Chapter 5 #2
"Georgia," he warned. It wasn't a command to stop. It was a warning that the brakes were cut.
"What?" I whispered. "Is this the spot?"
"You are playing a dangerous game."
"Maybe I like danger."
He moved so fast I didn't register it.
One second I was kneeling beside him. The next, his hand—large, rough, and demanding—snapped around my wrist.
He pulled.
I gasped as I was yanked forward. I lost my balance and fell, tumbling directly onto his chest.
I landed straddling his hips.
My thighs bracketed his waist. My chest was pressed against his bare abs. My face was inches from his.
The position was compromising. It was explicit. I could feel the hard ridge of his erection pressing directly against the center of me, through the thin fabric of my leggings and his shorts.
The friction sent a bolt of lightning straight to my core. I let out a small, shocked sound—a whimper.
Toby’s eyes darkened to black.
"You like danger?" he growled, his hands coming up to grip my hips. His fingers dug in, possessing me, holding me in place. " fine. Let's play."
"Toby—"
"No," he cut me off. "You want to tease? You want to push? Let's see how you handle it when I push back."
He sat up, taking me with him, effortless power. I was now sitting in his lap, my legs wrapped around his torso. We were eye-to-eye.
The air was so thick with tension I could taste it. It tasted like ozone and desire.
"You think you're in charge because your hands were on me?" he whispered, his nose brushing mine. "You think because I'm hurt, I'm weak?"
"I..." I couldn't speak. My brain had short-circuited. All I could feel was his heat, his size, the overwhelming reality of him.
"You have no idea what you're doing," he murmured.
He moved one hand from my hip. He slid it up my side, over my ribs. His palm was rough, calloused from the hockey stick. It scraped against my skin, sending shivers racing everywhere.
He stopped just under my breast. He waited.
"Please," I breathed. I didn't even know what I was asking for.
"Please what?"
"Touch me."
"Say it properly," he commanded softly. "Ask nicely."
"Toby, please touch me."
"Good girl."
The praise hit me harder than the touch. Good girl. It unspooled something tight in my chest. It made me want to do anything he said.
His hand covered my breast through the thin white tank top. He didn't squeeze. He just held the weight of it, his thumb brushing over the hardened nipple.
I gasped, arching my back, pressing into his hand.
"Sensitive," he noted, watching my face. He was studying my reaction like it was game tape. "You like that?"
"Yes," I choked out.
"And this?"
He moved his other hand. It slid down my spine, over the curve of my ass, and slipped between us.
He palmed me. right at the junction of my thighs.
I stopped breathing.
He pressed the heel of his hand against me. The pressure was firm, steady, and exactly what I needed.
"Oh my God," I cried out, my hands gripping his shoulders to stay upright.
"You're wet," he observed, his voice rough with satisfaction. "I can feel the heat through your leggings. You're soaking wet for me, aren't you, Princess?"
"Toby, stop talking," I begged, rocking my hips against his hand instinctively.
"No," he said. "I want to hear you. I want to know exactly how much of a hypocrite you are. You act like you hate me, but your body is begging for this."
He began to move his hand. Rubbing. Circling. The friction was maddening. It was too much and not enough all at once.
I buried my face in the crook of his neck, inhaling his scent. I bit his shoulder, needing an outlet for the sensation building inside me.
"That's it," he growled. "Mark me. Take what you need."
He picked up the pace. His thumb found the sensitive spot through the fabric and stayed there, vibrating.
My world narrowed down to the point of contact. The room disappeared. The snow disappeared. There was only Toby. His hand. His voice in my ear.
"Let go, Georgia," he whispered. "I've got you. You don't have to hold it together. You don't have to be perfect. Just fall."
That was it. That was the key.
I spent my whole life holding it together. Pretending I wasn't scared. Pretending I wasn't lonely.
Toby was giving me permission to break.
I shattered.
The climax hit me like a rogue wave. It started in my belly and exploded outward. I cried out, a loud, broken sound, my body clamping down on his hand. I shook apart in his arms, sobbing and gasping, clinging to him like he was the only solid thing in a dissolving world.
He held me. He didn't stop. He kept the pressure steady until the last wave subsided, his other hand stroking my hair, guiding my head to his chest.
"Shh," he soothed, his voice a low rumble against my ear. "I've got you. Good girl. You did so good."
I lay there, draped over him like a ragdoll, my heart trying to beat its way out of my chest.
Slowly, reality started to seep back in.
I was sitting in Toby Kincaid’s lap. I had just come. Loudly.
And he hadn't even kissed me.
I pulled back, my face burning. I couldn't look him in the eye. I stared at his collarbone.
"I..." I started, my voice raspy. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to... that was unprofessional."
Toby let out a short, dark laugh.
He put a finger under my chin and forced me to look up.
His eyes were blazing. He looked wrecked. His pupils were blown, his hair was messy where I had gripped it, and his chest was heaving.
"Unprofessional?" he repeated. "Georgia, we passed unprofessional about five miles back."
"You didn't..." I glanced down. He was still hard. Painfully hard. "You didn't finish."
"No," he said tightly.
"Do you want me to...?" I trailed off, panic flaring. I didn't know how. I mean, I knew the mechanics, but I had never touched a man like that. I was terrified I would do it wrong. I was terrified he would know.
Toby saw the panic. He read it instantly.
He took my hands and moved them away from his body, placing them safely on my own knees.
"No," he said firmly.
I felt a sting of rejection. "Am I doing it wrong? Do you not want me?"
"I want you so much I feel like I'm going to snap in half," he admitted, the intensity in his voice making me tremble. "But we are not doing that tonight."
"Why?"
"Because," he said, shifting his hips so I wasn't pressing directly on his erection—a small mercy. "You just fell apart in my arms. You're vulnerable. And I am not going to take advantage of the fact that you're high on endorphins."
He lifted me off his lap. It was effortless, but gentle. He set me down on the rug beside him.
He stood up, wincing slightly as his hip protested, but mostly grimacing from the obvious physical discomfort of his arousal.
"Go to bed, Georgia," he said, turning away from me. "Lock your door."
"Toby—"
"Go," he ordered, walking toward his bedroom without looking back. "Before I change my mind and do something we both regret."
I sat on the rug, hugging my knees to my chest. My body was still humming. My skin felt electric where he had touched me.
I watched his bedroom door slam shut.
I heard the lock click.
I let out a shaky breath, burying my face in my hands.
We had crossed the line. We had obliterated the line.
And the scariest part wasn't that I had let him touch me.
It was that as soon as he stopped, I wanted him to do it again.
"I am in so much trouble," I whispered to the empty room.
And for once, the silence didn't disagree.