“Gonna kiss you now.”
I open my eyes, leaning back to look at him. “But you didn’t win.”
The corner of his mouth twitches, and he stills my hand with one of his.
“I feel like I did,” he says, so close to my lips I can taste his breath.
He doesn’t mean because I’m jerking him off. He stops my hand for that reason, to make sure I understand, to eliminate any confusion. He pauses, waiting until I look up into his eyes from where I’m staring at his mouth, like a hungry little fiend.
“This is for me. You understand?”
I know why he tells me that. My fear from earlier.
“It’s for me too.”
He smiles, shifting us so it’s now my back against the wall. “No, this is for you.”
A blast of cool air chills my upper thighs. My dress is bunched around my waist, and he groans, either from the sight of me in black panties or from my grip that’s now tightened on his cock.
He cups my sex like he owns it, harsh and demanding.
“Reed,” I gasp, lifting my head and welcoming his kiss. It sears against my mouth, his tongue hot and wet, probing, seeking mine. I tilt my head and open for him, swallowing his dirty little noises. My hand begins pumping his cock as he slides his fingers through my slit.
“You’re going to drip all down my hand, aren’t you?” he asks, kissing along my jaw.
I answer with a whimper as he fucks me slowly. Two fingers inside while his thumb moves over my clit.
“What made you wet, sweetheart? My cock? Was it how hard I was for you? Or did you get wet just thinking about touching me.”
“I think it was when you said my name.”
“Beth,” he moans against my ear. “I say it every time I come. Do you know that? Ever since I met you, I can’t say anything else.”
My legs begin to shake. “Really? You . . . Reed, you do that?” I ask, breathlessly.
“Mm.” He thrusts his hips, fucking my hand as he curls his fingers inside me.
His lips move to my mouth, where he whispers filthy words between the hottest noises. He asks me if I want him wild, and if I’ll let him spend his time on me. He tells me he’s thought about doing more than this, and that he also thinks he could come just from the way I kiss him. There’s moments when it’s just the sound of us filling the room. Breathing, moving, stroking. I blush at how loud his fingers are inside me, and he tells me it’s the sexiest thing he’s ever heard. He kisses my neck, my lips, my jaw. He asks me if I want to feel his teeth, and I gasp when he doesn’t wait for me to answer.
I drop my head against his shoulder when the world in front of me begins to blur. When my skin burns up from the inside out and the pressure becomes too much.
He swells in my palm. I’m melting between my legs. A groan tears from my throat as my body locks up.
“Reed, I’m . . .”
He wraps his arm around my waist, holding me up as I tighten around his fingers. Blood rushes in my ears, my free hand fists his shirt.
He growls into my hair.
Because he’s close? Because I’m coming? I’m too delirious to question why.
I moan when he slips out of me, and then realize he needs that hand to produce the handkerchief from this back pocket. His other hand is busy keeping me upright.
His body tightens, his breath hitches above me.
“Beth,” he pants, pumping into my fist as warm liquid coats my hand. His head falls back with a groan. “Beth. God, Beth.”
I can’t decide where to look. His gorgeous face, tensing through his orgasm. Or his cock as it twitches in my hand. Still hard. Still warm. I go between the two, trying not to miss too much of either one.
He grabs my wrist when I slide along his length once more, stopping me from smearing the come over the tip.
“Don’t kill me, woman.”
I turn my head up and he gives me a lazy smile.
“Sensitive?” I ask.
He nods slowly, then steps back. His cock falls from my hand. “I didn’t get any on your dress, did I?” he asks, squinting through the dim light.
I quickly examine the front of me, then look down into my hand. “Nope. Looks like I caught it all here.”
He gives me the handkerchief and I wipe my hand clean, tossing it into the trashcan after he gives me an odd look for offering it back.
I watch him from across the room as he buttons his pants, tucks his shirt in, but leaves his tie undone. I’m glad. I like it like that.
He moves to the window and stares down at the party. His hair is a mess from my fingers. The back of his shirt is wrinkled.
He looks amazing.
“Now what do you want to do?” I ask, staying a few feet away.
He doesn’t speak for several seconds. Just stares below, hands in his pockets and shoulders dropped. His head shakes ever-so-slightly, as if to jerk himself out of a trance. After a loud exhale, he turns around and moves toward me, determination weighing down his steps. He grabs my hand and heads for the door.
“I want to drink. Let’s go hit up Asshat.”
I stare at his profile. “Who?”
ASSHAT, OR THE BARTENDER REED decided to nickname, keeps the Jim Beam flowing over the next hour. Molly and her bored-to-death looking fiancé are nowhere in sight, so we stay parked at the bar. I decide after watching Reed slam his first drink back that I’ll be sticking to water. Someone’s going to need to drive home. I ask if he wants to dance, or go for a walk by the lake. He tells me he just wants to sit and talk with me.