Three Dirty Secrets (Blindfold Club 4)

“You want me to stop?” He asked it, genuinely confused.

“This is a bad idea.”

“That’s not an answer.” His hand withdrew and settled on my hip, right where my jeans sat, his wet fingers brushing over my bare skin above. “Look at me.”

I turned my glare his direction. I was annoyed he’d stopped, annoyed with the situation . . . and so sexually frustrated I could barely breathe. His expression was serious, but no less attractive.

“I’m asking if you want me to stop.”

The correct answer was yes, but I went with the honest one instead. “No.”

He fisted one side of my jeans and tugged them down over a hipbone. I brought my legs closer together as he hurried to the other side to repeat the action until the top of my jeans and panties were pushed down below my ass. Out of his way so I was exposed to him.

I buckled and sagged into his hold when he touched me freely. His unhindered fingers stirred over the bundle of nerves that were throbbing and the orgasm got back on track. My eyelids fluttered shut.

“No,” he growled. “Those cop eyes stay open and on me.”

God, I was dripping wet between my legs and he took full advantage. His fat fingers spread it around, teasing and tormenting me.

“Silas,” I moaned.

His expression was powerful and commanding, and my mouth dropped wide open when three fingers speared inside, so hard I had to lift up onto my toes to stay positioned on them comfortably. Wait, that wasn’t the right word. There was nothing comfortable about it. Sexy, yes. Hot, fuck, yes. But comfortable? No.

He darted a glance down to watch my gyrating body moving on him, then his gaze returned to meet mine. Holy shit, he looked wild and animalistic, and so fucking gorgeous. The trembles in my legs swept upward, consuming all of my body, shaking the last of the air from my lungs.

Could he tell I was about to come? Was this why his expression warmed into a conquering smile? I jerked my wrists, trying to break them free. “I don’t want to—”

“Yes,” he urged, his grip increasing in retaliation. “Yes. I want to watch you come just like this.”

I gave up hope of escaping. My body was locked and loaded, safety off. He just needed to pull the trigger. Even my bottom lip was trembling now. Shit. It was wrong what I was doing, but I convinced myself I needed it. Didn’t I deserve it after sitting for the needle? As long as you don’t fuck him, it’s okay.

The stretch of his fingers inside me went away, and he trailed them up, sliding through my valley until he could rub viciously on my clit.

“Oh, oh, oh—”

Trigger pulled, and I exploded. The orgasm tore through me, every nerve ending firing bliss and heat. It swept along my frame, leaving me a convulsing, quaking mess against the wall. I wanted to sob in relief, but couldn’t. The tremendous release of tension left me unable to function.

All the while, Silas watched my mouth. His lips moved as he uttered something too quietly to be audible, but it looked very much like the word fuck. His carnal expression strengthened and abruptly the hand holding me was gone.

My legs were boneless in the aftermath of the spectacular orgasm, so when he let me go, I collapsed into him. My dead arms fell around his broad shoulders, and my head dropped forward into the crook of his neck. I breathed him in as his arms were around me, holding me. His chest was heaving, and I rode the rise and fall while I recovered.

“Jesus,” I muttered against the cotton of his t-shirt.

He said nothing. A hand stroked down the back of my head, smoothing my hair.

When my body was cooperating again, I pushed back on his shoulders and quickly moved to do up my pants.

“Regan.”

I shimmied the jeans back up over my hips and snapped the button closed. “Hmm?”

“What the hell are you doing?”

He didn’t appear too happy that I’d put my pants on, but it was so much safer this way. As soon as it was done, I wrapped both of my hands around one of his biceps and yanked hard. Christ, his arms were solid. I shoved him up against the wall, and his back collided hard with it.

His gaze went to the queen-sized mattress where a lumpy comforter spilled halfway off of it. “My bed—”

“Fuck the bed. You made me come against the wall.”