When his hands start to tug my shirt up across my stomach and ribs, I justify it because cotton is truly a difficult fiber to kiss in. My jean shorts? Those are in the way too.
We are the type of unpredictable frenzy that scares me. My fingers tingle, my toes curl. My heart is in my throat and my stomach flips alongside it. I string my fingers through his thick hair and he growls into my mouth. It’s the sexiest sound I’ve ever heard and it earns him one leg, then two wrapped around his waist. That’s right, Lucas—with good behavior like that, I might just commute your sentence.
Finding myself coiled around Lucas Thatcher like a python would normally shock me, but at the moment there are other emotions fighting for my attention. Fear and anxiety both try to wrestle for first place, but lust wins.
My panties brush against his jeans and the sensation is one I will never forget. It’s rough and merciless. Solid. He’s as hard as he was last night and I will not let anyone interrupt us this time. I am all too aware the officials might knock and let us out any second, so I yank his shirt up over his head and make my intentions clear: keep going or die.
He turns and presses me up against the exam room wall. There’s no apology as the textured paint scratches my back and his stubble turns the skin on my neck crimson.
His lips feel familiar, even against a place on my body they’ve never been. They attend to my chin and then my neck, lower and lower until he kisses my breasts through my thin bra. It’s still technically a kiss, I tell myself, proud of my logic. His tongue wets the lace and it turns translucent. My tight nipples are completely visible and I’m so obviously sensitive there. He exploits the knowledge, sucking and licking with ease, so confident with his mouth that I’m convinced he’s taken lessons at some point.
With his mouth occupied, his strong hands have taken charge of exploration. He alternates between light caresses and forceful pressure, as if to remind me that he’s still dangerous. He leans back and I watch him slowly drag his gaze across my chest and then lower, between my legs. My panties aren’t much, but they’re the last barrier I have. He reaches down and brushes his knuckle across my center. My mouth drops open. Closes. My teeth sink into my lip so I don’t scream something inappropriate. If I thought his jeans felt good, it doesn’t compare to his touch, his finger brushing the material aside, pausing for an eternity at my wetness, and then sinking into me.
“I’ve always wanted you wrapped around my finger.”
My mouth drops open again but no sound escapes.
Lucas Thatcher has never owned me as much as he does in this moment.
He has won, and from his smirk, he knows it—but he’s not greedy. He’s going to share the prize. He’s going to make me feel as good as he does. His long middle finger slides in deep and then drags slowly back out. This is how it’s always been with Lucas—who can go the deepest, who can get there the fastest? My non-casted hand grips his shoulder. His neck. His bicep. I try to stabilize myself with anything I can, but he’s going too fast, drawing out pleasurable tingles that I can’t hide.
His head falls to the crook of my neck and his breath warms my ear. His finger circles and circles, dipping inside me and bringing the slickness back up to my most sensitive spot. Another few circles and I will come undone for him.
“You’re close,” he rasps, more command than statement.
I wish I could correct him, but it’s true.
My teeth sink into his shoulder as the first sparks start to fly. He’s telling me to come and I am coming and his fingers keep up their pace and I’m shaking in his arms, trying to grip on to every ripple. He circles and circles until the very last burst of pleasure has washed over me, and then I’m limp in his arms and he’s kissing my neck, just below my ear. His lips are tender and sweet. He’s not gloating like I assumed he would.
Which means he deserves a little reward of his own.
I let my legs fall from around his waist. I can barely put any weight on them, not after what he’s just done to me, so I sink down to my knees.
Some women say giving oral is an act of submission or subservience to men. As Lucas’ eyes widen in shock and his mouth drops open, I realize I’ve never disagreed more. There, on my knees, I hold all the power I can possibly carry, and more.
He asks what I’m doing—as if any guy is confused when a woman looks up from beneath her eyelashes, tugging at the buckle of his jeans. He asks more as a courtesy. In this instance, What are you doing? means Are you sure?
I refuse to answer him. I unbuckle his jeans and tug them down along with his boxer briefs. I’m not as patient as he was. After all, there’s no time to tease when the CDC could come in at any moment.