Page 74 of Butterfly Effect

“Don’t I?” The next stride takes us closer to the perimeter of floor-to-ceiling windows encasing Ottawa’s skyline. “You think I’d throw a party for a girlfriend Idon’tlike?”

“You had to—” A short gasp sounds from her pretty mouth when her ass meets the glass. “And it’sfakegirlfriend.”

My hands drop to reach for the arches of her hips. Our relationship is fake, but I need to know she’s real. That this isn’t a moment in another wet dream I’ll be disappointed to wake from.

She allows the touch.

I stupidly move her hand from my neck to my chest, over the roiling beat of my equally stupid heart, tempted to ask if itfeelsfake to her. But I don’t.

“I won’t fuck you when you’re sad.”

“Get a grip, Boehner. You won’t fuck me when I’m drunk, you won’t fuck me when I’m sad. I’m starting to think maybe you don’t want to fuck after all.”

Tell that to my dick.

“And I’m not sad.”

Fear flashes between us, and she moves her hand further south, relinquishing one tension but fueling another. The lightest contact on my groin has my cock leaking. I raise an eyebrow and hiss.

Gabe scoffs. “It’s just sex. I thought you, king of all fuckboys, would understand.”

“You know me so well, huh?” A facetious question, considering she’s seen more of me than most. She continues to smirk.

“I know your hand must be tired from overuse.”

Ahacoughs from my throat. “No need to worry about my dexterity, Freckles. These bad boys are the money makers.”

“Prove—”

I cut her off with a rough kiss, restraint slipping through my fingers like her lush curls and the deep cut of her dress. It leaves nothing to the imagination, her nipples already hard against the thin, soft material. I trace the neckline, teasing over one peak,then the other. Relishing how they tighten further under my touch.

“I’m dying to lick these tits.” The admission is breathy and swallowed by another tongue-filled, angry kiss.

She bites my lip upon release and swats my hand away, placing it on her bare thigh. “Maybe later.” A harsh yank against my nape forces our eye contact. “Get to work. I’m dry as a desert.”

Our joined hands climb up the slit of her dress, soft, delicate skin against my fingertips, getting softer and softer the higher I go. They land on the edge of equally delicate fabric, then move lower. I gasp at what I find. She’s warm. And so, so wet.

“You’re such a little liar.” Our noses slot together. “You’ve soaked through the lace. Have you been sitting on this all night or was it my kisses?”

“Mostly it was counting Donovan’s abs through his shirt.”

I stroke over the panties, spreading the wetness through the split of her pussy, eliciting a shaky exhale from her. “Lying through your fucking teeth.” One finger pushes the fabric into the glazed slit, swirling around and homing in on her swollen clit. It pulses in response. The same finger swipes her panties aside and enters her pussy. She gasps again.

“Shit.” Gabe sighs when my middle finger joins, the slow spearing making her squirm and angle her hips.

My hand stills. “Should I keep going?”

“Goddamn it,” she laments into my shoulder. “Do I have to spell it out for you? Make me come already.”

I tsk. “You gonna beg me for it?” A frustrated grumble mutes between our lips. I want to smear her lipstick, ruin it by having it all over me. It doesn’t budge.

Still knuckles-deep inside her warm cunt, I spin her so she faces the glass and pull aside her dress. My hand disappears at the split of her legs. “Look at yourself—how perfect that pussylooks stuffed with my fingers.” Another soft, desperate moan escapes. “Is that what you wanted? Getting finger-fucked at the window for everyone to see? You want everyone to know how you wish it was my cock?”

My dick shifts at being named. The fucking audacity. As if it isn’t hard enough.

“Go ahead and finish all over them. So the whole city knows who makes this pussy come. Knows how mine you are.”

“I’m not yours.” She braces against the window, rebellious hazel eyes peering back. “And aren’t these tinted?”

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