Page 35 of The Crowned Garza

Desire unfurls in my belly and arousal coats the seat of my new panties. I reach down between my thighs and sweep the bow tie back and forth over my covered folds, torturing myself. When I can’t take it anymore, I shift aside my panties and use the edges of the bow tie to play with my clit, my legs restless as pleasure spikes.

“Saint,” I whisper, imagining that this is his tongue flicking back and forth over me.

Arousal springs in bouts, making me wetter than I’ve ever been. Turning my face to the pillow again, I take another deep inhale of his lingering scent.Heavens, it’s like a drug, hitting me with a rush, spurring me on to flick myself faster.

My peripheral catches a glimpse of white and I pause, whipping my head to the door. There’s no one there. Ah, Indy must be out pacing the loft again.

As if prodding me to continue, my clit pulses achingly, heavily.

With another deep sniff of the pillow, I fondle my clit more feverishly until the bow tie becomes too soaked with my arousal and loses its effectiveness.

I want to come so, so badly.

A sexually frustrated moan in my throat, I roll over and push up onto my knees, then take the Saint-scented pillow and stuff it between my thighs, straddling it. My clit expresses approval by throbbing wildly. I stick the soaked bow tie between the pillow and my pussy, and then I ride them both. Undulating my hips, rocking back and forth, imagining I’m riding Saint’s face.

As my orgasm soars lower and lower toward me, I rock faster and faster. “Saint...Oh God... Your mouth feels so good… Saint!”

My orgasm hits me like a rock to the head. My back bends, thighs slamming together, crushing the pillow between them as I meet my orgasm head-on with a series of loud moans.

I ride out the waves of the best masturbation I’ve ever had. Until the intensity fades and I’m left sagged.

“Frickin’ hell,” I murmur, sheepishness seeping in. “What’s wrong with you, you pathetic bitch?”

In shame, I slump over and bury my face in the mattress, remaining like that for several minutes. When I finally lift my head and take a peek at the clock on the nightstand, I’m stunned to see it’s already 12:57 p.m.Shit.

Scrambling off the bed, I wince at the aftermath. A cum-soaked bow tie lying in a huge wet spot on the pillow.Hell and damnation, I’m perverted. Always hot and bothered but can’t face the music when it’s time to boogie down.

Cheeks aflame, I hurriedly rip off all the sheets, bundle them up in my arms and scurry out of the bedroom with the intention of dumping them in the washer before Saint gets here. Only to skid to an abrupt halt.

He’s already here.

In the kitchen area, head lowered, gaze trained intensely downward, hands planted firmly to the black stone countertop.

Was it him I glimpsed earlier? It can’t be. The elevator didn’t chime.

Yet he’s here…

I throw a glance over my shoulder to Indy’s door. It’s closed. Indy’s door rattles when she opens it and bangs when she closes it. With my lust fog now gone, I’m certain it wasn’t her I glimpsed.

Oh God, if it was Saint all along, did he hear me? See me?

Why do I keep embarrassing myself like this?“I—uh, when did you get back?”

When seconds pass and he doesn’t respond, I forge on, “I’m just gonna, er, put these in the, um, wash and get ready.”

“Why?” he asks the countertop.

“Hm?”

“Why are you putting them in the wash?”

“I, uh, spilled something on them…”

“What did you spill?”

Ahhdeargod. “Um…uh, juice?”

“Hmm. How did that happen?”