The Boy on the Bridge

They might investigate and make sure no one’s in here.

We could get caught.

This is crazy.

“Hunter,” I say against his hand, intending to object and tell him we cannot do something this risky.

His hand clamps over my mouth more tightly. I throb between my legs, and my eyes feel too heavy to keep open.

“I very much want to eat your pussy right now, Riley,” Hunter murmurs between neck kisses. “I want to pin you against this wall, plant my face between your thighs, and put my tongue in places that would turn you red for days.”

My breath catches in my throat. I can feel the heat climbing my neck, suffusing my cheeks—no doubt turning me as red as he predicted I would be.

“Can’t risk it, though. If I move my hand, your reluctance to break the rules is likely to kick in and ruin all the fun. This weekend, though.” He sucks on my neck and I gasp a little. “This weekend, I’m going to taste every single inch of you.”

Oh, God.

I swallow.

“For now,” he murmurs as he slides his fingers up under the fabric of my panties, “I’ll have to content myself with just playing with it.”

A thrill shoots through me as he curls his finger, stroking inside while he uses his thumb to part me. The passage is slick, making it easy for him to push deeper into me. My head falls back against the brick wall as he does.

“Does that feel good, baby?” he asks, nipping my earlobe.

God, yes. I nod languidly, noticing his grip on my mouth has eased up. I don’t say anything, though. I don’t want to stop him, and he gave me an excuse, so I don’t have to.

God, I love him.

I love him more and more as he holds me here and fingers me, using his whole body to make me feel just trapped enough to let him pleasure me.

I haven’t made it easy for him, but I am impressed by his resourcefulness.

When I come against his hand, I cry out against his other one. Before my orgasm has even fully subsided, he removes his hand from my mouth and crushes his lips against mine.

I throw my arms around him, melting into him as I kiss him back. So much pleasure is still flooding over me, if he took his cock out and fucked me right now, I’d let him.

He doesn’t, though.

This was just for me, and just a tease.

An appetizer before he feasts on me this weekend.

He’s the best.

Sleepy and satisfied, I rest my body against his, hugging him so I don’t have to stand on my own two feet quite yet.

He holds me against his strong body, happy to support me when I need it.

When the strength comes back into my limbs, I let him know by leaving a soft, tender kiss against his neck, then easing back.

“That was very unexpected. And very nice,” I murmur. “Thank you.”

He smiles faintly, but there’s a question glimmering in his beautiful brown eyes. “When I hauled you in here, you fought pretty hard. Did you not know it was me?”

Guilt flickers through me. He must be able to see it on my face.

Hunter’s eyes dim, along with his smile. “Who’d you think it was?”

There’s no right answer to this question.

My heart hammers in my chest. I feel put on the spot, and torn on what to say.

“Obviously, you’re the only one I wanted it to be. I was just confused. I wasn’t expecting it.” I smile faintly. “When I encouraged creative kidnapping, I didn’t think you’d take me quite so seriously.”

His lips curve up a tad knowingly. “That’s not what I asked.”

My heart flutters.

I hug him. “I love you.”

“I know. Who did you think it was?” he demands more firmly, not letting me off the hook with evasive maneuvers, no matter how playful or sweet.

I pull back and look up at him. “Why does it matter?”

Hunter cocks an eyebrow. “Seriously?”

Okay, that was a stupid question.

I know why it matters.

It matters because Hunter only saw 30 seconds of my “date” with Sherlock. That leaves a lot of blank space on the canvas when he thinks about what might have transpired between us before we entered his bedroom that night.

It was Hunter’s party, but he wasn’t even really there, and Sherlock specifically planned for us to show up late. Hunter doesn’t know how long we spent together before coming upstairs. He doesn’t know when Sherlock picked me up at my house or when we got to his, and he didn’t see any of our interactions.

In the freeze frame of what he did witness, he saw Sherlock kiss me. He saw him potentially care about leaving me in harm’s way with another man.

It may have even been a test asking me to sit between him and Sherlock at lunch on Monday—one I didn’t know I was taking until right now, when he already has the results.