Page 166 of Wicked Dreams

His eyes narrow. “Be specific.”

A shiver racks up my body.

His palm flattens against my stomach.

It’s a light touch, but my breath catches.

“This?”

I shake my head.

His hand goes down, slipping into my panties. He presses on my clit, and my lips part. His lips tip up in a smirk at my reaction. One finger slides inside me.

“This?”

I put my hands back on his shoulders, if only to make sure I remain upright.

“Caleb—”

“I asked you a question, baby.” His finger pushes in and out of me.

I can’t do much standing in front of him. One of his hands is on my back; one causes chaos inside me. His nail scrapes along my clit.

I shudder.

If I admit it, he might stop. This is just to prove a point, after all.

Three fingers.

His fingers curl inside me. I groan at the new feeling, widening my stance. I close my eyes.

Mistake.

His teeth are on my skin, biting my breast. He doesn’t do anything to soothe me. It’s just a trail along my chest, little spikes of pain. It’s maddening.

“You’re fucking soaked.” His eyes are impossibly dark. “You get wetter each time I do something to your body. So I guess that answers my question.”

I whimper when he pulls out.

“The doctor said no strenuous activities.” He smirks at me.

Bastard.

I grip his shoulders tighter and lower myself onto his lap. His erection brushes my thigh.

“Do you care what the doctor said?” Need and desire overrule common sense.

“I care about you being well enough to fuck you all night long after the ball,” he replies.

My core tightens.

“Like that idea, do you?”

“I—”

“Lie down.”

I do, shimmying off his lap and stretching flat on my mattress behind him. He twists on the bed and sprawls out next to me, so we’re arm to arm. He draws the blanket up over us and rolls onto his side.

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