Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 91065 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91065 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
I let my hand slide farther up her thigh, the intimacy of the moment electrifying.
The movie plays on, the romantic scene unfolding in the background barely a blip on our radar, our attention on each other. At least, mine is on her since I’m the one doing all the touching . . .
Margot’s breathing grows heavier, her chest rising and falling in a rhythm that tells me she’s getting turned on.
“How’s this?” I whisper, hand teasing.
She nods, biting down on her lower lip from the anticipation. “Perfect.”
I continue my slow, tantalizing caresses—at least, that’s the vibe I’m going for—feeling the tension and desire building between us. Her soft sighs and tiny moans are sweeter than the sound of my chef announcing that dinner is being served, and that’s saying a lot because I fucking love to eat.
Seriously love it.
My hand moves with more confidence now, fingers tracing patterns on her thigh, venturing closer to her most sensitive spots, only holding back to make her squirm.
“You’re going to drive me crazy,” she murmurs just loud enough for me to hear, her voice a mix of frustration and pleasure. Whining. Pouting.
I chuckle, savoring the power and intimacy of the moment, but what she has yet to realize is that she holds all the power. All of it.
“That’s the idea.”
My fingers reach the apex of her thighs.
Once again, she shivers.
I take pleasure in knowing she feels pleasure, ’cause why the hell else would she be shivering? I bet her thighs would quake if I was kneeling between her legs . . . but that’s a pipe dream to save for another day. Or another outing.
Ha.
Like a good girl—or a bad girl, depending on how you look at it—Margot parts her legs to grant me better access, breath now coming in shallow, uneven gasps.
Naughty, naughty . . .
The vixen likes it.
And so, beneath the delicate fabric my fingers go and find her wet and ready. So wet. So ready.
Even though it’s been ages since I’ve gotten anyone off like this—usually we’re in a bed or at least somewhere private. Oh—and naked. I begin to move my fingers in languid, deliberate strokes, feeling her body respond to my touch. Margot’s hand covers mine under the blanket, her grip tightening with each passing moment.
My fingers travel with practiced ease, finding a rhythm that makes her breath catch and her body tremble beneath the lap blanket.
I am driving her wild.
Margot leans her head back against the leather theater seat, eyes fluttering closed as I work my magic, getting her off like a goddamn boss, the hands I get paid so much money for doing double duty.
I am a triple threat.
Football, good looks, and foreplay. Bam!
Margot’s quiet moans are almost drowned out by the sounds of the film, but I know she’s making them—I can tell by her parted lips and half-closed eyelids. It’s an expression that’s driving me wild too.
I lean in, pressing a kiss to her neck, and take pleasure when I feel the pulse racing beneath my lips.
“This is so fucking hot,” I whisper, my voice rough with desire.
God I wish we could fuck.
Or at least I wish I could properly go down on her, and I doubt she’d want to do it in the back of my car, though it’s on the tip of my tongue to ask.
“Don’t stop,” she begs.
Up on the giant cinema screen there’s an explosion.
It’s timed perfectly with Margot’s, her body tense, hand still covering mine, not wanting me to stop. Breath coming in sharp, ragged gasps, and holy shit, who knew it would be this easy to make her come?
She shudders.
Obviously she does, because like I said, I’m so fucking good at this. The quiet cry escaping her lips sounds like a five-star review that I want to rave about online.
I did this.
I made her come at the movies.
In public.
In an awkward position.
With only one hand.
Fuck. Yeah.
We sit for a moment, pretending to watch the movie while her body finishes racking with spasms, the blanket covering her lap and covering up our shared secret.
I withdraw my hand, triumph filling my gut as Margot turns to look at me, her eyes sparkling with satisfaction. Desire.
“Well,” she says at long last. “That was interesting.”
Interesting?
What the hell is that supposed to mean? “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”
Her head gives a tentative shake. “It’s . . . it means we probably have to have a conversation.”
A conversation?
Shit. About what?
That cannot be good . . .
Chapter 16
Margot
“It’s not a bad thing.”
We’re walking out of the theater; then we stop when we get to my car, the blanket that was covering my lap during the movie draped over my arm—it is now going to be a forever reminder that I let him diddle me during half of it.
A blush creeps up my face as I open the back door to my car and toss the thing in the back seat, slamming the door quickly so I don’t have to look at it.