Chapter 9 #2
He looked over the dance floor for Summer.
The song ended and another began, and she didn’t come back.
His heart began to pound. This was a stupid fucking idea.
If something happened to her… If some guy actually cornered her or tried to take her outside, would he be fast enough to rescue her in this mob?
As he scanned the crowd, his pulse became a roar in his ears. He’d lost her in the short time the other woman had distracted him. Standing, he searched, his heart climbing into his throat, his mind descending into madness.
And then, there, he spotted her. Thank Christ. Maybe because he was already on his feet, or maybe because his heart was still pounding, he grabbed her clutch bag, shoved it into his pocket, took the three steps down into that twisting mass of humanity, and pushed his way to her.
An arm snaked around her waist and pulled her against a hard body.
Summer bent her elbow, ready to ram it back into the man’s ribs, but then she caught his scent.
The scent from those meetings where she sat across from him, the scent from her office when he sat in the chair opposite. The scent she imagined every night.
And she relaxed into the warm body and the hard cock along her spine.
The voice in her ear was his nighttime phone-sex voice. “I can’t let you dance all alone out here.”
There were so many people, it was as if they no longer had faces, and after dancing with all those strangers, this was what she wanted. The thought of him was what made her wet. The way he watched her with predatory eyes, as if he were stalking her, waiting for the right moment.
He wrapped another muscled arm across her abdomen, right below her breasts, and they flowed with the music. With every slide of her body against his, he twitched and flexed at the base of her spine.
His voice in her ear seduced her. “You smell so fucking good. Like you’re wet and ready for me right now. Like you can’t wait for me to drag you into an alcove where I can fuck you.”
There was something in the throbbing energy of his body, the huskiness of his voice, the pulse of his wrist against her ribs.
She’d dreamed about this so many nights that, for a moment, she didn’t realize this was the first time he’d touched her.
The first time she’d felt the length and breadth and thickness of him against her.
And it was so much better than that brief touch she’d stolen last weekend.
As if her hand had a mind of its own, she placed it over his and guided him down.
Until he could feel the heat and throb of her sex.
The lights over them strobed on and off, on and off as they swirled over the crowd, and she pressed his fingers between her thighs, shuddering against him.
Dancers jittered in abandon around them, and she closed her eyes, absorbing the beat of the music and the heat of his hand.
His fingers slid away, across her hip, down her thigh, to the flared skirt of her dress.
Where he discovered she’d gone commando.
His groan vibrated against her back, and that first touch was electric.
She was so wet that his fingers glided over her, caressing her, slipping inside her, making her crazy.
They swayed and bounced and gyrated to the music, while the friction of his fingers against her, inside her, took her higher, eclipsing the crowd on the dance floor.
There was only sensation, only need, only heat building inside her.
Only him.
When the climax catapulted through her, he held her tight while she wanted to thrash against him, wanted to climb his body and take him right there on the dance floor.
He held her until her body stopped jangling, until her heart stopped galloping, until she could stand on her own, though her insides still quaked.
Then he was gone.
She wondered if he’d ever been there, or if she’d imagined him. When she pushed her way out of the crowd, she found him seated at the same table as if he’d never moved. As if what he’d done to her on the dance floor had truly been a hallucination.
A group of rowdy women partied at the next table that he’d originally reserved for her, but in front of him sat a glass of water, one of champagne, and her clutch purse containing her phone, her license, and some cash.
She took the chair, almost crumpling into it as her legs finally gave out from the dancing, from the climax, from just looking at him.
“I’ve ordered an Uber for you,” he said without a single inflection. “Are you ready to go home?”
“Don’t you want to dance?” Even now, after she’d come, she couldn’t bear for the night to end.
Every moment had been thrilling, watching him watch her as she tempted and teased and flirted.
The way his face seemed to go rigid with unfulfilled desire.
How his scent seemed to envelope her even out on the dance floor, calling her to him even as she whirled around other men who meant nothing to her.
