Page 82 of Flaunt
My eyes squeeze shut in a futile attempt to hold it together.
His fingers slide in and out smoothly, deeply, twisting and hitting every spot that triggers a physical reaction. My head swims with too many feelings, unable to register everything happening simultaneously.
Finally, he plunges into me and gently presses his teeth against my nub.Oh fuck.
I cry out, my head falling back and my eyes shutting against the searing intensity of the orgasm.
My legs shake, my body trembles. And every time I remember that Banks’s face is between my legs, another surge of pleasure rattles me.
“I can’t,” I say, dropping the fabric. It shrouds him. I place my hands on the armrest and press back, whimpering. “Please. I can’t anymore.”
He removes his fingers and pulls away, knocking the dress away from his head.
His face glistens, coated with my climax. The smile on his swollen lips couldn’t be more satisfied if it were him coming with the force of a thousand suns.
I laugh in full contentment as life pours back into me, scooting back to his hips again.
“The right thing, because you should never assume, is to ask if you liked it.” He smirks. “But I’m pretty sure you did.”
My chest shakes as I chuckle. “It’s a good thing your brothers can’t see you right now.”
He lifts a brow. “Why?”
“Because this gives a whole new definition to Sparkles.”
He laughs, sitting up. I scoot off him, but the lack of contact only lasts a moment. He scoops me up and stands.
“Where are we going?” I ask, my body suddenly heavy and tired.
“I need a shower, and you need cleaned up.”
We start down the hall.
“But I need to repay the favor,” I say, smiling at him.
He stops in the doorway and grins. “Don’t worry. You will.”
It’s not the words that get to me. It’s not even his grin. It’s the way he says it—the way Banks seems to do everything. There’s a playfulness in his tone, but also something else. Confidence. Honesty. A mixture of sexy and fun.
Typical Banks. You get more than you bargain for.
“I can’t wait,” I say, giving in and letting my reservations go.
He winks and carries me to the tub.
17
Banks
“Here you go, my lady,”I say, holding a towel open for Sara.
She laughs as she steps into my extended arms, and I swallow her up in the towel.
The red dress that will forever be burnt into my mind is on a hanger by the door. My work clothes are scattered on the floor, and my boots are mixed up with my jeans. Water puddles dot the tile floor from being splashed out over the past hour.
I take another towel from the linen closet and cover her hair. She giggles as I try to get it right but epically fail.
“Well,” I say, stepping back. “You kind of look like Mother Teresa with that thing over your head, but you won’t drip all over the floor.”
