Chapter 3
Shelly
Icouldn’t think straight.
Every coherent thought dissolved the moment Amos’s fingers found me in the dark, sliding slow and deliberate through my folds.
I leaned against his truck, the metal solid and real behind my back, and tried to remember how to breathe.
He was circling and stroking my pussy with a patience that was absolutely criminal, and I was already half out of my mind wanting him.
“Amos, you’re a tease,” I whispered, because I needed to say something, or I was going to come apart right here in the Bear Den parking lot.
“Shh,” he murmured against my temple, his beard grazing my cheek. “I’ve got you, Shelly-Rae.”
He did. He absolutely did.
His fingers worked me in slow, devastating circles, reading every hitch of my breath so the pleasure crested before rolling back again.
It was a slow, torturous build that had me rocking my hips forward, chasing him shamelessly.
I’d crushed on this man for years.
This whole time I’d been watching from the sidelines, telling myself it was nothing, laughing at his jokes and leaning into his hugs while my heart made desperate cries every time he touched me.
And now his hand was up my skirt in the parking lot of the Bear Den, and I felt like I was in a fever dream.
“That’s it,” he breathed, low and rough, watching my face as his eyes sparked with fire. “You’re going to come for me, girl. And you’re going to come hard.”
This wasn’t new to him.
The way his hands moved, the confidence in every touch… he’d done this before.
Probably right here.
In this same parking lot.
With too many women to count.
And still… I arched into him anyway.
Then, after what felt like an eternity of that sweet, maddening teasing, he pressed two fingers to my entrance and pushed inside, slow and deliberate, curling just slightly as he did.
My whole body clenched around him as I gripped his arms.
He groaned quietly against my hair, a satisfied, hungry sound that told me he felt exactly how wet and ready I was for him.
His fingers moved in a slow, rhythmic stroke, and I dropped my forehead against his chest and just felt it. Felt him.
I’d been half in love with this man for years.
And here he was, finger-fucking me against the hood of his truck while the muffled thump of bluegrass leaked out from the bar behind us.
For one reckless second, I let myself pretend this wasn’t just a one-night thing.
That this meant something.
That maybe… I wasn’t just another Friday night to him.
Even though some quiet part of me knew better.
Then that thought disappeared in an instant as headlights swept across the gravel lot.
A truck pulled in from the road.
I gasped and went rigid.
Amos’s eyes locked onto mine, steady and dark, burning with a heat that made my stomach flip even in the middle of my panic.
He brought one finger to his lips in a slow, deliberate shush, and the corner of his mouth curved just slightly.
He was enjoying this.
I couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak.
I was pinned between him and his truck, and my heart was slamming so hard I was certain whoever had just pulled in could hear it.
We heard voices and laughter, followed by the crunch of boots on gravel.
A group of people spilled out of the truck, loud and cheerful, clearly already well into their Friday night.
They moved across the lot toward the entrance of the Bear Den, their voices carrying easily in the cool spring air as my pulse went wild.
“We should go,” I whispered, my voice unsteady. “Amos, we should really go. My heart’s going to give out.”
He let out a husky laugh, barely a sound at all, and then his fingers began to move again, slow and purposeful, resuming exactly where he’d left off.
“We’re not going anywhere,” he murmured against my ear, his free hand coming up to find my breast again, his thumb dragging across my nipple in a slow, devastating roll, “until you come for me.”
“Amos,” I breathed, half protest and half plea.
But my hips were already moving to meet him.
He leaned in just enough for his mouth to brush my ear.
“Stay quiet,” he murmured.
And then he started pulsing harder. Faster. His fingers curling just right.
A broken sound caught in my throat as I jerked against him, my hands scrambling for purchase on his arms.
“Amos—”
Their footsteps crunched across the lot.
Too close.
Way too close.
And then heat coiled tight inside me before breaking loose.
Pleasure hit me all at once, sharp and overwhelming, tearing through me before I could brace for it.
My body locked up, then shattered.
My orgasm crashed through me in a long, rolling wave, and I cried out, lost in the ecstasy of it.
His hand clamped over my lips instantly, muffling the sound as I shook against him, my whole body trembling, helpless under the force of his pleasure.
The voices passed by, oblivious to what this devil of a man had just done to me. What I’d let him do to me.
I couldn’t see them.
Couldn’t think.
Couldn’t do anything but ride it out while my pulse roared in my ears and his fingers worked me through every last aftershock, slow and relentless.
And god help me, there was something about it.
The risk of it.
The absolute recklessness of standing here in the open air with his hand under my skirt while people walked by thirty feet away. Something about it made the heat coil tighter inside me instead of cooling down.
I was not a woman who did things like this.
I worked in a bookstore.
I drank tea.
I went to bed early.
I did not get finger-fucked by my biggest crush in public.
But… now that I’d experienced it for the first time… maybe I wanted to feel it again.