Flirting with Disaster (Jackson: Girls' Night Out 2)

“At Lauren’s,” she returned. “What about you? Do you and Mary still have a thing going?”

“Mary?” He felt his eyes go comically wide but couldn’t stop them.

“She didn’t seem pleased that you and I were friendly.”

“Mary and I have never had a thing. And there are no feelings on either side, I promise.”

“Okay.” Isabelle’s gaze drifted down to his mouth. “Maybe she was just being protective, then.”

“Maybe,” he agreed. “But she was irritated earlier. She thought I chose her for this assignment because it was a girls’ night.”

“Did you?”

He shook his head. She was still looking at his mouth, and he didn’t want to distract her. And now he was thinking about the painting. About the peaks of her dark nipples. The curve of her hips.

“I should go,” he said, meaning it. He should go. Yes. But her eyes flicked up to his, and she smiled. And God, that smile got him like it always did. Small and secret and downright mischievous.

“You should go,” she agreed, but she leaned a little closer. Her hand sneaked to his knee, his thigh. His nerves sent thousands of excited messages to his brain. “Go home and think about me.”

“Is that what you want?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said immediately, her fingers stroking up his thigh. “I want you to do that.”

“I can’t.”

“Why?” Her hand stroked higher, grazing over his hard cock. Tom had to bite back a groan. She made a sympathetic noise. “It feels like you’re completely capable.”

He had to stifle another groan when her fingers stroked down to his thigh again. “There’s no privacy there,” he explained, focusing his mind to see if he could make her do it again. Touch him again.

“And no privacy here,” she said sadly. She touched him again, finally. Yes. He wanted more. Her fingers stroked up, and his cock strained, trying to get closer.

He needed to leave. He needed to get up and walk away and not do this, not yet, but instead of doing the right thing, he eased back a little in the couch, hoping she’d keep touching him if he made it easier.

Her chuckle told him she’d noticed, and her hand told him she didn’t mind. She stroked up and down his cock. Slowly.

“Are you trying to drive me crazy again?” he asked past clenched teeth.

“No. I’m trying to touch your cock.”

All thoughts of leaving fled his mind. He reached for her as she dragged her nails over the thin fabric of his pants, tormenting him with a dull feeling that should have been much sharper.

He pulled her down to him, wanting her kiss, but refusing to give up her touch. She was laughing against his mouth again, just like the first time they’d kissed. He loved it. Loved that she was delighted by it all. He tasted her until she stopped laughing and gave him her mouth.

Her tongue slid against his as her hand tried to curl around his shaft. There were too many clothes in the way, but it felt good all the same. It felt even better when she stroked him again. But God, just imagining what it would feel like if she unfastened his pants and slid her hand in and touched his bare flesh... Now her touch was torture. He wanted to torture her, too.

Tom slid his hand along her bare shoulder then traced that necklace down just like he’d done earlier. But this time his fingers found the soft fabric of her shirt and he slipped his hand over the curve of her breast.

Isabelle arched into his hand, wanting more, just as much as he did. He slid his thumb over her nipple and she kissed him harder, so he did it again. He meant to torment her. Meant to give her just enough pleasure that she’d need more, more, but he only circled her nipple once with his thumb, and then he forgot his intent and slipped his hand underneath her bra.

Her skin was so hot, and her hard nipple so eager against his touch. He caught it between his fingers and stroked lightly at first, but she arched impatiently into him, so he tightened his hold, squeezing her until she moaned in pleasure and thrust her tongue deeper into his mouth.

He wanted to see her. Wanted to pull her shirt down and her bra off and see how dark and hard her nipples were for him. He wanted to taste her, lick her, bite her. But he couldn’t. Not here.

But maybe just a little.

He raised his head and angled his hand so that her clothing was pushed farther to the side, and he could watch as he rolled her between his fingers. And then she was right there, still leaning toward him, her fingers squeezing his cock now, squeezing harder, and he needed to taste her.

He ducked his head and closed his mouth over her nipple.