Page 13 of Claimed and Catalogued
I shake my head, my jaw tight. “You’re beautiful, you’re funny, you’re sweet, and I like you,a lot,but you’re young, Evie, and I’m not exactly the guy you think I am.”
She studies me, eyes steady. “I’m not asking for forever, Nick. We’re just having fun. Plus, we’ve got a fake wedding tomorrow, remember? Chemistry will help sell it.”
Maybe I’ve had too many beers. Maybe I’m a sick old man. Maybe I’m desperate to latch onto a reason to keep going. It’s tough to say, but my hand doesn’t wait for a response. It slides beneath the table, and my fingers brush her inner thigh, slow and deliberate.
She sighs softly, the warmth of her breath landing against my neck.
Fuck. I should stop. I really need to fucking stop.
I squeeze her leg once more, then attempt to lift it away, but she holds me there.
“You said you’d prove you’re real, remember?” Her tone is soft and sweet, and the look in her eye is that of an innocence I can’t reconcile with the fire we’re fueling.
And right then, I know, I’m in trouble.
Chapter Seven
Evie
The whole bar hums around us in a chorus of chaos. Music, laughter, clinking glasses, a group from the library, another from the motorcycle club. They’re all chattering about something, but I can’t hear any of it. Not with Nick’s fingers brushing my thigh like that. Not with the look in his eyes, like he’s torn between wanting me and punishing himself for it.
I see that he’s older. I know he probably won’t stay. I know that he has a life outside of this weekend. A life with a job, a home, a town just like this in another state. He’s probably got friends and women he hits up when he feels lonely. He’s probably got his own favorite bar, his own small-town bookstore, but here, in this moment, we make sense, and this feels too good to stop.
I grip the edge of the table, trying to look normal as he slips his big, rough hand under my skirt, and between my thighs, palming over my stockings with pressure that drives a bolt of energy through my clit.
I must move differently, because he holds me tighter, and leans into my ear, his breath hot, his voice deep as he says, “You like that, don’t you?”
Oh God!
My body shifts with his as he presses in harder, rubbing more directly against the swollen nub hidden behind layers offabric. Somehow this feels even more erotic than touching me directly.
The bar is loud and crowded, red and silver tinsel hang from the beams, the band ahead plays cheery Christmas tunes, all while I sit tucked into hot Santa as his fingertip pulls at the tear in the seam of my stockings.
I guess Santa would be good at all things stocking related, wouldn’t he?
I moan as his thick finger slides into the seam and the stockings tear wider, making room for the rough pads of his fingers as they slide past the lips of my pussy and into my creamy center.
“You’re soaking wet for me in this crowded bar, aren’t you little one?”
Little one?Oh God, why do I like that? Why do I like being the tiny little one that he’s got balled up in the corner booth?
I’m sick. I’m sick, and I might actually be delusional because this can’t be happening.
My face is hot, I’m sure I’m red, but I don’t think anyone notices us or what we’re doing… I don’t think.
I glance around the room, taking in the dancing drunks and the gaggle of women in the corner drinking some kind of vodka mix drinks. The point is to make sure no one is staring, but I’m not thinking straight. In reality, they could all have their cameras pointed straight toward us and I wouldn’t notice. My brain is a pile of mush focused mainly on Nick’s thick fingers, his rough voice, the muscle definition in his forearm, the size of his body, the girth of his cock as I rest my hand on his leg.
He presses in deeper, scratching in an upward motion that makes my toes curl inside my boots. “Let them watch. I like it when you squirm.”
My God!
My mouth opens and I pant for relief, but every move I make only drives him deeper, harder, faster. My hips shift and I bite back a moan as he touches all the right spots.
I’ve never been this girl. I play by the rules. I do the right thing. I don’t waver off the path of good. But here,right now,I’d let this man clear the table and fuck me into Tuesday with every one of these people watching.
Tension builds in my core, and though I don’t want this to end, I’m not sure how much longer I can hold out. His touch is perfect. Perfect rhythm, perfect pressure, perfect everything!
“Come for me, Evie. Right here. Soak my hand.”
