Three Hard Lessons (Blindfold Club 2)

“My job blows, but the money’s fucking amazing.” His eyes turned serious. “What about you?”

“Me? I like what I do.” It came out kind of indifferent.

“Fake?” The coarse skin of his palm glided back up, urging the jacket open to expose a nipple to him.

“Real,” I said. “I used to love it, but . . .”

The hand finished its journey to my breast, closing on the skin. His eyes hooded as he watched me arch my back into his touch.

“Why don’t you love it anymore?” His rushed breathing was the same as it had been when he first came in the room.

“It’s a stupid reason. I don’t want to talk about it.” I let a hand wander over the ridges of his six-pack abs, staying above the belt.

He leaned over me, supporting himself on one hand while the other traced circles on my nipple. Then, his head dropped down and something wet replaced his touch, caressed me. I moaned. Finally we were moving past freshman year of high school.

“Come on, tell me.” Lips fluttered against the curve of my breast. “I can find better ways to distract you.”

Oh, fuck it. “My best friend fell in love and is getting married.”

He went wooden.

“All of my other friends,” I continued, “are already married, or have kids.” I couldn’t put it into words, but I felt like I’d spent too much time fucking around and I’d missed my window. I didn’t want the white picket fences and mini-van life, but I wanted to mean something to someone. I was selfish and greedy. I wanted someone to belong to me. “I feel like I’ve been left behind.”

“Shit,” he said, hushed. “I know exactly what you mean.”

And then his head dipped back to my breast and drew my nipple into his mouth, sucking at me. A bolt of white-hot pleasure shot between my legs. Yes. It was plenty distracting, but he wasn’t done yet. The pads of his fingers inched downward until he buried them between my legs.

I moaned. Just the faintest touch had me breathless.

“Do you like this?” he whispered. “Real?”

“Yes, very real.”

He searched and found the nub of flesh, swollen and already aching for him, his fingers rolling a small circle and increasing pressure. This moan was loud and grateful. The whiskers dotting his jaw scraped over the valley of my breasts as he pushed the jacket aside and traveled to the other nipple. Cold air washed over the wet skin he’d left behind, making the knot of flesh harder.

“I’m thirty three years old,” he said, “and the last of my friends proposed to his girlfriend a month ago. I know they’re all wondering what’s wrong with me.”

It was getting hard to think with how his hand was pleasing me and the almost nonexistent filter I had burned away to nothing in my need. “Is something wrong with you?”

“Other than the fact I’m willing to pay thirty grand to have a conversation? I don’t think so.”

Shit, we better do more than just have a conversation. I shifted my hips, trying to get him to slip a finger inside me. His lips moved up and returned to mine. Every time he kissed me, it was like the wires crossed in my brain. I didn’t want it—and I was desperate for it.

“I didn’t have a problem meeting women here, but I didn’t get too serious about anything when I found out I was moving to the other side of the world.” The heat spreading from his touch made my stomach tighten. “You must be fighting the guys off. What’s your story?”

I got my wish when he eased a finger inside me, all the way in.

“I get bored,” I gasped,

opening my legs wider, and bit down teasingly on his bottom lip. “Most guys aren’t up to the challenge of me.”

“Are you too much to handle, Paige?” He thrust his middle finger gently into me, his thumb moving on my clit. The sensation drove me crazy with lust. I clawed at the bare skin of his chest, wanting more.

Was I too much? “Definitely,” I answered. “Can I have another?”

The blue eyes flared with desire and he straightened to his full height. I loved how he looked. Hair ruffled from my fingers, his shirt undone and hung open, his piercing gaze locked on me, spread out before him.

“Maybe you’re too much for other guys,” he said, “but not for me.” The second finger joined in, filling me where I was damp and hot. I bucked on the cushion top with a cry of pleasure, my hands clenching fistfuls of his dress shirt. I didn’t know if I was trying to bring him closer or if it was a simple reaction from the overwhelming desire flooding my veins.