Chapter Eighteen #3
He traced the skin of my inner thigh with reverence and found my aching center with a trembling hand. His knuckles grazed the damp lace between my legs, before finding the elastic edge, and tugging it to the side. His long fingers pushed through my wet heat, moving back and forth teasingly.
I moaned instantly, a breathless mewling that echoed against the cream colored walls. August used his other hand to grip my thigh, pulling me closer to the counter’s edge. Holding his gaze, I leaned back against the mirror.
When he finally pushed his ring finger inside me, a soundless gasp escaped me, and August muttered a string of half-coherent curse words.
“You feel so good,” he slurred as he moved his hand at a painfully slow pace. “Look at me, Lola,” he begged, and I hadn’t even realized I’d closed my eyes.
The sight of him standing between my thighs as he pushed further into me already had my core tightening.
“You are so fucking perfect,” he breathed out.
“One day when you’re married to some perfectly boring man,” he inserted another finger, and a whimper escaped me at the stretch, “you’ll think about this.
About how you let that punk in high school touch you until you came, and you won’t be able to get off without remembering how well you had me trained. Just for you.”
I shook my head, my teeth breaking the skin of my bottom lip as I bit back another moan.
“You don’t think so?” he smirked. “You think you’ll forget all about me?”
“No,” I breathed, adjusting my hips so he got the right angle. “I’d keep you as my pool boy or something.”
He let out a tortured laugh. “Ah, your poor fucking husband.”
“He’s probably fucking his secretary,” I whined.
August’s hand picked up speed as he said, “Tell me you’ll still be honest. Even if I’m not your pool boy, if we ran into each other out in the world, tell me you’d still be honest.”
“Only you get me honest,” I panted, desperate for him to push me over the edge I needed so badly.
“Fuck, Sin,” he growled, pressing his hips against my leg hanging off the counter, and I could feel how painfully hard he was. “Tell me what you need.”
I reached into my skirt to adjust his hand, placing his thumb over my clit, and guided his movements to show him exactly what I liked. He followed suit as though he were made to do only this.
When I moved my hand back out, August caught my wrist with the hand that had been on my thigh and brought it to his mouth. He kissed my fingertips and tsked. “These aren’t blue, Lola.”
The hand he had inside me slowed, and I whimpered.
His two long fingers spread, stretching me, and I gasped at the feeling.
His thumb moved in small, tight circles around my clit, driving me insane.
I sat up, wrapping my arm around his neck, and pulled his body against mine, needing to feel all of him.
“Why aren’t they blue?” he murmured against my shoulder.
I turned my head to meet his gaze as I brushed my thumb over his flushed cheek.
At the same time I reached down, palming his cock through his sweats.
He was so hard, I thought if I reached inside his pants he might come before I could even get my hand fully around him.
His body shuddered against mine, but he never stopped his languid movements against my clit.
“Look in the mirror, baby,” I instructed him.
His green eyes flickered upward, and I knew he saw exactly what I did: coral nails against coral cheeks. A perfect match. He shuddered again, turned so my thumb fell into his mouth, and let out a tortured moan around it.
“One day, you’ll be married to a really nice girl, and you won’t be able to come without thinking about the time you made a Barbie come on your bathroom counter,” I whispered into his ear and ran my tongue across the sensitive flesh below it.
My fingers tightened around him as I slid them up toward the head.
“Holy God.” His movements on my clit picked up speed. My hand slipped from his mouth to the nape of his neck, tangling in his curls as I bucked my hips against his hand, my own hand rubbing the length of him through his sweat pants.
“Don’t call for him,” I panted. “It’s just us here.”
A string of curse words left him, tangled in his quick breaths, as his hips jerked erratically, pinning my hand and thigh against the counter’s edge. I felt the heat of his release against my palm, and the dark stain blooming on the grey fabric of his sweats sent me over the edge.
The cord that had been winding tighter and tighter in my stomach for weeks finally snapped, and I bit into his shoulder as he somehow still moved in slow circles against me with one hand while the other pushed my hair out of my face.
I opened my mouth, but no sound left me.
I locked eyes with August as my body contracted around his fingers, and saw nothing but awe there.
A long moment passed, filled only by our heavy breathing, before he broke the silence.
“Pretty sure that’s blasphemy,” he said gently in my ear. My hips thrust involuntarily against him, and he let out a soft shushing noise. “It’s okay, Sin. I build temples for you in my mind all the time.”
A sudden alarming thought tugged at my soul then: I didn’t just want August honest anymore.
I wanted him to be mine.