What She Needs - Lacey Alexander [16]
And she knew she had to stop this before it got out of hand. Well, any more out of hand. Because she’d just told him she wasn’t comfortable having sex with strangers. And she wasn’t.
But when his hand eased up higher under her breast, when his thumb stroked upward, over her nipple—she couldn’t get the words out. Just another gasp. She wasn’t wearing a bra under the halter dress, leaving one less barrier between her chest and his touch, and the sensation had shot through her like a rocket soaring toward the heavens. A glance down revealed both her nipples, erect and poking through the cottony fabric of her dress, and she wondered if they’d been like that all through dinner. And then his thumb stroked the same hard, beaded peak again—and seeing it this time in addition to feeling it made her let out a tiny sob of pleasure.
Say something. Because you can’t just let this happen. You can’t. “I . . . I thought I read . . . that guides . . . are never involved in sex with their guests.”
“They’re not.” Now his voice came like a low growl in her ear.
“Then what are you doing?”
“I’m breaking a serious rule, sunshine.”
“Wh-why?”
“Because I need to show you,” he murmured, stroking his thumb across her breast yet again, making her shudder within his grasp. “I need to make you see how bad you need it.”
At the moment, she didn’t think she’d ever needed anything more in her life. But she wasn’t about to admit that. Instead, she insisted, “This means nothing. This is . . . seduction. You’re a sex expert—you know how to seduce girls.”
“This means everything,” he replied. “Because you’re not telling me no. And I’m not even sure you like me. But you can’t stop because it feels so good. Because you need it so bad. You need me to touch you.” With that, he moved his hand full onto her breast, massaging the soft fullness, leaving her helpless, unable to summon more words. Her breath grew thready and her only response was to melt a little deeper into his arms.
Yes, not just one arm now, but both—he wrapped around her from behind and she stayed agonizingly aware of his erection at her rear, pressing deeper now, even as his other hand slid, slow and seductive, downward over her stomach.
“You need me to stroke your hot little pussy, Jenna,” he breathed fervently.
And again, she shuddered at the promise as her legs grew weak and her cheeks flushed with heat, shock.
She held completely still as his fingers sank lower, lower, finally easing between her legs over the cotton skirt of her dress. She sucked in her breath as that part of her seemed to swell—she suffered the odd sensation of growing larger and larger in his hand.
Oh God, he was touching her there. Her eyes fell shut, her head dropped back. He caressed her fully—her breast, her crotch. She heard her own breath—she was panting for him now and hadn’t the power to stop it.
Without ever taking his hand from between her thighs, he began to gather the fabric of her dress in his fist. He was going to touch her. Really touch her. Thank God. Thank God.
Finally, he’d bunched the full length of the skirt in his fist, allowing him to slip his hand underneath—and straight into the lacy edge of her panties. His fingers moved surely, smoothly, over her pubic hair and down into her very core, making her let out a ragged cry of pleasure.
And then she began to move—her moisture against the solid pressure of his fingers. Yes, yes.
“Ah, God, you’re so wet. That’s how bad you need it, honey.” Another deep, sexy rasp came warm on her ear as a tropical breeze lifted her hair from her shoulders and somehow made her feel even wetter.
And part of her wanted to deny what he’d said, about needing it, but she couldn’t think of an argument that made any sense. All she could think of was sensation. And moving against his big fingers as they stroked, stroked, ever so capably through her feminine folds.
His smooth voice was like another form of touching her. “That’s right, honey, move against my fingers. Fuck