Page 73 of One More Chapter
It would be terrible if I came in my pants too, right?
I have to,have toconcentrate on something else.
And if I learned anything about Penelope Barker in our former life, it’s that she is nothing if not an over achiever. I do a quick inventory of the room, and when it’s clear that the next song has started and absolutely no one is paying us any attention and that her orgasm is clearly taking its sweet time, I bite her ear lobe, quicken my fingers, and growl, “I want two.”
She gives it to me before the chorus of the next song has even hit. I can hear how wet she is, can feel it on my hand, and wonder just how much of a mess she’d make if I asked for another. Except, I don’t have to.
“Can we… I…”
She turns in my lap, my fingers still slowly milking her last orgasm inside her, and gives me those eyes I could never say no to.
“I’m going to head out first and start my car.”
“I came with Claire,” she says. “I’ll clean up in the bathroom and meet you?”
I push on her clit, and she squeezes my arm.
“Don’t you dare clean up my mess. That’s for me to deal with. Give me ten minutes and meet me in the truck.”
She nods, and as I slip my hand from her skirt, find Aaron and Lucy to tell them that I’m heading out and thank them for the evening, I send up a prayer that I won’t screw this up again.
twenty-eight
penelope
IcannotbelieveI just sat on Anthony Ellis’s lap and humped his hand like we were two horny teenagers at a basement party.
And yet, here I am, sneaking out of my friend’s bachelorette party because he told me to meet him in the truck so he could take me home for more.
It took next to nothing for Lucy and Aaron to let me leave. By the time Ant and I made our daring escape, it was nearing midnight anyway. People were already trickling out—unless they were waiting in line for the karaoke machine. I even saw Juliet and Sam starting to gather their things as I was heading out the door.
Which means my escape had to be all the sneakier. Claire already gave me the raised brow when I told her I was hitching a ride home with my roomie.
The moment I sit in the passenger seat of Ant’s car, I am overwhelmed by two things—the scent of cedar and jasmine, and the possessive grip on my thigh. I buckle, and the moment I turn to face him, he grips my cheek with his other hand.
“Wait. Not here. People could see us.”
His forward momentum halts, stopping us from starting a kiss that I know would’ve ended me. But as he pulls back, letting the hand on my face slip, the one on my thigh digs in, his fingerprints trying to tattoo themselves as bruises, as brands. What captures me the most is the expression cemented on his face.
He hasn’t had more than two beers tonight, and somehow, his eyes are drunk, lids heavy, that turquoise color dark and thick, disappearing by the second as his pupils rake over me and grow. His lips part, as if parched, longing for a taste—of me?He has to shake his head before gripping the steering wheel, peeling out of the curb spot, and turning us onto the main drag of Lucy and Aaron’s neighborhood.
We’re silent. Save for the heavy breaths that threaten to fog up the car windows, it’s just me and Ant and the road beneath his tires and his hand on my thigh. Suddenly, I’m desperate to feel him. My thighs are still quivering from the way he’d demanded not one, but two orgasms from me—in the middle of our friends’ living room, no less. I haven’t felt him,reallyfelt him for almost two years, and yet he’s gotten to put his hands on me twice in the last month?
If I don’t get to feel him soon, Imightpass away.
My hand darts across the center console and immediately connects with the lap of his gym shorts, where his erection is proudly stiff and sky high. I moan. I couldn’t at all while he’d fingered me in his lap, but in the cabin of his car, all of my desperate noises are fair game, and I am more than desperate for his taste. As soon as I wrap my fingers around his shaft in a tight fist and stroke once upward, he slams on the brakes.
“Stop,” he grunts. Ant wraps his hand around my fist and tries to make me, but I squeeze, and he purrs and gives in for a hot second. “No, Penelope,stop.”
“Why?” I whine. “You’ve gotten to touch metwicenow. I want to?—"
He groans, then peels my hand off of him and peers around. I didn’t even bother to check where the hell we were when he stopped, but we are, in fact, at a stop sign, with no oncoming traffic. Ant cups my face, tucks the stray hair behind my ears, and runs his thumbs roughly over my cheeks.
“Listen to me, Penelope Jayne. I am getting you homesafelybefore you so much as getnearmy cock. You and my pussy are passenger princesses. Now be a good girl and spread those legs so I can give you a third before we get home and make it to bed.”
Andboydoes he. I’m surprised he got me out of the front seat.
But we do. Make it out of the car. Into the house. With no hurried scrambling. No kissing. No fumbling of the silly costumes we donned. We’re quiet. Shy, almost. I wonder if he’s thinking the same thing I am. That if we mess this up again, it will ruin me.