Page 43 of Major Penalty

This is wrong. This is so, so wrong.

Then why…why does it feel so good?

Then his hand moves.

Down.

Lower.

Between us.

Until…

Oh, God.

His fingers start lifting the hem of my sports dress. I inhale, my whole body going rigid.

A single shift of his hips. A single, subtle grind of his body against mine. And his thick, huge, undeniable hardness presses against my stomach.

My lungs collapse, and my pulse jumps to my throat.

I know he feels it. I know he knows what his fingers are going to find if they touch me there. Because his lips curve even more.

“Should I check how much you care?” His voice is the lowest, most seductive thing I’ve ever heard.

A wrecked sound catches in my throat as I try to answer, to say something. But his hand moves agonizingly slow.

Until his palm slides under my skirt. Until his fingers brush against my panties. Until his touch presses exactly where I’m burning.

A sharp, breathless gasp rips from my lips as my thighs clench around his hand.

Oh my God.

The second his fingertips make contact, everything inside me tightens. My breath vanishes, stolen straight from my lungs. My thighs try to snap shut, but his body is there—solid, immovable, forcing me open, keeping me spread.

Heat erupts from the point of contact, a wildfire spreading through me, racing up my spine, locking every muscle in place.

I don’t even realize I’m shaking until Ares makes a low sound and leans in so close I can feel his breath against my ear.

“So wet for me.” His breath is hot against my cheek, his fingers teasing, like he has all the time in the world to unravel me. “And I’ve barely even touched you.” My stomach dips, a sharp, electric sensation rushing straight to my core, flooding me, thick and unbearable. His body is a cage, pressing me back against the examination table, one hand holding me still by my hair, the other between my thighs.

Heat scorches my face when his fingers move, just the barest glide. My entire body reacts before I can stop it. My hips jerk, and my spine arches, my fingers digging into him.

“Ares,” I whimper, but it’s a small sound.

“Fuck,” he groans, deep and raspy. His nose brushes my temple.

His fingers press harder against my clit, and my mouth falls open in a silent moan. I have no control over my body. No control over the way it’s clenching, gripping, aching for something I don’t even understand. My skin feels too tight, and burning in my lungs. His fingers stroke again, slow and devastating, and I feel how soaked I am, feel the cool air on the wet fabric.

“So responsive,” he murmurs, his breath ragged, his fingers still gliding through the wreckage between my thighs. “You think I could make you come just like this?”

I choke on a breath.

Ares smirks, watching me like he’s memorizing every second of this. Filing it away for later, for when he finally decides to ruin me completely.

His fingers press harder, and I move into his touch, a sound catching in my throat that doesn’t even feel like my own.

And that’s when he groans—low and rough. Almost pained.

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