Page 17 of Right Next Door (Stone Family #3)

Nicole

A s torturously slow as the morning was, the afternoon is worse.

So, so much worse.

As soon as I get back to Chapter and Verse, I sit behind the counter waiting for Ian to power on the vibrator, convinced it will start soon. Five minutes pass. Ten, twenty, and then half an hour melts into a whole hour that I lose to anticipation.

It’s killing me. All the waiting and wanting and desperation.

So with a deep breath, I try my best to ignore the egg inside me and work.

The first buzz hits while I’m checking out a little old couple here for their monthly read from the mystery book club.

I very nearly crumple to the floor, and when I yelp in surprise, the only excuse I can come up with is a bug.

I swat around my head like a maniac until they skedaddle with their bag, leaving me to fall into the counter as I writhe in the pleasure being given to me by two inches of silicone and a man on the other side of the brick wall.

I feel like a flame has been lit inside me, and I’m teeming with so much heat and energy, I think I could dig through that wall if I tried hard enough. Only so I could beg him to relieve me.

Please.

Make me come.

Just as I start to sweat and sigh, it shuts off, and as welcome as the reprieve is, the empty feeling of being so close to the edge only to be yanked back unexpectedly isn’t very nice.

But that’s how it goes.

On and off.

For hours.

While I stock books.

While I’m in the middle of a phone conversation with a customer.

And, most mortifyingly, while I’m receiving a delivery.

The moan I inadvertently release makes the guy’s gaze drift over me in a gross way, although I can’t find it in me to care at the moment.

Not when I have to grab hold of the wall to keep myself steady.

As soon as I have the boxes piled up and the back door locked once again, I hightail it to the bathroom.

Completely and utterly unable to take it anymore.

Everything tingles. My skin burns. Even my scalp feels like it’s on fire.

I’ve never felt anything like this clawing need before. It even makes it hard to breathe.

I’m panting, practically heaving as I hike up my dress, fumbling with the material, everything made more difficult with my trembling fingers. I don’t bother pushing my underwear down, only stuff my hand inside, slipping my fingers over my slit.

I’m soaked, and everything feels swollen and heavy. I lean my other forearm on the wall, resting my forehead on it as I circle my clit with my fingertips. I bite back a groan as the vibrator goes up another notch, and all it takes is two more swipes of my fingers to come.

Shaking from head to toe, I can’t hold back my moans anymore, riding high, flying over the edge Ian kept pulling me back from all day. It’s both immensely satisfying and still not enough.

Not with the vibrator hitting a higher speed yet again.

It’s like he knows.

I groan, my hand slipping off the tiled wall, and I drop my skirt as I stumble to the door.

That’s it. I have to call it.

This game is too much.

Intent on running next door to Ian, I open the door to find him in front of me.

Here.

In my shop.

His cell phone in his hand and his eyebrows narrowed over his dark brown eyes.

“Hello, baby,” he murmurs low and slow, almost like he expected to find me here. Like he planned this all along.

“H-hi.” I swallow thickly, my forehead sweaty, the cotton of my dress sticking between my legs. I don’t know if I’ve ever been more uncomfortable in my life.

He ticks his head to the side, his voice giving nothing away. “You okay?”

I nod. “Yep. Yes. Mm-hmm.”

He steps closer to me, so close I can feel his breath on my cheek and count the individual strands of gray in his beard.

He studies me for a long time while the egg still vibrates inside me like a godforsaken torture device, and he merely stands there as if reading a menu, deciding what to eat.

He drags his thumb and forefinger over his mustache and down to his beard like he has all the time in the world.

Again and again, he brushes over his facial hair as I slowly melt into a human puddle at his feet.

Finally, after three centuries, he presses something on his phone, and everything in my body quiets.

Except for my blood.

And the tension.

Or the still-rising heat.

But other than that, I’m totally calm.

“C-can I help you with anything today?” I aim for a smile, but it feels sideways. I feel sideways. “Find a book you might like?”

His eyes light with something I can’t quite comprehend as he backs me into the bathroom, pivoting me so I’m trapped between him and the door as he locks it. “I specifically told you not to come, didn’t I?” When I nod, he shakes his head, voice stern. “Words, Nicole.”

I clear my throat and answer, “Yes, you did tell me that.”

