“You can’t order me to stop thinking.”
“No, but I can redden your ass until you stop feeling guilty about wanting this.”
How does he do that? It’s like he sees inside my head and interprets my thoughts better than I can.
“Now…” He molds his hands to my hips. “Tell me what you want.”
“I want to burn.”
He presses against my back, letting me feel the steel of his chest.
“Do you want to burn here?” He grips my backside with both hands. “Or here?” His hand slides around my waist and cups me between the legs.
“Whichever pleases you.”
“Goddamn, you’re perfect.” He tightens his fingers against my pussy before stepping back and removing his touch completely.
His breaths grow louder, sharper, as he crouches behind me. I can’t see him, but I don’t dare peek. God help me, I love being at his mercy.
Lifting the hem of my sweater, he tucks it under my bra strap to hold it in place. The anticipation is too much. My fingers curl against the tiled wall, and my pulse roars in my ears.
With teasing fingers, he traces my spine and shifts closer to brush his lips against my tailbone. Then he yanks down my leggings and panties and bites the flesh of my butt the instant it’s exposed.
I whimper and lock my knees, attempting to stay upright against the sharp sting. The leggings around my boots limit the movement of my feet, but the strong hand on my hip supports me as he pulls my exposed backside closer to his face. Pressing a palm on my back, he forces me to bend at the waist.
My hands slip down the wall as I lower my head, my breasts shifting in the cups of my bra, dragging my nipples against the itchy lace.
His labored breathing echoes through the small space, but the glide of his fingers is oh-so controlled. His hands are everywhere, methodically positioning my hips where he wants them, slowly caressing up and down my legs, and petting between my thighs.
Taste me, Trace. Fuck me with your wicked tongue.
He hears my unspoken plea and falls upon my pussy, burying his face, groaning, and licking with vigor. My mouth drops open on a gasp, and I snap it shut, stifling the cry in my throat.
I don’t know if the bathroom door is thin or if there’s a line waiting outside. I don’t care. His lips feel too good pressed against me, kissing and sucking, warm and wet. I push against the wall, rocking against his tongue, seeking pressure, friction, desperate to come.
He licks me from bottom to top and plunges deep. Then his fingers are there, circling my opening and sinking inside. He thrusts in and out, grunting, panting, fucking me with his touch, his tongue, and the force of his need.
I gasp and tremble as the pleasure crests inside me, but he teases me, gives me just enough to hold me at the edge. Lips sliding, tongue curling, and fingers strumming, he plays my body like an instrument. My heart dances to the crescendo of his breaths. Electricity shoots through my veins, hot and wet and charged with emotion. The sensations are incredible, dizzying, overpowering. I think I might die.
I drop my chin to my chest, my head too heavy to hold up. Stretching the restraint of the leggings around my ankles, I shift my feet wider and roll my hips, grinding against his mouth, needing him, wanting this, silently begging him to keep going.
He clamps an arm around my waist, rubs a finger around my clit, and closes those sinful lips over my pussy, sucking viciously. My muscles spasm. My mind shatters, and my body detonates. His guttural groan reverberates through me, crashing waves of pleasure from my core to my limbs. Holyfuckholyfuck. I arch my back, and my mouth hangs open in a silent scream.
As the peak of orgasm tapers off and shudders into breathy repletion, he nibbles his way up my spine, panting and hungry. I shift to straighten from the wall, but the hand on my back holds me in the bent position.
“Don’t move,” he rasps, his voice whiskey and smoke.
The sound of his zipper shivers the air, followed by the whisper of rustling clothes. I peer over my shoulder just as he releases his hard, swollen cock and slides a hand over the length, once, twice… He kicks his hips, driving faster, harder, thrusting into the grip of his fist.
I want to turn around, but he clutches my hip, fingers shaking, mouth parted, gorgeously lost in an urgent race to completion.
“You make me so fucking hard.” He doesn’t ram inside me, yet he can’t seem to slow down. “Nothing is more tempting than the sight of your ass perched in the air.”
Intensely focused on my nude backside, he chases his release, stroking himself, grunting, tensing…
“Danni, fuck. I’m fucking coming.” His head falls back, and he groans to the ceiling as a warm spray of wetness covers my back and trickles into the crack of my butt.
My God, he’s beautiful when he lets go. His entire expression softens. His pupils dilate. His shoulders loosen, and his eyes glow with swirling blue wonder. He’s looks younger, happier, and fuck if that doesn’t put a teary smile on my face.
He tucks himself away as he catches his breath. Then he turns his attention to my back. Instead of wiping off the come, he rubs it in, spreading it like lotion across every exposed inch.
“You kinky bastard.” I laugh as a finger digs into a ticklish spot on my ribs. “I’m going to smell like sex.”
“No.” He moves to the sink and washes his hands. “You’re going to smell like me.”
Marking his territory. With a blissful sigh, I pull my clothes back in place.
“Now that we got that out of the way…” He dries his hands and prowls toward me.
Holy shit, now what? He has that look—the scowling, smoldering, intense glare that suggests our liaison in the Walmart bathroom isn’t over. I feel like I know this man down to the pith of his bones, yet there are moments like this when I’m utterly stupefied by the beauty of his mysterious frown. He holds me hostage with a glance, owns me with a crook of his finger, and intimidates me with his uncanny ability to keep me guessing.
Three paces away…two paces…he crowds me with his soaring frame, buries a hand in my hair, and crashes his mouth against mine. His kiss is strong and demanding, skipping the slide of lips and diving straight to teeth and tongue. I taste myself on him. It’s dirty and intimate and makes me so damn hot.
A knock sounds on the door, and Trace tears his mouth away.
“Get lost!” He returns to my lips, the hand in my hair wrenching my head back as his other cups my breast with firm pressure.
He walks me backward until I bump against the wall. Clutching the backs of my thighs, he lifts me until we’re eye-level.
With an arm around my waist and his fingers tangled in my hair, he forces my mouth back to his. Teeth grazing, tongues rubbing, the kiss is frenzied, humming with the sounds of our moans and shallow panting.
I wrap my arms and legs around him, rocking on instinct. He’s hard between my thighs and positioned perfectly to slide right in.
Except we’re both wearing clothes.