He leaned forward, his forearm on the table. “I’d rather take you home and fuck you.”
The rawness of his words sent a shiver through her. She wanted him, God, how she wanted him.
But suddenly everything was turning around on her, getting too serious. She wanted too much, was getting too needy, too involved.
Because what she was feeling was only about him.
As if he heard her thoughts, he whispered, “It’s only sex.”
But was it just sex when she wanted it this bad? Or was it escalation?
She tried to smile, but was afraid it looked like a grimace. “That’s against our rules.”
“Tease.” He sat back leisurely, grinning at her. He didn’t seem at all affected by what they’d done on the dance floor. Holy hell, maybe it actually had been someone else.
But no, she’d smelled him, only him.
His phone must have vibrated because he took it out of his pocket.
He smiled as if he sensed the turmoil inside her. And liked it. “The car is here.” He stood, holding out his hand.
She was afraid to take it, afraid to touch him.
If she did, she might not go home at all.
She might do whatever he wanted. Because Knox Turner was a very persuasive man.
To him, it was no big deal; like he said, it was only sex.
It should be for her too. Just sex. But it was the feeling inside her, the need.
She needed another orgasm. And she needed him to give it to her. No one else. Not even herself.
Yet she took his hand and let him guide her outside. Stopping by the waiting car, he said, “I’d rather take you home myself.”
She wanted to beg, but said only, “The Uber’s here.” She absolutely couldn’t get in a car with him. She knew herself, and she’d be all over him. And this thing between them would turn into… what? Dating? A relationship?
Or would it be just more good, hot sex?
She climbed into the back seat, smiled at the female driver, and after Knox closed the door, the car pulled away, leaving him behind.
They weren’t even on the freeway when his first text came in.
Him: I can still smell you on my fingers. Taste you on my skin.
Her: I thought that was someone else out there on the dance floor.
Him: I don’t think you’d have melted quite so quickly if it was someone else.
Her: But you already know how quickly I melt with just a fantasy.
Him: And you know just how quickly I get hard hearing your voice.
Her: Is that why you’re texting me instead? So you won’t get hard?
But he’d been hard against her on the dance floor. So deliciously hard.
Him: It’s because you’re a prude, and you wouldn’t want the driver to overhear the dirty words I want from you if we were on the phone.
She laughed out loud. The driver looked at her in the mirror. Feeling the need to explain, she said, “My friend just sent me a funny text.”
The woman smiled as she merged onto the freeway, and Summer turned back to her texting. Back to Knox.
Her: The last thing you could possibly call me is a prude.
Him: True. The last thing you were on the dance floor was a prude. You were so fucking wet and you came so fucking hard for me.
Just seeing those words, even on the small screen, made her wet all over again. She wanted his touch on her, his lips, his fingers, his cock. She had to breathe hard to stave off the stab of need.
Her: And you were so hard, you could have taken me right there on the dance floor.
Him: I could fuck you anywhere. On the dance floor, on the tabletop, a bathroom stall.
Her: Or the back of an Uber?
Him: Anywhere you want.
And the fantasies began. She felt more comfortable with fantasy, less afraid that she’d succumb to whatever he wanted.
Her: On a park bench with my long coat wrapped around us so no one can see actually what we’re doing. But they’d know.
Him: At a fancy restaurant, under the white linen tablecloth, with my fingers in your sweet hot pussy.
Her: In the top row of a dark movie theater, your cock in my mouth.
Him: On an airplane, with a blanket thrown over my lap as you stroke my cock.
Her: In the back seat of a stretch limo with me straddling you and the privacy screen open.
Him: In the restroom of a fancy hotel with you hanging onto the porcelain sink and me pounding you from behind while someone beats on the door.
Her: On the top deck of a ferryboat in the rain when no one’s out there.
Him: But we’re actually in full view of the captain and his mates on the bridge.
