Page 47 of The Way We Touch
It doesn’t take much to get me there. My fingers are slick with my arousal, and I rub up and down, around and around. I can still feel his soft lips pulling mine. I can still hear his voice low and groaning in my ear. The things I would do to you scare me…
“Oh, fuck,” I gasp as the orgasm tightens in my pelvis.
I want him to do those things. A thrill zips through my core at the thought, and I want his beard scuffing my skin again. I want his ragged voice speaking dirty words to me… I want to squeeze your ass and taste your pussy until you’re screaming my name.
He lifted me onto the bar in a sweep, and it was all over. I was lost to him. I was lost to his large hands kneading my breasts, his thumb sliding back and forth over the stiff peaks of my nipples.
My eyes squeeze shut, and a low whimper rips from my throat. I grasp a hand over my mouth to muffle my moans as my knees tremble and bend, my pussy flutters, and I wonder why the hell I ran from him. Who cares if they catch us? Who cares if it’s impulsive and too soon?
Sliding down the door to my knees, I’m breathing fast, coming down from that rocket high fueled by fantasies of Logan. I’m clenching and pulsing with fading orgasm, and I know why I ran from him, dammit.
He’s hot as fuck, and I’m so far past caring he’s football player. But he lives in New York. He’s leaving to go back to his life in two weeks. What am I, a masochist? Am I really considering doing this?
Reaching out, I hold the wall to help myself stand. My legs come together, and I feel it at once like a lit match touching my clit. The burn is unmistakable.
“Shit!” I shriek, dashing across the hall to the bathroom.
The clock is ticking as I fling open the cabinet doors, digging past the tampon boxes and extra bars of soap and shampoo and toilet paper.
Nothing.
“No no no no…” I jump to my feet, not even caring that my cutoffs are on the floor in my bedroom, and I’m only wearing a thong.
My pussy is burning, and I fly down the stairs at top speed. Dropping to my knees, I rip open the cabinets under the kitchen sink. I shove the dish soap aside and the Cascade bin and the Lysol spray and the garbage bags.
The fire is burning hotter, and I’m almost crying. I’ve got to find the extra tub of coconut oil.
I spin around the room trying to think. There’s only one last place to check. I don’t have time to worry about the consequences. Running into the guest room, I bang on the bathroom door and push through it at the first sound of his voice.
I barely notice him standing with a towel around his waist, water running down the lines of his muscles in rivulets. His face is stunned to see me in only a cropped tee and black thong.
“I’m sorry!” I fall to my knees, flinging open the doors of the cabinet beneath the sink. “Oh my God! Oh, thank God!”
I rip open the coconut oil and jam my fingers inside before quickly falling back on my ass and shoving them between my legs, rubbing them all over my blazing clitoris.
Leaning my back against the wall, my knees are bent. My eyes are closed, and I’m breathing fast as I grab more, rubbing it all over my burning pussy until the fire slowly begins to dissipate.
The pain starts to subside, and my hand drops to the floor beside me. My breasts rise and fall rapidly, nipples still erect, and I look up to see Logan standing over me, eyes bugged, lips parted. He might be drooling.
“Fuck me,” he murmurs. “What was that?”
Then it hits me what I did—what he watched me do.
For all he knew, I ran in here and masturbated on the floor at his feet. I was in a panic, but all he saw was me with my legs spread wide, rubbing oil on my pussy like a sex-crazed nympho.
Now I’m on fire with embarrassment. Jerking my knees to my chest, I wrap my arms around them and bury my head against my forearms.
“I’m sorry!” I wail. “I had no choice—I was desperate!”
“Don’t ever apologize for doing that… Shit.” I can’t look at him, but I can hear his confusion. “It was the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.”
I exhale a groan, trying to imagine what was going through his mind. “I can never see you again as long as I live.”
“Damn straight you’re going to see me again. You are literally the sexiest woman I’ve ever known. First that dance, and then…”
“It was the Carolina Reaper. Some of the oil must’ve gotten under my fingernails or I didn’t wash long enough. It got there… in my coochie.”
He huffs a laugh, kneeling beside me. Large hands gently grip my arms, and he pulls them away from my face. I try to turn away, but he won’t let me. His finger hooks under my chin, and he forces me to meet his amused eyes.