Page 28 of Blue Collar Hotties

“Show me,” I grit out, too low for her to hear. But Lenore knows what I want, and one palm trails southward over her taut stomach.

When she cups her own mound, I squeeze my length through my jeans. Not enough to get off—just enough to hold this raging hunger at bay. Just enough to see straight.

Lenore’s eyes go round as she sees me touching myself.

Well, the feeling is mutual, because I can’t look away. Can’t breathe, can’t swallow, can’t even think. All I can do is watch, helpless and enthralled, palming my own bulge as Lenore slides her panties to the side and flashes me the tiniest glimpse of the new center of my world.

She’s shaved. Tight and wet. Don’t ask me how I know, but Iknow,surer than I know my own name. If I slid a single finger in there, she’d buck and moan, riding the ridges of my knuckles. She’d cling to my wrist and beg me for release.

And I’d give it to her, too, but not before I worked her into a sweaty, breathless heap. Not until she begged, tossing that silky dark hair everywhere, calling me by my name.

Lenore bites her lip against a smile, like she can see the overheated slideshow playing in my brain, and traces a circle over her clit. Her hips rock forward, chasing her own touch.

And hell.What I’d give to be in that room right now, hearing every shaky breath—every slick sound between her legs. What I’d give to slide those panties down her thighs, and drop to my knees in front of her, and lick her so deep her head spun.

She’s going faster now, lips bitten, fingers busy between her legs. Her mouth drops open, and Lenore holds my gaze as she rubs and rubs and—

Her stomach tenses. Her eyes slam closed, leg muscles twitching, and though seeing her come like this is a miracle, a perfect gift in a broken world, it takes everything in me not to pound on the glass and demand that shelookat me again. That she lets me see her fall apart, with agonized pleasure washing through those big, brown eyes. With her eyes closed like this, I’m shut out in the cold.

Lenore comes back to herself slowly. She blinks around herself, dazed, at her clothes, her sketches… and me. Staring at her like a madman from the darkness outside, one hand gripped around my bulge like I want to tear it clean off.

Her eyes go wide.

Then she’s scrambling for her clothes and running away, slamming the door to her uncle’s office behind her. I call her name and knock on the glass, I wait and wait, but she doesn’t come out again. It’s just me out here and the icy gusts of wind.

Lenore wants me gone.

Such a giddy high, then this crashing low. A monster headache squeezes my temples, and I scrub one hand down my face.

I thought she liked it. Thought we both wanted this.

What have I done?

Lenore

Ispend the whole weekend crawling out of my skin. Jittery as hell, with a knee constantly bouncing or my lip chewed between my teeth. I just—I can’t believe I did that. Can’t believe that was even me back there, stripping off in my Uncle Roderick’s office and touching myself for a builder to watch through the glass.

But not just any builder. Gabe.

The man who calls mebeautiful.The man who makes my heart pinball around my chest with a single heated glance. The blue collar man of my dreams.

Still, it’s like nothing I’ve ever done before, and I’m still half-convinced it was all a fever dream: that I fell asleep slumped at my desk, drooling on the scratched wood, and cooked up that crazy interaction in the depths of my sleeping lizard brain.

There’s no other explanation. Right?

Except it happened. I know it did, because when I finally stumbled home to my studio apartment, my freaking dress was on backward, and there was a sticky glaze on my inner thighs.

So: I stripped for Gabe.

Touched myself. Teased us both.

Did he like it? Heseemedto like it… before I ran out like a lunatic, anyway. He pounded on the glass for what felt like hours, knocking and calling my name, his faint voice taut with worry out there. So even if he liked the initial show, he’s surely gone off me after that meltdown.

Crap.

The whole weekend, I bargain with myself. Argue in my head. Tell myself things like:If he ignores you again, you can change your name and move to Mexico. But you need to see him at least once first. Suck it up.

But how can I ever go back there? How can I ever look Gabe in the eye again? Forget family punishments and timed served in the beige prison; if I see that man and he looks at me with pity, I’m going to howl like a banshee.

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