Page 65 of Daring the Defender

“Still thought we should have watched the Ingrid Flockton documentary,” Jefferson mumbles, but Reese has already turned the movie back on. With everyone thoroughly distracted, I pull my feet up on the couch and spread the blanket over my lap.

“Christ, your feet are cold,” Reid says, loud enough for everyone to hear. I move to shift my feet away, but he grabs one and clamps his wide hand around it, engulfing me in warmth.

“Sorry, all my socks are dirty.”

“Shhhh!” Axel hushes, then crams popcorn in his mouth.

We settle in, but Reid discretely adjusts the blanket so we’re both underneath.

Oh boy.

I glance over and his eyes are focused on the TV, acting as though he’s not rubbing the arch of my foot with his thumb. Acting as though my brother and everyone else aren’t sitting a few feet away and all hell wouldn’t break loose if they found out.

It’s impossible to keep track of what’s happening on screen–something about aliens and superheroes saving the world, when the weight of his hand, heavy and warm, starts a slow, tentative, ascent from my foot up my calf, then over my knee. He stills when he reaches my thigh, his fingers dipping between my legs.

I can’t do anything but pretend to watch the movie, and tug the blanket higher up my chest to hide my hardened nipples.

We sit like this for the longest time, through a million heartbeats pounding hard against my ribs. Stroke after gentle stroke, never moving past the warm heat of my inner thigh. If he dropped an inch and touched me at my core, he’d feel the wet spot on my panties. He’d know how desperate I am.

Something tells me he already does.

Is that all it takes for Reid to do to get me excited? To touch me discreetly under a blanket? Or getting me to cross boundaries, teetering on the edge of danger? Or is it because I know what comes next? How good he makes me feel?

I know the answer. It’s any and all of those things. He knows it too and the only real questions left are: Would I ever let David do something like this to me? Would he ever do it?

The answer is a harsh, undeniable no, and suddenly everything feels very, very out of control.

All of this is running through my mind as his fingers ease down and graze the edge of my panties, dipping underneath. The move is intentional,erotic, and when he strokes his fingers over my clit, it elicits a tremor so intense there’s no way I can let this continue. Pushing his hand and the blanket to the side, I stand, and announce. “I’m beat.” I pray my voice sounds normal. “See you all in the morning.”

Even though everyone is so distracted by the movie that I barely get a half-hearted reply, easily slipping from the room, I don’t take a breath until I’m closed inside, letting the air of the enclosed porch cool my skin. I keep the overhead light off, the room lit up by the small strand of twinkle lights hanging from the ceiling. I want them to think I’m tired and going to bed, not hot and flustered.

My phone buzzes.

Let me in.

I look toward the living room, where the bluish glow filters through the curtain over my door, and then swivel my head to the exterior door. Quietly, I turn the knob, and he’s on the other side, still barefoot. No coat. Jaw set in a hard, tense line.

“Was that too much?” he asks quietly, eyes dark and intent. “Too far?”

Yes. I shake my head.

“Good.” He doesn’t wait for me to let him in the room. He wraps one arm around me and lifts me off the ground, carrying me into the small room. With his free hand he carefully shuts the door. Or I think he does. His mouth is on my neck, tongue hot. I’m quickly losing my bearings. “Because I wasn’t finished.”

“This is wrong,” I whisper, running my hands up his shirt. “They’ll hear.”

“Not if you’re quiet, GG.” He tilts his head, eyebrow lifted. “Can you be quiet?”

I answer by pushing his shirt over his head and he responds silently, peeling off my clothes. A heartbeat later my back is flat against the couch and he’s hovering over me, mouth latched to my breasts. It feels so good to have him close to me, on top of me, and there’s this tickling urge in my belly crying out:more.

My hips rise up and all the sudden it just seems stupid to fight this. To fight him. I never felt this way with David because he was wrong. Reid? God, with Reid, everything feels right.

He responds to my movements, his strong hand pushing my thigh to the side, opening me wide. Before he even touches me, nerves explode in my belly. Dipping his head, his tongue is hot and he groans softly, “Fuck you taste so good.”

In seconds I’m a mess, hips desperately thrusting into his face, making him use his hands to hold me down. “I’m close,” I whisper, repeating what he said before he came last time, but instead of ushering me over the edge, he pulls his mouth away. I’m about to argue, to ask him what’s wrong, but I watch as he pushes two fingers into his mouth and withdraws them, slick and wet.

“Open up for me, GG,” he says, nudging my thighs farther apart. “Let me see your pussy.”

One leg hits the back of the couch, the other falls flat. Kissing the interior of each thigh, he drags his fingers against my heat. Back and forth he taunts me, staying away from the spot that I know will trigger the fall. It feels both good and infuriating, and just when I think I’m going to lose my mind, he climbs back up my body, tweaking my nipple, while pushing a finger inside.

---