Page 26 of A Little Broken

He hooks his finger inside me, slowly pulls it out, and pushes into me again, rasping, “Do you think they know what we’re doing?”

My eyes cut to the workers. They’re gathered around one of their phones, laughing at whatever’s on the screen.

“Do you think they’re pretending to be preoccupied so I’ll keep going?” Pax adds a second finger, stretching me before pulling out and pressing his wet fingertips to my clit.

“Fuck,” I repeat.

“I wonder if they have cameras. If they’re watching you through an app on their phone.”

My eyelids flutter, and I grip his wrist between my thighs, slowly rolling my hips against him.

“If they do, I’ll have to track down the footage.”

“Why?” I breathe out.

“Because I’ve never seen anything sexier than the way you look right now.” He dips even closer. “Do you have any idea howhard I am? My cock is fucking throbbing. I’d give anything to pull it out and squeeze the tip, pretending it’s this tight pussy.”

He thumbs my clit again, and my heart races faster. I never knew I was a sucker for a guy with a dirty mouth, but this? This is doing it for me. It's clear Paxton knows exactly what he’s doing. With his hand. His words. The slight rasp of his voice. It’s too much, yet not enough. I need more.

“Fuck, I wanna kiss you.” His gaze falls to my lips.

“You know, I think you mentioned that already.”

He smiles but doesn’t let up. “Wanna fuck this pretty mouth with my tongue as I’m buried inside you. Wanna feel this tight pussy squeezing my cock the same way it’s squeezing my fingers. So fucking greedy, Birthday Girl. So fucking greedy.”

Massaging my inner walls, he drags his fingers back and forth, in and out, while I try to slow my breathing. To steady it. To act like we’re talking about the weather instead of filthy words I’ll never forget, even if I wanted to. But I can’t help it. I’m close. Really fucking close. I bury my head in the crook of Paxton’s neck and shift my hips against him, trying to be subtle no matter how much the rhythm drives me insane. We’re going to get caught. We’re going to get caught, and I can’t even find the fucks to give because all that matters is how close I am to coming and how freaking talented Paxton is with his fingers. So much so, I can only imagine what it would be like with his mouth or cock. An image of him licking the shake resurfaces, and I dig my teeth into his neck, falling apart. It’s like he’s pulling a thread and all I can do is unravel.

Shattering at the imagery, I orgasm, and he cups my sensitive flesh, giving me time to come back down to earth as my clit pulses and my thighs tremble beneath the table. As my breathing steadies, I open my eyes, finding his gaze glued to me. It shouldn’t make me squirm. Shouldn’t make me feel like I’m naked in front of a hundred people. But it does.

My eyes shoot to the workers, and I suck my lips between my teeth, praying they can’t see the guilty as hell expression I know is growing on my face. Because let’s be real, even the best liar in the world can’t pretend like what just happened didn’t actually…happen.

Oh my hell. I was just finger banged in public, and it might very well have been the best orgasm of my life.

What now?

Slowly, Pax pulls his hand out from under my skirt and lifts it above the table, licking his forefinger and middle finger as his eyes hold mine. “Well, would you look at that. I found a new favorite dessert.” He smirks. “Told you I was in for the long game. Shall we?”

He’s right. We’ve been here long enough. All things considered, it’s probably best if I get out of here as soon as possible before my brain catches up with my libido and I have to come to terms with the fact that a stranger had his fingers in my va-jay-jay in the middle of a fast food restaurant on my birthday. Oh. My Hell. Even stringing those words together in my brain feels so wrong it’s not even funny.

Ignoring the heat in my cheeks, I smooth out my skirt. “Uh, yup. Yup, that’s a great idea.”

The table’s littered with what’s left of our meal, and I start to clean up, anxious to get the hell out of here when he swats at my hand. “Stay.”

“Stay?”

“Yes. Stay,” he repeats. “I’ll take care of this, Birthday Girl.”

“Pretty sure you’ve already taken care of enough,” I counter.

He crowds me against the table. “Trust me. I’m only getting started.” Then he moves away and begins collecting our garbage.

If I wasn’t still reeling from what just happened—or how hot his not-so-thinly-veiled comment makes me–there’s no way I’d let him order me around. But I’m too stunned to argue as hepicks up after us. I shouldn’t notice the way his corded forearms are dusted with hair, or how his fingers are still damp with remnants of what we just did as he reaches for the empty cup of fries we devoured, but I do. My attention snaps back to his, and I gather whatever wits are still in my frazzled brain. “I think I know how to clean up a little mess.”

“Yeah, but do you know how to let someone else clean it up for you?”

With a scoff, I settle back into the booth while he continues picking up every piece of garbage.

The veins along the back of his hands toy with me every time he reaches for something else, and I clear my throat. “Who knew you were such a gentleman?”

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