Page 121 of With a Cherry On Top

With a chuckle, she pulls back just enough to search my face. “I have been in that bathroom. Trust me, that’s not a good idea.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

My whole body is on fire. Every nerve ending is attuned to her, every ounce of restraint hanging by a thread. I need to know if these desperate, all-consuming kisses have her as wrecked as Ifeel. If she’s as wet as I imagine. If her body is just as strung out with desire.

My gaze flicks around the room, just a cursory glance to ensure no one is watching too closely, before I let my hand drift lower, sliding down the front of her dress. The second I make contact with slick skin, she stills, her green eyes going wide. Then she bites her lip and subtly parts her legs just enough to let me in.

That’s a green light.

And green is my favorite fucking color.

My fingers graze her heat, and I nearly drop to my knees when I discover how soaked she is. “Jesus, baby.” I speak into her ear, letting my fingers tease along her folds, dragging the slickness up, circling her clit once—just enough to make her shudder. “This all for me?”

She gives a shaky moan, her hands clutching at my shirt before she pulls me down for another breathless kiss.

I press a finger inside her, swallowing her gasp as she clenches around me, her walls tight and molten-hot. “Shit,” she whimpers, dropping her forehead against my shoulder, her nails biting into my skin through the fabric of my shirt.

Around us, the bass thrums through the floor, the low lighting flickering over bodies swaying too close to notice what’s happening. The crowd pushes in like a perfect shield.

I slide my finger out before thrusting back in. “So sensitive.” I press a kiss to the shell of her ear. “You know how fucking crazy you drive me? Squirming in this little dress, soaking wet, desperate for me to make it better?”

Her her hips rock forward, seeking more. “Make it better.Please.”

I add another finger, stretching her open, relishing the way she takes me, how she tightens.

“Keep going. Oh, fuck—please!”

Oh, I’ll keep going.

Mouth on hers now, I curl my fingers just right and stroke over that spot that makes her whole body tense, makes her grip on my shoulders turn bruising. I love making her come almost as much as I love knowing exactly how to do it. “Right there, baby?” I coax.

Her hips roll forward in a desperate attempt to chase the friction. “Yes, yes, yes...”

Fuck, thisfeeling. Knowing that I’m the one making her tremble. That we’re in the middle of this crowded dance floor, surrounded by oblivious people, and I’ve got her coming apart in my arms. It’s intoxicating.

I speed up my fingers, pumping into her harder, pressing one finger against her clit in tight circles. Her entire body shudders, her thighs clamping around my hand as she fights to keep herself standing.

“That’s it. Don’t stop,” she pleads, her breath hot and desperate against my neck.

Like I ever could.

I curl my fingers again, just a little sharper this time, and that’s all it takes. She comes with a shuddering moan, her lips an inch from mine. Her entire body shakes, her walls fluttering around my fingers in the most addictive way as I hold her through it.

When she finally sags in my arms, she lets out a breathless “Fuuuck.”

Fuck indeed.

I want to start all over again.

“You okay?” I say into her ear, my clean hand stroking her back soothingly.

She nods, then lifts her head to look at me. Her eyes are dark, a flush high on her cheeks. “More than okay.”

Her tongue slides against mine, and I’m more drunk on her than I am on alcohol. I reach for the side of her face, but before I can, I’m yanked backward, the force so abrupt that I stumble into the solid mass of people dancing behind me.

What the fuck?

Everything’s a blur of flashing lights and disoriented movement as I regain my footing, my heart slamming against my ribs. When I see the culprit, he grabs a fistful of my shirt.