Page 63 of Dirty Play

Her breath comes in faster now, her chest rising and falling in short, uneven bursts. Her lips are parted, her cheeks flushed, and her eyes hazy. She looks wrecked already, and I’ve barely even touched her.

I smile, sliding my hands up an inch higher. My thumbs brush the edge of her leggings, teasing the soft skin just above.

Her whole body stiffens, but she doesn’t move away. Instead, she lets out a breathless, almost frustrated sound and turns her head, refusing to look at me.

Oh, this is too good.

“You’re doing so good,” I continue to encourage her, my hands squeezing her thighs lightly. “You just have to relax and let me in.” I pause, letting the weight of those words hang in the air. “Just like last night. You took every inch of me like the good girl you are.”

Her head snaps back to me, her eyes blazing. I slide my hands higher, just barely skimming the curve of her hips.

“You’re still feeling me, aren’t you?” I murmur, my voice dropping to a near-growl. “Every time you move, every stretch you try to make.”

Her eyes flutter closed for a second, and I feel her knees shake. I wrap an arm around her waist, pushing her lower.

“Rowan,” she breathes, her voice trembling, “this isn’t—”

“A good idea?” I cut her off again, my hand sliding back down to her thighs, holding her steady. “Probably not.”

She doesn’t move away, doesn’t tell me to stop. Her chest is rising and falling like she’s been sprinting, and that flush is spreading down her neck, disappearing under the neckline of her tight workout top. My hands tighten on her thighs, and I let myself lean in closer, enough that the heat of her body seeps into mine.

“But you don’t want me to stop, do you?” I ask, my voice low and rough, my lips brushing the shell of her ear.

She’s trembling now, and when I slide one hand a little higher over the curve of her ass, her breath hitches hard.

“Rowan,” she finally manages, her voice breaking over my name. It’s not a protest; it’s a plea.

“What is it, baby?” I murmur, letting my lips graze her temple. “You can tell me. Do you want me to stop? Or do you want me to keep touching you?”

Her hand flies up to grip my wrist, but instead of pushing me away, she just holds on, her fingers digging into my skin.

“Keep touching me,” she whispers, so quiet I almost don’t hear it.

That’s all I needed.

“Hellcat,” I breathe, my voice thick with approval as I let my hand move from her hip to her stomach, just below the hem of her sports bra. Her skin is soft and warm under my palm, and I can feel her muscles tense as I trail my fingers lower, dipping just under the waistband of her leggings.

“Are you sore?” I ask, my voice dark and teasing. “Do you need me to rub it for you?” My fingers hover just above where I know she wants them, not giving her what she needs, not yet.

She makes a soft, frustrated sound, her grip on my wrist tightening.

Needy little thing.

Using my other hand, I spin her around so I can see every inch of her beautiful face. She’s panting, looking up at me with anticipation, her hand still trying to wrap around my wrist.

“Answer me, baby,” I command, my thumb brushing just below her belly button. “I’ll stop teasing if you’re honest with me. Are you still feeling me? Feeling the way we fit so good together?”

Her cheeks flush even deeper, and she bites her lip hard enough that I’m tempted to lean in and pull it free with my teeth.

“Yes,” she finally says, her voice shaking. “I feel you everywhere.”

I groan low in my throat, the sound vibrating in the space between us. My hand dips lower, my fingers brushing against the edge of her leggings.

She whimpers at that, her hips shifting slightly, almost unconsciously, as if she’s chasing my touch.

“Look at you,” I say as I slide my hand lower until I’m cupping her completely, the heat of her pussy searing through the thin fabric. “You’ve been aching for me, haven’t you? Thinking about how good we are?”

“God, yes.” Her head falls back against my chest, her breathing uneven and ragged as I start rubbing her through the fabric of her leggings.

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