Feather soft brushes against silk. Teasing. Torturing. His hand kept my leg in place, though there was no way I was moving it. Not when it opened me up to him. Not when it kept his iron arousal against the place where I wanted it most. My panties were so wet it was embarrassing. I panted against the night air, struggling for silence, the murmurs of the couple who had stepped outside breaking the silence of the night, the orange embers of their smokes reminding me of their presence, their attention on each other, a giggle escaping from their conversation and sending a moment of intelligent thought to my head. Was I really being humped in the shadows against the side of a building? Was this beautiful man really running the pad of his fingers back and forth, lower and higher, finding the—oh my god. My head dropped back, and I couldn’t stop the moan that escaped when his fingers brushed my silk-covered clit.
Jesus. It wasn’t a curse. It was a thankful message sent upward. I had been lost, and now, in that light brush against my most sensitive place, I was found.
He chuckled against my neck, his fingers moving back an inch or two, until they were back at my soaked opening, pushing on the indent there, the silk moving far enough inside for me to feel the brush of skin on skin, and I just about lifted off the ground in my need for more.
“Don’t stop,” I gasped.
“Honey, I’m not going to stop until you fall apart in my hands. I need that. I’m not releasing you until it happens.”
He lifted his mouth off my neck, returning to my mouth, his kisses softening as his fingers took their time, probing, fluttering over my clit, sliding a firm index down the line, making their way to my ass for a hard press, before returning and starting the insanity again. I was shaking, wanting, dying for another touch of his skin, wanting the silk tease of my panties gone, wanting the raw feel of skin on skin. Even with that need, I was not prepared when it happened, my mouth freezing against his kiss, brain function gone, motor skills impaired, every intelligent thought I ever had fleeing my body as his thumb pressed against my clit and two of his fingers pushed inside my body.
Holy Jesus Hell.
He groaned, his forehead on my own, pushing my head back against the wall. “Fuck, I wish you were open before me on a bed right now so I could see this.” The words tore from him, and through the blurred vision of my senses I saw the couple glance our way, a whispered discussion beginning, then ending; the club door opened.
“If we were on a bed right now, your cock would be out.” It was a difficult sentence to formulate, my hips thrusting, trying to help the push and withdrawal of his fingers, my eyes closing despite my best attempts to keep them open.
“Is that so?”
I could hear his need despite the cocky drawl of his question. I had my leg wrapped around him, could feel a tremor in his legs, could feel the stiff ridge of his cock that was anything but unaffected.
“I’m—” The word ‘close’ never made it off my lips. It couldn’t, never had a chance at life, my orgasm eating it for dessert with a ravenous need that took hold of everything else in its path. I tightened around his fingers, my body shuddering as delirium moved in needy waves, radiating from the center of my universe, which laid in the slick breath between his fingers and my everything. I didn’t catch the first of his words; they disappeared in my full body experience. But then later, I heard them as I fell back down to Earth, the vowels stretching out my grip on insanity, taking me to an additional plane I had never reached before.
“... beautiful creature. You feel so perfect. So open, so willing. I want to take every piece of you. Open up your world. Taste you on my mouth. Feel this sensation against the bare skin of my cock. God, I want you so badly. Have thought about you all day.”
His mouth stopped moving, stopped talking, crushed back on mine, communicating the most with its desperation, his fingers thrusting and then slowly halting their movement, and just stayed in place, buried inside, my body fuller than it had been in a long time. I dropped my hand off his shoulders, let the one that had been digging lines of need into his back fall as a wave of sexual contentment moved in.
His mouth slowed, and he slid my leg down, tugged my dress back, keeping our kiss uninterrupted, his hands moving to cup both sides of my face as his legs straddled mine, my push against the wall less intense as our interaction changed to something less dirty. He broke the kiss, resting his forehead against my own as he let out a long breath that was half groan in its makeup. “God, Riley.”
He sounded so pained, so remorseful, that I almost checked for a wedding ring, almost pushed against his chest to look into his eyes. But I didn’t. I didn’t do anything but enjoy the scent of his cologne, the view out of the bottom of my lashes, one of expensive fabric and a peek of tan skin.
“I don’t know what to do with you.” He finished the statement with a brush over my lips, his hands lifting my face until it was turned up to him, our eyes meeting for the first moment since I lost all sense.
Damn, I could look in this man’s eyes all day. Could get lost in them, move for them, lie, steal, die for them. I stared in his eyes and fully accepted that I was a woman. Vulnerable, emotional, delicate, easily overcome. I didn’t know this man. Had shared less than a hundred sentences with him. Had just given him a piece of my virtue in the form of a finger fuck on a dirty Bahamian street in the dead of night.
I stared in his eyes and said nothing. Memorized the dark depths of them. The thick fringe of lashes that I’d accuse of being mascara-enhanced had he not radiated masculinity from every pore on his body.
“I don’t need to ask if you do this often. Your body betrays you of the impossibility of that fact.” He spoke tightly, his hands keeping my face up, my eyes arrested by him, not that I had any plans of looking away in this lifetime. “I don’t. I can’t. This ... is not normal.” His eyes dropped to my lips and he bent, took a long draw of my mouth, as if it was the last time we would ever kiss. He groaned, and my shoulders were suddenly pushed back against stucco. “Fuck,” he swore. “God, I need you underneath me.” He released me, stepped away, rubbed his mouth as he turned, half in the light, the shadows protecting me from the meat of his stare.
“So take me.” The voice that came out of me was not my own. It was of a confident woman who admitted what she wanted, took what she needed.
He dropped his hand, stared at me. “You don’t mean that. You’d regret it in the morning. And I don’t do one-night stands.”