Her gaze was rapt on his face, and his hand went higher under her skirt. His other hand braced against the wall over her shoulder, effectively trapping her between him and the wall itself.
Not that she couldn’t leave, of course. One of her hands still rested on the door handle, and all she had to do was open it and step out. The fact that she didn’t told him volumes. The fact that she wasn’t telling him to stop? The fact that her breathing got more excited the higher his hand went under her skirt? It told him that perhaps the lady doth protest too much, as the saying went.
And he wanted to prove it to her. If that meant giving her a wet, raunchy orgasm in a janitor’s closet? So be it.
“So, Kylie,” he murmured, and then sucked on that juicy lower lip, since it was so invitingly close. He could feel the whimper she bit back, and it encouraged him to be a bit bolder. His hand now moved to her inner thigh, and she was silky smooth and soft. His fingers grazed her skin and he continued to tease upward. “If I touch your panties, am I going to find them wet for me?”
Her eyes closed, her breathing shallow.
“Are you going to tell me to stop?” he asked, rubbing his nose along hers again. “Tell me not to touch this sweet pussy of yours that’s just begging to be petted?”
Her lips moved, formed a small circle as if she were dying to say no, but only a soft breath came out.
“Then,” he murmured, “I’m going to touch you and find out for myself if you’re wet.”
His fingers teased along the edge of her panties, where the hem met the inside of her thigh. Even from here, he could tell she was soaked. “Oh, sweetheart,” he murmured. “You like this, don’t you?”
She bit her lip but said nothing, her gaze focused on his mouth.
She didn’t have to say anything. They didn’t even have to speak. Just as long as he could touch her, they’d both know the truth. That when she touched him, he grew wild with need, and when he touched her, she lost all control. Slowly, his fingers pushed aside the damp fabric of her panties, and he felt the curls of her sex. She was wet, all right—she was positively soaked. His fingers eased between the lips of her pussy, and then he began to rub back and forth, teasing her.
Kylie’s head fell back and she moaned.
“That’s right, sweetheart,” he murmured, his own cock like a heavy brick in his trousers. “Show me what you like. Show me how you want to be touched.”
Her hand went to his chest, her eyelashes fluttering. He was half-afraid she’d push him away, tell him no, but instead, she rubbed his chest. “Touch me, Cade,” she murmured, breathless and so fucking sweet it made him ache anew.
“You want me to touch your clit?” he murmured, his fingers gliding through her slippery folds until he found the little sensitive nub. She arched against his fingers and nodded, then began to flex her hips, trying to move into a rhythm with him.
And he wanted to give her what she needed. So when she moved her hips into a circular motion, he followed, circling the hood of her clit with the pads of his fingertips, and enjoying the way she arched against him, her mouth opening wide in a silent plea. Christ, she was pretty. He wanted to palm those big, heavy breasts of hers and tease her nipples. Hell, he wanted to touch her all over and intensify what she was feeling, but he knew if he lifted his hand from the wall, she might slip away.
Which made him rub her a little harder, with a little more intensity, more speed.
And she moaned again.
“Spread your legs wider for me, Kylie,” he murmured, rubbing up and down her sweet cleft. She was so slick that when his fingers moved, he could hear the sounds of her flesh parting for his touch. He wanted to fuck her with his fingers, to bend her over, push that plump ass out, and ram his cock into her hot, snug warmth.
But this was about proving a point, he reminded himself. This was about proving to Kylie that she wanted him as badly as he wanted her. So he continued to stroke and slick his fingers against her pussy, circling her clit and rubbing against the entrance to her cunt, where her nerve endings were the most sensitive.
Her hands went around his neck, and she suddenly gripped the collar of his jacket and shirt tight. “Oh God, Cade, I need . . . need you inside me.”
Sweet words, but this had to be about her and her orgasm, not about him sticking his cock inside her. But he could give her a little something, at least. He paired his fingers together, gave her clit one last teasing rub, and then sank his fingers deep into her warmth.
He groaned at the same time she did.
“Ride my hand, Kylie,” he murmured, thrusting his fingers deep. “Spread your legs for me and ride my hand, sweetheart.”
“Yes,” she moaned, clinging to him. “Push into me. Fuck me.”
Ah, fuck. She was turning this around on him. Trying to make him lose control. He pressed his face against her soft neck and thrust harder into her sweet warmth, attuned to every quiver of her legs. And every time he sank deep, he ground his palm against her clit, trying to make her as wild as she made him.
“Need more,” she said breathlessly. One of her legs went up and she propped her foot on a nearby shelf, spreading herself wide for him. “Oh, God, please. I’m so close.”
“You want me to bury my face there, Kylie?”
She shuddered in response, her eyes tightly closed.
“You want me to put my lips on your aching little clit and suck on it until you come?”
She trembled and nodded.
“Then beg me to, sweetheart. Tell me what you need.”
“I need to ride your face,” she told him, arching her back and pushing against his hand.