Page 164 of Merry Me
It was official, I was going to go mad.
“This is your fault, you know,” he murmured, his breath warm against my ear. “I’m only a man, Trouble. What did you think was going to happen when you told me what you forgot to wear tonight?”
“I hate you,” I muttered. But it came out annoyingly breathy.
“No, you don’t.”
And then…because mercy had never been his style, his hand slid just a fraction higher, brushing over my clit with the kind of teasing pressure that ignited every nerve ending like a spark to dry tinder.
My pussy clenched, already slick with arousal, and I bit down hard on my bottom lip to keep from making a sound, my hands gripping the armrests so tightly my knuckles turned white. The theater was packed with industry bigwigs, critics, and fans, and gosh dammit—I was not going to give them a show.
On screen, his character was confessing love…raw, broken, poetic. The words echoed through the theater, and women were sniffling all around us, their tissues rustling as they dabbed at their eyes. “Losing her was like forgetting how to breathe,” Easton’s character said, his voice cracking with vulnerability, the kind of performance that would have Oscar buzz written all over it. “But I’d do it again if it meant I got one more day loving her.”
Tears welled in my eyes…but it wasn’t because of the film. No, it was the unbearable contradiction of what I was hearing and what I was feeling—his character’s heartfelt declaration clashing with the wicked, teasing pressure of his fingers against my throbbing clit. I was soaked. There was probably going to be a wet spot on the back of my dress, and my thighs were literally throbbing as I fought to keep my composure.
“You’re a problem,” I hissed, my breath hitching as his fingers pressed a little harder, circling my clit with a slow, desperate rhythm that made my hips twitch involuntarily. “A big problem.”
He smiled, so faintly I might’ve imagined it, his green eyes glinting with mischief in the dim light of the theater. “And you’re hot,” he murmured, his voice low and smug, his fingers never stopping their torment as he watched me squirm.
“Yeah, I am sweating. Thanks for noticing,” I hissed, my entire body on fire as he pushed me closer to the edge. I could feel the slickness literally dripping down my thighs.
He leaned in closer, his lips brushing my ear as he whispered, “You’re so fucking wet for me, Nat. You’re dripping all over my fingers like such a good girl. You love this, don’t you—knowing I can make you come right here, with everyone watching my face on that screen.”
I whimpered softly, forcing myself not to glance to the chair next to me, and just hoping desperately that the movie would be too enthralling for anyone to pay me attention like that.
“Please,” I hissed at him, my voice wrecked, my hips rocking slightly against his hand, chasing the release I was so desperate for. “You’d better make me come if we’ve made it this far.”
“I always give you what you want, don’t I?” he teased, his voice a low growl as his fingers slid lower, parting my folds, his thumb circling my clit while his middle finger slipped inside me, curling to hit that spot that made my vision blur. “Let them hear you, Nat. Let them know how good I make you feel. Let them know you’re mine.”
I shook my head frantically, my breath coming in short, ragged gasps as I fought to stay silent, my body trembling on the edge of release. His finger thrust slowly in and out, his thumb never stopping its assault on my clit, and I could feel my orgasm building, a tight coil of pleasure that was about to snap.
“If I make a sound,” I panted, “you’re explaining it to MeMaw during her prayer circle.” My voice broke as the pressure became unbearable, my core clenching around his finger, my thighs shaking as I teetered on the brink.
“Come, Trouble,” he murmured, his voice a low, amused command as he added a second finger, stretching me, fucking me with his hand right there in the theater, his thumb pressing harder against my clit, sending me spiraling. “Come all over my fingers, Nat. Give it to me. Show me how much you need me.”
I came like a woman possessed, hips twitching, breath hitching, like he’d found the exact button marked “ruin her.” I clenched around his fingers, my thighs tightening, slick pouring over his hand while I bit my lip hard enough to bleed…desperate to smother the moan clawing its way up my throat.
I was vaguely aware of the film still playing, of the audience’s soft sniffles and the dramatic music swelling, but all I could focus on was the way Easton’s fingers were still moving, drawing out every last shudder of my climax, his touch relentless even as I came down from the high.
His fingers gave one last, lazy stroke, dragging through my slick folds and grazing my oversensitive clit, making me twitch. Then he pulled his hand back, and I saw it—my arousal glistening on his fingers, catching the light from the flickering screenin front of us. His eyes stayed locked on mine as he lifted them to his mouth and slipped them past his lips, slow and deliberate.
“Sweetest fucking thing I’ve ever tasted,” he murmured, licking them clean like he was making a point.
“Fucking hell,” I whispered, my voice wrecked, my chest heaving as I tried to catch my breath, my pussy still throbbing with the memory of his touch.
“I—” I hissed, turning to glare at him. Or at least I tried. Words were hard when your entire body had just been rearranged. I was flushed, slick with sweat, every muscle humming. I probably looked wrecked—and I was sitting in a puddle of my own arousal. This would be awesome to explain when the lights came back on.
“That was fun,” he murmured, smug as hell.
His green eyes glinted with wicked satisfaction as he laced our fingers together, the gesture suddenly sweet—deceptively innocent—like those fingers hadn’t just been inside me…like he hadn’t just dragged me to the brink and shoved me over it in the middle of a premiere.
I shook my head, a breathless laugh slipping from my lips despite myself. He was impossible. Dangerous. And utterly mine.
The credits rolled across the screen, a soft white scroll fading over black. The applause came next—a tidal wave of it—filling the theater like thunder.
People stood. Clapped. Chanted his name.
A chorus of praise rising like a standing ovation for the man seated beside me, who somehow managed to deliver the performance of a lifetimeanddismantle my ability to form coherent thought.
