Page 56 of Filthy Secret
I don’t know if I’ll ever not be angry about this, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to fuck her because I’ll always want to fuck her. And maybe that’s what went wrong the first time. I didn’t do that enough.
I was busy fucking anyone and everyone I could get my dick into. I should have focused on her. Then, maybe we wouldn’t be in this position.
I’ll never admit it, though.
Admitting I fucked up like that would be a pussy move.
“Legs,” I rasp.
“I know you are,” she exhales, her hips rolling, silently begging for more.
She leans forward, closer, her mouth touching mine, and then I feel her tongue slip inside of me. In the five years we were together, never, not once, did we ever do anything past kissing in this room.
This is new, and I’m not sure how to take it.
I’m also too drunk to question anything.
Releasing my grasp on her, I slip my hands between us and unbutton her jeans. Slowly, I slide the zipper down. The music is so loud that I shouldn’t be able to hear every single tooth of the zipper as I move it down, but I can, or maybe it’s my imagination.
When her zipper is down, I waste no time. Shoving my hand between her legs, I cup her pussy. It’s warm and damp, fucking perfect, the way it always is. Just for me. Mine for the taking. Nipping her bottom lip, I lean back slightly so I can watch her as I make her come right here in the middle of the bar.
“Grover,” she exhales.
My lips twitch into a smile, my eyes never leaving hers as her nails dig into the leather of my cut at the shoulders.
“Come on my fingers, legs. Show me how much you want me.”
I notice the moment she realizes where she is. There is a noise somewhere in the background, and she turns her head for a split second before she brings her attention back to me. I don’t stop moving my fingers between her legs. Her wetness is starting to coat my palm, and it’s fucking amazing.
“I want you,” she exhales, her breaths coming out in pants. “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”
Leaning forward, I touch my lips to the center of her throat. “Nobody here is judging you, Ryan,” I murmur. “You’re my old lady in this room, and not one person gives a fuck if you want to do your old man.”
One of her hands leaves my shoulder, and I feel her fingers slide through the hair at the back of my head, gripping the strands as her hips continue to roll and buck against my hand. Shifting my head back slightly, I look up into her eyes.
“Am I?” she asks, her voice trembling and unsure.
“Pissed at you, legs. But you’re still mine. No more talking. Come on my fingers now.”
CHAPTER
TWENTY-TWO
RYAN
I do exactly as he demands. I come on his fingers, and when I’m shaking and trembling in his arms, a complete mess of heavy breaths and sweat, he lifts his hand to my mouth and slips his fingers inside. Those fingers that had just been between my legs are now between my lips, and my heart stops beating.
His eyes are focused on mine, his lips curved up into a mischievous grin. He is getting off on this, and in turn, I feel the same way. A shiver rolls up, then down my spine with excitement.
I want to make him excited.
I want to get him off in any way he needs it, and I’m not sure why this feels really important to me, but it does. It’s not like I don’t turn him on normally. I know I do, but this somehow feels different.
Important.
His fingers slip from my mouth, trailing down my bottom lip, down the front of my throat, and stop at the collar of my shirt. Grover’s gaze doesn’t leave mine the entire time, then wordlessly, he stands, gripping my ass and holding me to him as he does.
“You want some dessert?” he asks, his voice raspy and rough. It’s sexy as hell, just like he is.