Holy fuck.

I collapsed against my bedroom door, my panties absolutely drenched. I couldn't believe what I'd just seen, what I'd just done.

Finn Gallagher, naked and dripping wet, his hand wrapped around the thickest, hardest cock I'd ever seen in my admittedly limited experience. And the way he'd looked at me as he'd stroked himself, his eyes dark and hungry, like he wanted to devour me whole.

Jesus. I shivered, my nipples pebbling against the thin fabric of my dress. I was so turned on I could barely think straight, my clit throbbing in time with my frantic heartbeat.

I wanted him. Wanted him with a desperation that bordered on madness, a bone-deep ache that only his touch could soothe. I wanted his hands on me, his mouth, his cock splitting me open and claiming me as his own.

He'd let me watch him come, let me taste his cum off his fingers like the filthiest communion, but he wouldn't actually fuck me.

Not yet, anyway.

I bit my lip, my mind racing as I pushed off the door and stumbled towards my bed. I needed to up my game, to find a way to break through his control and make him mine. I wasn't above playing dirty, not when the prize was Finn Gallagher's cock buried deep in me. But short of ambushing him naked in his bed, I was running out of ideas.

I flopped onto my back with a frustrated huff, staring up at the gauzy canopy above me. I supposed I could always just corner him and shove my hand down his pants. But knowing Finn, he'd probably just grit his teeth and gently remove my fingers, all while lecturing me on the importance of taking things slow.

Ugh. Men.

I was just about to give up and take matters into my own hands (literally—my pussy was still throbbing insistently, begging for attention) when a sharp knock sounded at my door. I jolted upright, my heart leaping into my throat. There was only one person it could be at this time of night, and the thought of facing him so soon after our little shower interlude made my palms sweat and my mouth go dry.

But I wasn't a coward. And I sure as fuck wasn't going to hide from Finn like some blushing virgin. I mean, I was a virgin, technically. But the blushing ship had sailed a long time ago.

"Come in," I called out.

The door swung open and Finn stepped inside, looking good enough to eat in a pair of gray sweatpants and a tight black t-shirt that clung to his muscles like a second skin. His hair was still damp from the shower, curling slightly at the edges, and I had the sudden, wild urge to run my fingers through it.

"Cara," he said, his voice low and rough. He dragged a chair from my desk over to the foot of the bed, turning it around and straddling it backwards. The position made his sweatpants pull tight across his crotch, outlining the thick ridge of his cock, and I felt my mouth water.

Down, girl. Focus.

"You just don’t walk out on me like that little girl. You’ve tasted me, and now it’s my turn.”

Holy fuck.

“I want to see you," he said, his eyes hot and intent on my face. "All of you. Spread out on that bed like a fucking feast, your pussy bare and wet and ready for me."

Holy shit. I gaped at him, my brain short-circuiting at his blunt words. "I—what?"

"You heard me." He leaned forward, his forearms resting on the back of the chair. "I want to watch you touch yourself, Cara. Want to see you make yourself come, knowing I'm right here, getting off on every second of it."

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