Feels like Trouble (Lake Fisher 4)

“Or spend the day with her family after driving all night and only getting a short nap.”

“Well, if you recall, said girl was naked with her legs wrapped around my waist at the time the call came in.”

“I wasn’t naked,” she corrects. “I had on my panties.”

I let my eyes drop toward her lap. “You got panties on now?”

She pretends to look offended even as goose bumps rise on her arms. She sniffs. “I do, thank you very much.” She lifts her nose into the air.

I get up and lean over her, tilting her chin with my finger so I can kiss her. She looks surprised, but she kisses me back.

“Think we could change that?” I ask, my voice sounding husky even to my ears.

“Change what?” She uncrosses her legs and sets her feet on the balcony floor.

I kneel down in front of her and lift the edge of the t-shirt she’s wearing. “Nice basic cotton panties this time,” I say, as I examine them. “The special panties you had on the other night were fancy.”

She scoffs. “I don’t wear fancy panties every day.”

“Just sometimes?” I lift her shirt up until I can see her tattoo. I drag my thumb across it. “Did you draw this?” I ask her, suddenly curious.

“Yes.” She doesn’t offer more.

“So you drew mine too.”

She blows out a breath. “Yes.”

“So you weren’t so drunk that you didn’t know what you were doing.” I hook my hands behind her knees and drag her forward a little, so that she’s reclining in the chair. Then I catch my fingers in the waistband of her panties and drag them slowly down her legs. She doesn’t protest as I pull them all the way down and over her feet. I toss them into the hotel room.

“I knew exactly what I was doing, Grady,” she says. “I drew the tattoos and I gave them to the tattoo artist. I knew what they said. I knew what they meant. And I still wanted mine.” She very gently reaches out a hand and brushes my hair from my forehead. “What I wasn’t sure of was if you would regret getting yours the next day.” She heaves in a breath and lets it out slowly. “I’m still not sure if you regret it.”

I shake my head as I lean toward her tattoo and press my lips to it. She squirms against the chair, her back arching as she wiggles. “I regret nothing except not fucking you the first time you invited me to come inside,” I admit. With my palms, I press against her inner thighs, spreading her legs enough that I can settle between them. She doesn’t stop me. Instead, her eyelids grow heavy and her eyes go dark as they dilate. “That’s my only regret.”

I lean forward and blow a breath against the sparse dusting of hair that’s between her legs. Her eyes fall closed as I spread her lower lips with my thumbs. She has a short, tidy strip of hair down them, and nothing else. My thumbs part her silky flesh easily. I dip my head and lick up her slit.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” she asks suddenly. “You were pretty adamant that you wanted to wait.”

“I don’t want to wait any more.” I lick up her slit again, this time applying pressure at the top with the flat of my tongue.

“What changed?” She speaks to me with her eyes closed.

“I fell for you,” I say, as I lift my head for just a minute. “Now stop asking questions so I can make you come.”

She laughs and scoots down lower in the chair, bringing her heat closer to my mouth.

“I think that’s the first time you’ve ever done what I told you to do.”

She laughs as she puts her hand on the top of my head and pushes my mouth closer to her heat.

I lick up her slit, spending time at the top where she’s the most sensitive. Good sex is like consuming fine wine. You have to taste it, and then taste it some more, and decide how you prefer for it to be consumed. You can guzzle it, or you can sip it. With Evie, I think I want to sip.

I slide two fingers into her heat, and she clamps down on them immediately. “Grady,” she murmurs. I don’t answer because my mouth is busy sucking on that little bundle of nerves. “I’m so close,” she whispers, and I can feel her inner walls tug at my fingers. Her hips rock against my mouth, and I find the rhythm she likes.

And when she comes, it’s like she’s been set on fire. She rocks with the force of it, her back arching as her inner muscles wring my fingers. And when she’s nearly done, I jerk her to her feet, and spin around, settling down in the chair as I shove my boxers down my thighs. I pull her onto my lap so that she straddles me. “Do we need something?” I ask.

She freezes. “Um…” She brushes her hair back from her face. “I’m not on the pill.”

“I didn’t bring anything,” I admit, as I let my head fall back against the back of the chair.