Page 95 of Freckles

“Maybe I should pick a different fabric then,” I mutter, but his smile just grows wider at the resistance. Especially, when I sigh and remove my underwear, undoing my bra last and folding it on top.

Against my naked skin, the material is sensuous, and I run my palms over my midriff, smoothing it, then doing the same with my thighs. I turn in front of the mirror, the high neckline offset with a back dipping so low, the upper curve of my buttocks is visible.

“Are you channelling Kanye? I can’t wear this outdoors without being arrested for indecent exposure.”

Kincaid ignores me. “Harbour cruise is another phrase for cocktail party.” He holds up another garment, thankfully longer. “You’ll be standing on deck most of the evening. How are you in heels?”

“Wobbly.”

“Excellent,” he says, snapping a photo of the second dress and typing a message before tucking it away. “You’ll have to cling to me for balance all night.”

“Or find someplace to sit.”

His smile turns lascivious. “I have suggestions for that, too.” He pats the seat next to him. “Better try sitting now before we’re committed.”

Committed is right because I must be crazy, taking the spot next to him and perching on the edge while his hand explores my exposed back. At his touch, I shiver, and my skin breaks into goosebumps, turning me even more sensitive. The light brush of his fingertips jolts me into standing.

“I don’t think going without panties is a good idea.”

“It’s an excellent idea,” he counters, clutching my fingers before I can move out of range and reeling me towards him, inch by trembling inch. He lowers his head to butt against my abdomen, his hot breath blowing straight through the fabric to heat my pussy.

I try to move back but he holds me in place with one arm while his fingers find the long hem, slowly sliding their way up until they’re dancing along the back of my thigh.

“Here are a few further options,” the saleslady announces, coming back into the room.

I try to jump away, but Kincaid holds me firmly in place. “Would you be able to collect some high heels to match? I’ve sent the request downstairs already. The higher the better.”

As she leaves, I mutter, “You’ll be sorry when I break my neck just trying to stand.”

He glances up at me, chin resting an inch below my belly button, and the angle of his adoring eyes makes my insides melt until my legs are shaking. His fingers continue to rub in circles, the circumference growing wider with each stroke until each revolution brushes against the sensitive skin of my inner thigh and the undercurve of my arse.

Finally, his fingers flutter along my seam, his touch finding me already wet, teasing me until I’m too embarrassed to meet his gaze, screwing my eyes shut as he increases the pressure to slip inside me.

“You feel so good,” he says in a voice that’s more hum than speech.

My nipples harden until they’re in danger of slicing through the delicate fabric. My hands press against his shoulders, but he doesn’t stop.

And I don’t want him to.

“I’ll go crazy with you standing beside me all evening, thinking of your pussy aching to be touched until you’re so aroused, you can’t sit from fear you’ll stain your dress.”

My lips part as the image fills my head, bringing equal parts mortification and arousal. He gives a groan that vibrates across my taut abdomen, a shudder travelling straight to my core.

“All night, I’ll be dreaming of the moment we reach shore, and I get to drag you into the backseat of the car and shove the dress up to your hips. Your sweet taste is the only dessert I need.”

The caress of his finger grows more insistent, and I clutch his hair, clenching the thick strands between my knuckles and tugging until he releases another guttural moan, like the tease of a vibrator on its most sensitive setting.

“Or maybe I won’t be able to wait. Maybe I’ll have to shove you into an alcove and feast on you, knowing at any moment we could be discovered.”

His finger plunges inside me, then he adds another, and I gasp, my muscles clenching hard around him, trying to draw him deeper, pulsing with need.

He thrusts once, twice, three times, then withdraws so suddenly my eyes flick open, dazed and enraged that he’s stopped.

“Kneel,” he orders, and I obey, no longer caring who might enter the changing room.

He smears my own juices across my bottom lip, then he lowers his mouth, sucking it clean, both of us tasting me.

“Fuck,” he mutters, cupping my head to draw me into a kiss, rough and needy, his tongue thrusting into my mouth until my thighs squeeze together in a matching rhythm and his fingers twine into my hair, moving me exactly where he wants.

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