Chapter 14 Wesley #2
We both cringe. “Yeah, because I want a tank of water sitting next to my computer. Oh, hey, a mystery box!”
I laugh. “It’s 60,000 tickets, and it just has question marks on the label. Do we risk it? We cheated hard for these,” I wave the tickets.
She laughs. “True. Hmm… How about…” she peers down into the glass, tapping her finger above something. “That? Do we have enough tickets?”
No. But I’m not leaving this booth again—we’re done playing silly games. She’s the perfect height on the counter like that, and I need my hands on her.
I tug at the handle, but the case is locked. Figures. Even $10K doesn’t get you access to the best prizes. “Do you have a pin in your hair?”
With a cynical look, she fishes one out, causing the pieces it held back to tumble around her face. The urge to tuck them back is so hard to fight, my hand nearly cramps with it. But I just crouch down, bend the pin into a straight pick, and insert one end into the lock.
“No way that’s going to work,” she challenges, leaning forward to watch with rapt attention all the same.
I wiggle the end through until I feel the tumblers move, then bend the other end inside so the loop will act as leverage for a handle. When it clicks and turns, I send her a triumphant look and a wink. “Eventually you’ll learn to stop doubting me.”
She laughs again. “Well, excuse me. I didn’t realize I was in the presence of hot British Houdini. Do you do this often? Should I check my pockets?”
I puff up—I love how freely she tells me she thinks I’m hot, even when it’s paired with a teasing nickname. “I promise this is the first time I’ve ever broken into an arcade prize case with a bobby pin.”
“That was suspiciously precise,” she deadpans. “What’d you use last time—a nail file?”
I chuckle, absurdly pleased that she picked up on the intentional specificity. Obviously, I couldn’t claim I’ve never broken into anything.
Sliding the door aside, I reach in and retrieve the necklace she chose. It has a wide black cord with a silver heart-shaped lock hanging at the bottom. The sign on the box proudly states that it’s “Sterling Silver Plated,” which means it’ll probably turn her skin green after a few wears.
She reaches for it, but I shake my head. “I’m going to put it on you,” I say softly, decisively. I won’t be argued with about this.
Her breath hitches. Her eyes dip to the necklace, then return to meet mine, shining with something hot and eager. She nods and spins to the side, lifting her bent leg onto the glass and grabbing her hair out of the way.
Zeroed in on the long, elegant line of her neck that she just exposed, I step forward and reach around her.
My fingers brush against her warm, soft skin, making her shiver slightly.
After I do up the clasp, I run the backs of my knuckles against the line of her spine.
I can see over her shoulder as her chest heaves, her breath speeding as excitement swells in her veins.
She turns, and it’s all I can do not to groan aloud. It’s probably meant for a child because it’s less a necklace on her and more a choker… and it’s so fucking perfect, I can hardly stand it.
She’s been so close all evening—close enough to touch—but I haven’t let myself. I know one touch and I’ll be lost. All plans will be abandoned.
“How does it look?” she asks in a husky tone, letting her hair drop. She cocks her head and tilts her chin up to me. A clear invitation.
Fuck the plan—I’m dying to touch her. One kiss. I need a taste. Just one kiss won’t throw me too far off course.
I step between her legs, and rumble with pleasure as the height of the counter aligns her core to mine. She gasps softly at the sudden intrusion into her personal space, but adjusts her thighs open even wider to make room for me.
I reach up and tap the face of the heart-shaped lock. “This, I could take or leave—it looks far too cheap to be worn by a creature so magnificent. Though, I do like the look of you in a collar,” I add with a smirk.
“So I’m a creature, eh?” she lifts a brow, a smile playing at the corners of her lips.
“I saw how you cheated at Skee-Ball. You’re a menace to society,” I murmur, leaning down.
When I hook a finger under the collar and tug her closer, her eyes go wide and her smile tilts into one of surprise and raw arousal.
She grabs my arms, squeezing as far around my biceps as she can with her small hands.
I duck my head and snake my other arm around her to plant my palm against her lower back and slide her as close as physically possible to me.
My bulge fits perfectly in the V of her legs, under the soft roll of her stomach, and the heat coming off her is searing.
