Page 72 of Fangirl Down

Wells waved a hand in front of her face. “You alive in there, belle?”

“What? Yes,” she blurted, turning her back. “Okay. On your mark. Get set.”

“Go.”

She didn’t have to sneak a look over her shoulder to know Wells went straight for that glacier blue. But she did underestimate how clumsy her fingers would become knowing he’d stripped off his own shirt to put on the new one. The soft ripple of fabric sliding up his chest and falling to the floor nearly made her eyes cross, her knee bumping awkwardly into one of the conference-room chairs as she reached for the ice-blue skirt.

“You okay over there?” he asked.

“Oh yes,” she said quickly, peeling down her leggings.

“Uh-huh.”

She tugged the skirt up around her hips, chewing her bottom lip while selecting a white polo shirt. Off came her top. Before she could drop the new shirt over her head, warmth met her bare back. “I peeked, belle.” Wells gripped her hips, slowly pullingher butt back into his lap, his open mouth trailing up the side of her neck. “Your ass looks so ripe in this skirt, I can’t even be mad that you tricked me into matching.”

Wells turned Josephine around to face him, settled his mouth on top of hers, and walked her backward, using his grip on her hips to boost her up onto the conference-room table. Josephine all but sobbed from the sudden storm of need. “Wells...”

“I know.” He hooked his hands beneath her knees and yanked her to the very edge of the table, bringing their lower bodies flush—and ohhh. He hadn’t been exaggerating about being hard. “I know we’ve got a round of golf to play before I’m inside you, but Christ, these fucking thighs make it so hard to wait.” Fisting Josephine’s hair, he tilted her head back and slid the very tip of his tongue up the curve of her throat. “At least let me eat your pussy.” He wound her ponytail tighter around his fist. Tighter. “You like the sound of that, Josephine? I think you do, baby. Your legs are shaking.”

“I... um...”

“You chose a skirt for a reason, didn’t you?” Wells groaned into her neck, his mouth sweeping across her cheek to attack her mouth, kissing her roughly, growling when she returned the kiss in kind. “You were hoping I’d get on my knees and lick it.”

Honestly, it hadn’t crossed her mind that a skirt would provide... opportunities.

Foraccess.

But mother of God, it was crossing her mind now.

Zigzagging, ricocheting,andtumbling.

“Yes, please,” she whispered against his damp mouth. “Please.”

“I’m going to eat it now and fuck it later, aren’t I, belle?”

Her core squeezed so dramatically, her eyes started to water. “Yes.”

“Josephine.” His teeth closed around her earlobe and tugged,scraping down to her shoulder and back up, before he ground his erection once, twice, against her panties. “This is one stroke of mine that doesn’t need any work. You think about that good and hard when I’m sucking your clit.”

“Oh my God.”

He took off the ice-blue shirt, snagged her mouth for an explicit kiss, then started to go down on his knees—

A knock came from somewhere. Her chest, maybe?

No.

The door.

Someone was knocking on the door of the conference room.

“Son of a bitch,” Wells cursed, slamming a fist down on the table, using his wrist to swipe sweat from his upper lip. “What?”

A few seconds ticked by. “Wells Whitaker, it’s Kip Collings.” A pause. “The tournament chairman.”

Josephine’s jaw nearly dropped to her ankles.

Kip Collings?she mouthed at a visibly frustrated Wells.

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