Page 43 of She's Like the Wind

Instead, I stepped closer.

And closer still.

Until I was in her space, and she was staring up at me like she might slap me or kiss me or both.

“You still want me,” I murmured as I scanned her face.

I’d missed her. Missed everything about her. Her pouty lips. Those beautiful eyes. That perfect nose.

She raised that perfect nose in the air. “You’re full of it, aren’t you?”

“Want me to fill you up, baby?” I asked huskily. A shivergave her away.

“I want you to go to hell.” Her voice shook.

“Already there, baby.”

And then I had her against the wall behind the register, my lips devouring hers, the world dissolving into a feverish blur.

She struck me.

Once.

Her open palm crashed against my chest, a futile resistance.

Thenshe clutched my shirt, pulling me closer with a force that belied her words. Her kiss was venomous, as if she loathed me for every breath I took, while I kissed her like it was my only salvation.

I touched her, layer beneath layer, as if unveiling a treasure I longed to claim.

My hands slid beneath the hem of her white camisole, dragging it upward. Her breath caught, her body arching towards me, her nails embedding into my shoulders as I pressed her firmly against the unyielding wall of silk and mirrors.

"No one makes you feel like I do," I murmured against her throat, my voice a promise and a curse. "No one."

She gasped as my hand slipped under her skirt, between her thighs, her defiance crumbling.

I couldn’t stop.

Wouldn’t.

She needed to know what I did for her. She needed to know.

I felt her up with a hunger that could only be described as feral. The fabric of her skirt bunched around her hips, I pushed her panties aside, leaving her bare pussy exposed to the cool air—her sweet little slit begging for attention.

My fingers trailed up the inside of her thighs, slow and deliberate, making her shiver like she was on the edge of a breakdown.

She was still wearing her clothes, but that didn’t stop me from making her feel like she was completely naked, utterly at my mercy.

My fingers brushed against her soaking wet cunt. “Fuck, Naomi,” I groaned, “you’re already dripping for me.”

Her breath hitched, her hips bucking involuntarily as my fingers teased her swollen lips.

A part of me wanted to rush, but another wanted to take my time. I dragged my fingertips along her pussy, gathering up her slick like I was painting with her juices. Then, with a suddenness that made her gasp, I plunged two fingers deep inside her, fucking her pussy with a rhythm that was all power, no mercy.

She whimpered, her hands clawing at my shoulders as I curled my fingers inside her, hitting her velvet G-spot.

Her back arched, her tits pressing against the fabric of her top, nipples hard enough to cut glass.

I leaned in close, my hot breath against her ear as Iwhispered, “You like that, don’t you? You love getting fucked by my fingers, don’t you, baby?”