Her: In the parking lot of the restaurant where we just had dinner.
Him: And the couple sitting by the window can see everything.
Her: At a cocktail party on a pool lounger.
Him: With a couple we didn’t notice swimming in the pool.
She loved that he was now adding to her fantasies. Turning them voyeuristic. Her body was burning up, and she wanted his hands on her, his cock inside her. And she upped the ante with the fantasy he’d overheard that first Friday night.
Her: At a sex club where I straddle you as you pull my dress over my hips so everyone can see you enter me.
Him: And everyone watches me fucking you, the men with their cocks out, jerking off, because you’re so damn hot.
Her: The women are begging any man standing right next to them to take them the way you’re taking me. But it could never be as good.
Him: Then we switch it up, and I bend you over the arm of the sofa, so you can see them all watching you while I take you from behind.
Her: I love all the greedy eyes on me, how they all watch us even while they’re screwing too.
Him: I love seeing how all the men wish they were me.
Her: And I look at you over my shoulder and whisper, you won’t let the others screw me, will you?
Him: I put my finger on your hot little clit and when I say that I want to watch you suck off that guy over there, you come so hard your pussy is like a vice around my cock.
The driver pulled up in front of Summer’s townhouse, though she hadn’t even realized they were close to home.
She was burning up, so hot and wet that she thought her legs might give out as she climbed out of the car.
When she tapped her phone to pay, the driver said, “Your husband already took care of it.”
“Oh, oh, okay, thank you.” Her words came out in a stutter. At her front door, she fumbled with the security code. Inside the townhouse, her legs were so weak she crumpled to the foyer floor the moment she closed the door. But she hadn’t dropped her phone.
Him: Are you home?
Her: Just got here.
Him: Lock the door.
Her: I need to come.
Him: Call me.
He answered his phone with, “Christ, you make me crazy. Spread your legs. Touch yourself. Tell me how wet you are.”
She moaned and told him what he wanted to hear. “I’m so hot and wet that I’d come with the first thrust of your cock inside me.” God, how she wanted him inside her right now.
His voice was like fire on her skin, heating her through, making her crazy, as crazy as he seemed when he said, “I should have fucked you on the dance floor, lifted you up, settled you down on my cock, and made you ride me.”
“You should have laid me right there on the table and taken me with everyone watching.”
“I should have dragged you up to my car in the parking garage and fucked you on the hood like you need to be fucked.”
“Are you stroking yourself?” She had to know.
“Fuck yes. You made me so hard I think I’m cross-eyed.”
Then she couldn’t talk anymore, could only listen to his voice as she touched herself.
“Christ, you don’t know how hard it was watching you out there. I wanted to fuck you so bad. I just wanted to push that dress up over your hips and slide right into you. I wanted to feel your body milk my cock when you climaxed. Then I wanted to come deep inside you.”
That was all it took. She cried out her release, slumped against the door, words she didn’t understand falling from her lips.
She came so hard she thought she lost consciousness.
“Please, Knox, please, I need you right now.”
Her words in his ear were everything he wanted to hear. And he lost it right there in the front seat of his car. If she was here, she would have lapped up the mess and loved how crazy she made him.
Then there was only the beep of the ended call. She’d either dropped the phone or cut him off.
He cleaned up with a few tissues from the glove box.
Christ, the woman knew how to push all his buttons.
But then maybe he knew how to push all of hers.
He’d sat in his car texting her as she was driven home, still texting until she got inside.
He’d wanted to make sure she was safe, which was why he’d chosen a female driver.
The best would have been to drive her home himself, to follow her inside, to give her everything she wanted. But she wasn’t ready.
Maybe she would be next time.
And he typed his last message of the night to her.
She didn’t see his message until she put the phone on the charger.
Then her heart climbed into her throat, and her body liquified.
I know exactly what our next adventure needs to be.
She thought of all the scenarios they’d thrown at each other tonight over text.
Which one would he choose?