Page 31 of Forty

Forty plunges a hand into my hair and draws my head back. Is he pulling me off of him? My heart drops. I don’t want this to be over. But no, he’s only holding me in place to kiss down my neck, suckling and nibbling, and oh—he remembers what I like.

My body dissolves in shivers, and he chuckles, which makes me quiver more, delicious zings shooting from the sensitive spots where he nips and nuzzles.

We used to do this for hours back when I was too shy to let him put his hand down my pants. It feels even better than it did then. He’s doing it ‘cause I like it. My heart warms.

I tilt my head, grab him by the nape of his neck, hold him to me, and then there’s a bite and a twinge. Is he giving me a hickey? Oh, hell no. I’m a grown-ass woman, I can’t have a—a gush spills from my pussy, dribbling down my inner thigh.

“You like that,” he growls, and then he slips his fingers between my legs, gliding them through my juices, stroking up and down, grazing my clit, gathering all this want and need as he circles the hard nub that aches for him.

“Yes,” I pant, writhing my hips to force his fingers where I want them, but he’s following his own plan, gently sliding a finger into me, and then another, and I rock up and grind down, riding those fingers, while his thumb flicks my clit. He was never this coordinated before.

Who taught him this?

No, no. I shove the thought back, drive it away by focusing on the greedy pleasure coiling in my belly.

“You love it, don’t you?”

“Yes!” I throw my head back, chase the pulsating ecstasy, let myself go, free falling, and a wave crests inside me as my pussy walls clench, a release and an aftershock of pure, molten amazingness ripples from my core to the tips of my toes and the top of my head. My body is electrified and wrung out at the same time. I blink my eyes open, dopey and grinning.

“You do this with all those Raiders?” Forty’s lip is lifted in a sneer.

Oh.

Ouch.

Forty’s face is hard, colder than I’ve seen it yet. And in his eyes? Raw agony.

Before I can react, he stands, and I go tumbling into the dirt, pants down, arms and legs akimbo like a ragdoll. Shame turns my cheeks as hot as my ass.

Welp. Didn’t see that coming. This is a new personal low.

Forty snarls, glares at me as if I stubbornly dropped my own ass on the ground. I give him the finger. As I scramble for my jeans, he scoops me up, plopping me on my feet.

“Shit. I didn’t mean to drop you. I stood without thinking.”

Then he stares at me a few seconds in consternation, hands gripping my upper arms, holding me in place. Then, he gently swats my sides, brushing the dust off from where I landed. He smooths my hair back, tucking a few curls behind my ear. It’s useless. They spring free immediately.

He leans over for my jeans and begins to ease them up.

I bend over, too, almost knocking my forehead into his. “I can do that.”

“Let me.” He bats my hands away, and he works my pants the rest of the way up, careful when he gets to my tender ass. Then, he buttons the button and zips the zipper.

“I’m sorry.” He adjusts my spaghetti straps although they’re fine. His fingers skim lightly up my neck and across my cheek, so quickly the touch almost doesn’t register.

“So…we good now, or what?” I summon up a doofy smile. It’s weak, but I mean it.

His fingers return to a sore spot on my neck. He swipes it with the pad of his thumb. He’s gazing intently at what must be a doozy of a hickey, his disgust gone, his mask dropped, a look like grief shining in his eyes. A lump lodges in my throat, and my eyes prickle.

He sighs. “No. Not good. Stay away from me, Nevaeh. We’re no good for each other. I end up hurting you. You end up hurting me.”

And then he smooths my hair, tucking an errant clump of curls behind my ear, before he stalks back into the bar. I stand there, my heart leaking cold into my chest, staring after him.

The screen door slams, and the prospect comes loping toward me. Oh, great. Just what I need. An audience.

“Forty says take you home,” he says, smirking like an idiot.

“Saw that, did you?” I reach in my pocket to make sure I still have my ID and the change from the twenty I used to pay the cover. I don’t want to come back here. Ever. I want to go home and hide under the covers and then run as far away as my crappy little Hyundai can take me.

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