Page 92 of Hot Shot

My heart drums in its place. “Gone-gone?”

“Gone.You can thank Jessa. She asked me if I miss Davis, and I realized I don’t. Not at all. I don’t think I ever did. I wasupset because he lied and humiliated and hurt me, not because I missed him.”

“You mean I could have asked you this months ago and saved us all this waiting?”

She chuckles. “I know, I was mad too. She’s known this whole time! Asshole.” With a sigh, she says, “I’m so fucking tired of pretending I don’t want to be with you. The only thing I’m afraid of is hurting you.”

“I know the risk, and I don’t fucking care.”

She laughs, but I kiss her to make sure she knows exactly how much I don’t give a single fuck if it all goes down in flames.

“Jesus guys, get a room already. You’re holding up the line,” Remy yells, looking at us like we have seven heads between us. But when he gets into the seat next to Jessa, he winks, a spark of approval behind his eyes.

Ahead of us, we watch Molly approach the next compartment. Behind her, Carlin and Tate rush to join her, but Greyson’s meat hooks shoot out to grab them by the scruff. He only manages to get ahold of Tate—Carlin sneaks in behind her. Somehow, she missed the whole thing.

The funniest part is that the next bucket is for Grey and Tate. Greyson practically throws Tate in—a feat considering Tate’s six four—then closes the lap bar and opts out of the ride, sending Tate off to sulk on the Ferris wheel alone.

I let Cass go when we reach the attendant, digging in my pocket for a couple of tickets. When I hand them over to the bored carny, he opens the flimsy door and all but shoves us into the uncovered carriage, Cass first.

The carriage swings as the wheel takes off, and soon the sounds of the fair are far away. We’re nearly to the top when the wheel stops to let more people on. A sharp gust of wind sends a shudder down my spine, but I’m on fire when I look at her. She’s lost inside my jacket, and in that moment, she’s the girl I lovedso long ago, the girl I’ve always loved, the girl I’ve been waiting on to come back to me.

Cass is cut out of the twilight sky, her skin colored in the blues and reds and purples of the neon lights of the Ferris wheel. The lights behind throw a violet blue halo around her, and the lights in front of her highlight her face in golden strokes. The breeze licks at her hair, drawing strands away and across her face in ribbons.

I’ve never seen anything so beautiful.

I’ve never wanted anything so much.

All I can do is wish on every star that I get to keep her this time.

“You’re cold,” she says, scooting across the bench and nearly into my lap. I curl around her, hungry for her warmth. “Here, put your arms under the jacket.” She leans up enough that I can slide my arms around her waist. She pulls my massive coat tight and leans back, her head resting in the curve of my shoulder. But my hands are busy, my mind laser focused on the softness of her body, cataloging every detail. The dip of her belly button, the gentle swell beneath. The length of her thigh, the rasp of my calluses against her tights.

She’s pressing her back into me, breath shallow as the wind whips around us. My hands and her body are concealed by my jacket, and when I realize that, I lower my lips to her neck. I nibble my way up to her ear, my hand busy skating up and down her thighs.

“Hands are still cold,” I mumble against her skin, slipping my hand beneath the skirt of her dress. She mewls as my fingertips skim the crease at her hip, then down her clenched thigh far enough to cup the inside just above her knee. I nudge the seam where they meet.

“Wider,” I say. On command, she spreads her legs, her back arching in a silent plea.

I answer her with the trail of my fingertips up to her heat, and when I reach that sacred place, I cup her, curling my fingers so they can taste her slick pussy, feeling the shape of her with longing.

“You’re so fucking wet, your tights are ruined.” My voice is rough, but my mouth waters as I stroke her. “I want this in my mouth.” I squeeze. “Later,” I say half to myself. “Later this is mine. Just wait.”

She makes an unintelligible sound, shifting against my hand, her flesh clenching against my fingertips as the Ferris wheel turns again, picking up speed.

Her clit is swollen when I find it and stroke, the ground coming closer as we whoosh past the line and back up into the night. She tries to turn, cups my aching cock, but I grab her wrist and draw it back under my coat, locking it to her waist.

My other hand, is happily occupied with her pussy, tracing the swollen shapes and peaks, constrained by her tights.

“Ah ah ah,” I say against her ear. “You’ve given enough, Cass. Now it’s my turn.” I cup her pussy again and squeeze. She wriggles against me, though she’s controlled in an attempt to be discreet. But like I said—I’m out of patience. Roughly, I reach for the band of her tights and push my hand inside, tucking my face into her neck to stifle a groan when I have her bare, hot flesh in my hand.

Around we spin in a flash of neon lights as my fingertips tease, slipping into her to slick my skin. The bud of her clit is swollen and fat, and all I want is the feel of it on my tongue.

Later.

Now she needs release, and so with the flats of my fingers, I slide up to her hood and give her the pressure her body needs. Firmly, steadily speeding, I circle, her clit stroked by my fingertips with each motion. Little gasps, and then her lips purse, face turning toward my chest to hide. And whenshe comes, the groan deep in her throat is the filthiest sound I’ve ever heard. My cock aches as I cup her again with gentle pressure, resting my fingers in that sweet dip so I can feel her pussy pulse and imagine I’m inside her.

Later.

With a long exhale, I nuzzle her neck as she comes down, my hand still buried between her legs, never warmer.

---