I flex my arm, pulling her forward at the same time I drop my head to meet her.
Our lips crash together, igniting sparks in the atmosphere around us that sparkle at the edges of my vision.
Her lips are soft, warm, smooth, and a little wet.
She opens for me instantly, accepting the invasion of my tongue with a welcoming bite to the tip.
Sweet and sour—her taste and her personality.
The world narrows to the touch of our lips and the feel of her soft body in my arms. When she moans into my mouth, the sound moves through me.
I nearly come in my trousers. Days of riding the waves of arousal without relief are working against me now—chipping away at the tight control I normally have on my own body.
As she switches her hold and grabs at my shirt, I wind my hand into her hair and angle her head back, putting her off balance and making her depend on me to stay upright. It deepens the kiss, forcing her to let me in even further.
Time becomes meaningless, and we lose ourselves in each other.
When her legs tighten, digging into my sides, and she rubs herself against the front of me, I have to pull away because I might actually come—my pulse is too strong, my blood too hot, and that familiar tingling pressure has started deep in my balls.
Both heaving breaths into the space between us, we stare at each other for a moment, and I feel the echoes of all those strong emotions from our first kiss. Arousal, of course, but also an amazed sort of excitement so unexpected and bone-deep it was practically intimidating.
But unlike that whirlwind kiss shared by strangers, this one feels different.
To me at least. I know who she is now. The amazing chemistry that baffles her feels right to me—an almost inevitable conclusion.
But she has no idea why our connection is so intense, and she’s grappling to make sense of it.
“I’ve wanted this for so long,” I groan, dropping my lips onto the spot where her neck and shoulder meet.
I feel her smile. “Like four days?” she teases.
To hide my misstep, I drag my teeth against her skin, and she shudders. The tiny moan that slips out goes straight to my painfully hard cock.
Okay, new plan. One kiss… and one touch.
I just need to know how badly she wants this—to feel that hot, wet heat for myself.
I pull back far enough to snake a hand down between our bodies. Her skirt moves aside easily, and I trail my fingers over her thighs, noting the odd texture of her tights. Then, suddenly, my fingers meet warm, ridiculously soft skin, and I inhale sharply at the unexpected delight.
“These tights have a few… strategic holes,” she says, giving her lower lip a bite. There’s a thrill in her tone and eyes.
Desire pounds even harder deep in my chest, and satisfaction roars in my ears. She wants this—planned for it, even before the night began. “And did you strategically wear them for me?” I demand, my voice a hard rasp.
As I find the damp fabric of her panties with the very tips of my fingers, she whimpers, and the sound zings through me, thumping painfully in my too-swollen cock. Swallowing hard, she nods up at me in answer to my question.
Okay. New, new plan. One kiss, one touch, and one taste. After all, my hands are dirty after handling so many arcade games. It would be unconscionable of me to put them near her sensitive, delicate skin. My mouth, on the other hand…
Gently releasing her, I sink to my knees.
She watches me with a curious frown—like she’s unsure whether I mean to actually do what I’m clearly getting in place to do.
Apprehension edges into her expression, but when I look back up after pressing a soft, inquiring kiss onto her inner thigh, she softens, relaxes into my hold, and gives me a small nod.
She leans back on her hands to make room for my head and to maintain her view of me kneeling at her altar.
Heart pounding in anticipation, I flip her skirt up over her cute tummy and suck in a breath at the large hole ripped through the crotch, revealing almost the entirety of the black lacy panties that only just cover her.
“Fuck, Madison. So goddamn perfect,” I breathe, transfixed by the eroticism of what I’m seeing. The juxtaposition of the ruined material—an easily shredded barrier barely keeping me from what I’m aching for—does something to me. It makes me want to tear and take and own.
The noise that escapes her lips is pleased, but demanding, and she squirms a little under the intense focus of my stare. “Peter,” she whispers—a plea.
The sound of the wrong name on her lips does something to me.
Feeling positively feral, I grab her thighs with both hands, widening her legs, and use my thumb to move her panties aside.
I’m greeted by the prettiest bald pussy I’ve ever seen—soft, shaved skin that looks like sin and smells like heaven.