Page 48 of Eye Candy

“Not yet,” he said, continuing to work his fingers in and out of my body. I wanted to argue, to brat, but he changed his pace, pushing into me slowly and dragging his fingers almost right out before pistoning back into me with short, hard thrusts.

Chase worked my body like he had some kind of user’s manual that even I didn’t have all the chapters to. For a split second I was embarrassed to hear the loud sounds my wetness was making as he drew his fingers from my body then pushed his way back inside, but I squashed that feeling. Vaginas made lubricant when aroused—normal, good, important lubricant. There was nothing shameful about that.

“I’m dripping for you,” I told him, reclaiming my power.

“I know,” he said in his hoarse voice, which destroyed any lingering doubt. “It’s beautiful.”

Dear Dolly.Chase the square was intriguing. Chase the horndog might kill me.

CHASE

The sight of her,bent over like this, arching her back for me, would be forever burned in my brain. She was a knockout.

When our eyes met in the mirror, the need I saw there made me even harder. Blood throbbed through my cock, demanding the feel of her. Some base part of my brain had known it would be like this between us. I looked back to the place her body hungrily welcomed my fingers.

Floss—Caroline!—whimpered again, and the sound was a tug on a marionette string that led straight to my cock. Or something. I was a writer, but disjointed words were tumbling around my head in no particular order:Hot. Brat. Need.

She wanted me, and that knowledge was heady, addictive.

As if I’d cued her, she deepened the rocking of her hips, searching for more. I reached around and began strumming her clit with my other hand. Her wetness was incredibly satisfying. But I couldn’t let myself get distracted; I had to make her come.

When we’d met, she’d assumed that because I’d blushed at her coarse mouth, I could never satisfy her. But I’d paid attention to everything she’d said, every clue she’d ever given me, and now, when she was naked and needy in my arms, I was going to make her feel that misjudgment. I curled my fingers inside her, keeping up the relentless stroking of her clit with my other hand. She writhed into the cradle of my lap, and I gritted my teeth as her ass ground over my cock. There was no way to angle my hips away; I just had to get her there first.Quickly, before she killed me.

“You can take it Caroline.” It was both a promise and an instruction.

My fingers inside her found the place I’d been searching for, and as the pads of my curling fingers pressed into that spot she let out a desperate keening noise that shot straight to my balls. Her body suddenly clenched tight, and I grunted as her plush walls clenched my fingers. The sink and I were all that was holding her up now. I didn’t stop my movement, I gave her clit the most I could.

“Yes, Floss.” I gritted out. “Let go.”

Her clit seemed to swell as her whole pussy shuddered around my fingers. Then all the tension left her body and she went limp with one long, guttural exhale. As her arms buckled over the sink, I grabbed her waist and clutched her to me, waiting while she caught her breath. She took her time coming back to herself and when her eyes met mine in the mirror, I knew neither of us recognized our reflections. I had a predatory look of satisfaction on myface, and she was deeply flushed—which was a fitting full circle, seeing as the idea of making her orgasm like this had first seeded in my brain when she’d teasedmefor blushing.

With a wince, she lowered her knee from the sink.

“Are you OK?”

She nodded, not ready for words yet.

Despite the painful erection under my robe, I felt smug. She was never going to look at me with that gentle, pitying look again.

I shouldn’t have been so pleased by that—it suited me that most people thought of me as a prude. It helped me distance myself from Dad. But for this woman to believe that didn’t work for me at all, and I was willing to do anything to prove her wrong.

For that reason, I made sure I had her full attention in the mirror as I brought my fingers to my mouth and tasted the evidence of her orgasm.

When her mouth fell open, I hid my grin.

Floss—Caroline—pushed out of my arms and turned to reach for the knot of my robe.

I stepped back quickly. If she so much as looked at my dick, I might paint the walls.

Like the brat she was, she pouted. “It’s your turn.” She reached again, but I intercepted her hands.

“It’s not chess, Floss. There aren’t turns.”

She tipped her head, studying me. I didn’t know what she was looking for, but eventually her expression cleared, proving I’d made the right decision.

“Do you have any tea? Maybe Yorkshire? Or English breakfast?”

“Maybe some chamomile somewhere?”

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