The Affair: Week 2 - Soon

“You’re confusing me,” she said, her heart thumping in anxious, wild anticipation.

Long fingers moved over her fly, methodically releasing button after button. She bit her lip, finding his touch so near her sex almost unbearably exciting. He stared down at her steadily. “I’m trying to convince myself that I’m being noble. You’ve had a really crappy twenty-four hours. You need some time to absorb what it all means to you without having some asshole humping you in the backseat of a car. Still. You deserve some pleasure. That’s what you’re telling me you want. To forget what happened last night, if only for a little while. I can do that for you.”

“Oh,” she mumbled. Is that what she’d been telling him, not only with her mouth but also her body? She increasingly didn’t care, as long as he kept touching her. With him touching her, all thoughts of Amanda’s shattered expression in that living room last night vacated her brain.

His fingers burrowed beneath her jeans, skimming her labia through her underwear. Rubbing. Pressing. The whole time, he watched her expression tightly. When he struck her bull’s-eye, she gasped at the ideal, direct pressure on her clit. Her core clenched tight. She grimaced at the sharp pinch of need and pressed her hips up against him and whimpered uncontrollably.

He really knew his way around a woman’s body.

Oh my God.

To say the least.

He lowered his head until his mouth was just a fraction of an inch from hers, his gaze holding hers fast the whole time.

“The thing of it is, though, I’m still just being selfish. I’m not going to rest until I feel you shake against me,” he said, his tone a strange mixture of thick arousal and anger.

His fingers found the edge of her panties and slid beneath them. She whimpered shakily as the ridge of his forefinger burrowed between her lips, gliding in the well-lubricated valley. He’d mapped her out well in his little expedition above her panties. She shook as he played her. He grunted roughly against her mouth.

“So what do you say? Do you think you can grant me rest tonight, Emma?” he murmured, rubbing her clit and plucking and biting at her upturned lips in a way that made her burn in places she didn’t realize she owned.

“Oh yes,” she whispered.

“That’s what I wanted to hear,” he said hotly as both his finger and tongue plunged in unison.

Chapter Seven

The thing of it is, though, I’m really just being selfish. I’m not going to rest until I feel you shake against me.

Despite his words, what he was doing to her felt far from selfish. She drowned in decadent, flooding pleasure. He moved in her outer sex, pressing and sliding, his hand every bit as skilled at this maneuver as it was the deft, precise handling of a car. He owned her mouth at the same time that he touched her. He may have expressed his doubts about making love to Emma in the backseat of a car in a garage on a night when she was so vulnerable, but his kiss was wholesale, deep and compelling, holding nothing back.

Emma found herself giving just as completely. Her fingers plunged into his hair. She loved the feeling of it in her hands.

His finger continued to agitate her, gliding and rubbing her clit in a way that made her core contract and her eyes roll back in her head. God, she was burning from the inside out. She was wet, very wet, she could tell by the easy glide of the stiff ridge of his forefinger, the slippery movement of his seeking fingertip. It felt so good—better than when she touched herself; more concise, more imperative. She could so easily lose herself to this feeling . . . to him.

“That’s right,” he murmured against her lips. “Just give in to it.”

She moaned, the fever in her rising, the friction he wrought with his skillful hand mounting. He pierced her lips with his tongue, capturing her groan of ecstasy. She grew so hot, so excited, that the souls of her feet tingled and her nipples grew painfully hard against her bra. As if he could read her body with his mind, he abruptly broke their kiss. She gasped in excited surprise when he pressed his mouth to the upper curve of her right breast. His head moved, his lips charting the swell of the flesh.

“Oh God,” she moaned in dazed arousal when he closed lips around the nipple and sucked through her T-shirt and bra. Her hips pressed up more insistently against his hand between her thighs. He was playing her clit expertly, but she longed to have him penetrate her. Fill her. She could feel the heat of his mouth on her breast, the wetness penetrate the cloth, the delicious suction. The stimulation on her nipple and clit at once nearly brought her to climax. But then his hand moved, his dragging forefinger along her naked pelvis and lower belly leaving a wet trail of her juices.

“Oh . . . no,” she protested, disoriented by the sudden absence of his magical touch. He lifted his head.

“Shhhh,” he whispered, the hushing sound soothing, but also firm, authoritative, as if he was saying, wait, your pleasure will come in due time. She bit her lip to stifle her ragged breathing as she watched him lift her T-shirt, his actions deliberate and focused, as if he didn’t want to rush this. He carefully arranged her T-shirt over her breasts, his stare so intent her clit pinched in anguished arousal. He whisked a fingertip over the top of her breast and inserted it inside the edge of her bra.

“Jesus. You’re beautiful,” he said quietly when he’d pushed back the fabric and exposed a nipple.

He looked up at her desperate whimper.

“Just a little longer, baby, keep still,” he soothed and commanded at once.

He dipped another finger beneath the fabric of the other cup, holding her stare the whole time, his touch scalding her. He lifted the flesh over the edge and then pushed the bra down securely beneath her exposed breasts. She forced her hips not to rise on the seat. She needed pressure on her pussy so badly. Her gaze moved down with his. Emma gritted her teeth and moaned in agony when she saw the picture her breasts made, both of them standing up pertly over the bunched cups, her nipples dark pink and very hard with arousal.

A surge of liquid heat went through her when he groaned roughly. “Look at that, like tight little buds,” he muttered, sounding awed as he plucked at one nipple, then another. The ache of desire inside her clamped so tight, it hurt. She had to shut her eyes, the vision was so erotic—his dark, masculine fingers against her pale skin, caressing and pinching her delicate nipples, an expression of rapt hunger on his handsome face.

She made a strangled sound in her throat. He paused in his illicit caresses, and she opened her eyes warily. Their gazes met for a heart-stopping second.

Then his head lowered and he sucked a captive nipple into his mouth, and his finger slid again beneath her panties. Twin bolts of pleasure pierced her, pinning her to the spot, forcing her to submit. She trembled in the face of a huge, intimidating wave of pleasure. It was going to crash down on her, steal her breath—