“And I told you not to touch yourself, right?”

“Right.”

My pulse hammers in my throat as he lowers his hand from beside my shoulder to graze the side of my breast. He wraps his fingers around my wrist.

I think I might die.

“But you did, didn’t you? You touched yourself. You orgasmed when I specifically said you couldn’t.”

I start to shake my head, but he cocks an eyebrow in a challenge, and I sag. He glowers at me, tsking a few times like I’m bad.

I’m never bad.

I’m always good.

I always make the right decisions.

But this, doing what I’m not supposed to, feels good. More than this moment, it feels right to make the decisions I want as opposed to what I think I’m supposed to do.

The only expectations I want to meet anymore are the ones Ian sets for me.

The ones that I know will bring the most delicious form of sin when I don’t.

He’s so stern, my nipples harden to painful peaks. The tiny hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. And I think I finally understand what people mean when they say they’re scared of him. This is the growly bear version of Ian Stone.

And I think I like it even more than the one I’ve known.

Especially when he lifts my hand up between us and quietly chides, “My naughty girl.”

His naughty girl.

I’ll be anything as long as I’m his.

“Did you come?” he asks, and I tell him the truth.

“Yes.”

“Did you touch yourself?”

“Yes.”

“Which fingers?”

Confused, I don’t answer, so he glances down at my hand between us.

“Which ones did you use?”

When I press my index and middle fingers together, he draws them into his mouth, sucking firmly while holding my gaze. I nearly come again from the intensity of it. From the suction on my skin and the echo on my throbbing clit. I imagine his mouth there, and I instinctively know it would be good.

Better than anything I’ve ever experienced before.

I exhale a noisy breath, squeezing my thighs together, and as if he recognizes I’m almost there again, he pulls my fingers out of his mouth and settles my hand at my side.

“You know what this means?” he asks, twirling a lock of my hair around his finger.

“Next time we play, I’m going to make you suffer. ”

He grips my hair in his hand, holding my head in place to kiss me, his tongue invading my mouth, taking no prisoners.

It’s greedy and a touch rough, with his fingers tugging on my hair at the root.

He yanks up my dress, but when I wrap my leg around his hip, he knocks it down and nips at my jaw.

“No, baby,” he says against my throat, “you don’t get what you want right now. ”

He slips his hand into my underwear and removes the vibrator by the thin loop, all without touching me. I’m achy and need him to soothe it.

Curling my fingers into his T-shirt, I do what I originally intended and beg. “Please.”

He merely kisses me again, this one softer and infinitely sweeter. “No.”

“Ian,” I whine. “I need you.”

“I know.” He steps away from me to wash the vibrator in the sink before drying it and slipping it into his pocket.

Then he curls his arm around my waist, all but lifting me up.

He holds me against his side, combing his fingers through my hair, pressing my face into his throat, where I smell the now-familiar scent of cloves from what I learned is his beard oil, making it soft enough to nuzzle.

I nuzzle against him like a cat, and he strokes the back of my head a few times.

“This is your punishment,” he murmurs, his chest rumbling under my palm.

“You come when, where, and however many times I want. But only when I want. I’ll give you more than you think you can handle and then give you more, but it’s not up to you.

It’s up to me.” He nudges my face up with his hand at my cheek.

“So, next time I tell you to come or not to come, I expect you to do as you’re told. ”

“Yes, sir,” I say, unable to keep the smile from my face.

He whacks my butt. “Brat.”

A moment later, he has the door unlocked and is leading the way out to the floor, where two of my younger workers have arrived for the evening shift.

They both smile and wave, obviously having no idea that I was locked in the bathroom with Ian for the last ten minutes.

While I head behind the register, he peruses the bookshelves leisurely, as if he didn’t just edge me as punishment until I begged.

Mr. Darcy hops down from his perch and tentatively approaches Ian, who bends down, holding out his hand. After a few seconds, the long-haired ragdoll cat arches into Ian’s palm. I catch myself smiling as Ian speaks to Darcy—what he says, I don’t know, but whatever it is, Darcy seems to like it.

And I can’t help but compare Bryce to Ian, who is so self-assured yet good-humored enough to have a full-on conversation with a cat. While Bryce never has the time or desire to come to the store, let alone pay attention to Darcy, who definitely feels some kind of way about him.