Page 94 of Make Her Mine

“You know me pretty well. What do you think?”

I stroke my hand up to her belly under her dress this time. I just skim over her panties, but definitely note they are bikini style. I rest my hand on her warm, bare stomach. “A lot I bet,” I tell her. I run my hand back-and-forth. “But in all things, I also think you might appreciate it when someone else pushes back and takes some control.”

I slide my hand up, my fingers brushing the bottom of one breast.

No bra. I suspected. This dress has thin straps and I didn’t see a bra strap. And yes, I looked.

She catches her breath, and I ask, “You okay?”

She squeezes my thigh. “You can be very assured that if I am not okay, I will let you know.”

That’s true. Harlow doesn’t do things she doesn’t want to. And she has absolutely no trouble telling me no. While I always appreciate that, I especially value it in this situation.

I slide my hand up and cup her breast. She gives a moan and arches closer. The hard pebble of her nipple presses into my palm and the heat simmering in my gut flares as my cock pulses.

I squeeze gently, rubbing my thumb over the hard tip. Then I take her nipple between my thumb and forefinger and give it a slight squeeze.

Her head presses back against my chest and I can see she’s breathing more raggedly.

We’re facing the fire and the party, but even if I’d had to list all of the people in attendance or face life in prison, I wouldn’t have been able to.

My entire world has been reduced to the woman in my arms and the way her breast fits perfectly in my hand.

I lean in and kiss the side of her neck, dragging my beard against the sensitive skin. Her nipple pulls tighter, and I tug gently.

“Jefferson,” she says raggedly.

“Fuck, I love hearing my name from your lips with that turned-on-begging tone,” I tell her. “So much better than when you’re arguing with me.”

She shakes her head, her hair rubbing against my shirt. “I’m not begging.”

“No?” I pluck at her nipples again and she gives a little moan. “Let’s see what we can do about that.” I slide my other hand up under her dress, to play with her other breast.

Both of her hands squeeze my legs tighter.

“You like that?”

“Yes,” she tells me. “But no.”

I rub my jaw against hers. “Tell me.”

“You know what I want,” she says.

“Yeah, I think I do. But I would really love to hear you say it.”

I roll both nipples between my fingers.

She arches and her fingers curl into my legs.

“Tell me you want my hand in your panties. Tell me you want me to finger your pussy.”

Her legs move restlessly on the chair, and she squeezes her thighs together.

“I know you’re hot and wet for me, Harlow,” I say against her jaw. “I know you want me to make you feel good.”

“Please, Jefferson,” she says.

“Tell me you want my fingers in your pussy.” I drag my hand from her breast to rest on her panties, rubbing over the silk that crosses from one hip bone to the other. My hand is huge on her. “I know my fingers are going to stretch you so well. Think of how good that will feel.”

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