Page 32 of Flirty Thirty

I circle a nail around a budding nipple, knowing that I can’t quite imagine it as Cooper’s finger, but I can imagine he’s in the room watching. That he’s at the foot of the bed, knuckles white as he clutches the bed frame, his boxer shorts strained and aching as I bring my other hand up to tease and pull the twin.

A hitch in my breathing makes me realize how loud I’m being. A rush of panic that he isactuallyhearing me pulls me right out of the fantasy,and not a moment too soon either, because at the buzz of my phone, a skittish kitten leaps onto my face.

“Kaff,” I muffle through her fur, praising a deity that she didn’t use her claws. I wriggle her off of me and roll over the pillow barrier I made. While grappling for my phone, I notice that I’ve been tossing, turning, and attempting to pleasure myself for nearly an hour.

Still trying to sleep, or is it just me?

A swoop in my stomach has me sitting back up on my knees. I catch my reflection in the glass of the balcony doors, my face and topless half lit up by my phone. I can almost imagine Cooper knocking it out of my hands and pressing me into the mattress with the hard plate of his chest.

It is definitely not just you.

He doesn’t reply back—well, it’s only been ten, fifteen seconds—but I’m so ready to break some rules that I toss my phone on the bed and search around for my top. I pull it out from under my fat cat and slip it over my head on the way to the door.

I don’t care if I said I get my own room. I don’t care that sex was not on either of our agendas tonight. I need some damn sleep and some damn relief and it seems the only way I’m going to get it is—

“Oof!” I squeak at the same time I hear a low, baritone grunt. My body rocks back from the warm wall of muscle I’ve run smack into, and a hand reaches for my arm before I topple to my butt.

Cooper lets out a laugh, the warmth of his touch pebbling my breasts. I hide my face in his chest, laughing quietly with him, and only half realizing that there is no need to be quiet.

“Fancy meeting you here,” he says through his laughter. His fingers brush through my hair and tilt my face up to his. There isn’t a single moment of hesitation before he drops his lips to mine.

13

Sweet Relief

“I thought…” I say, my voice breathless and broken between our anxious lips. “I thought… sex… wasn’t… on the table.”

His lips turn up against mine, the hard plate of his chest pressing my back flat against the wall. “It’s not,” he breathes. “But we said nothing about the floor.”

A lust-filled giggle slips out, the warm air around us zapping as his fingers trail down my neck. His palms cup my breasts as his tongue slides between my lips. My giddiness is suddenly silenced, replaced by the rush of heat in my lower abdomen. My knees buckle, my back arching into his touch. He’s quickly erasing our surroundings, turning me into putty in his very capable hands.

There’s a palm at my waist, tugging, pulling, fighting with the flimsy shirt I’m wearing. His touch is consuming all my thoughts; I’m only half aware of where my own hands are, though every flex of his hard muscle against my fingertips reminds me of the chiseled, cut man I’d been attempting to fantasize about in bed just moments earlier. Another rush of warmth fills between my weakening legs. Am I even still standing? More like sunk into the carpet beneath our feet, and in the back of my mind I know this was against my self-imposed rules. I know it. I fight it, but then his fingers tuck into my waistband, and he gasps, “Five seconds.” His lips are at my ear. “Five seconds is all the control I have.” And because I only possess two seconds of control, I grasp his hand and curve his fingers into my neglected nethers before he can finish his countdown.

He’s warm, almost unbearably so. The scruff along his face is scratching, tickling, taking me to a place I haven’t been to in years. Oh yes,years. My nails scratch up his taut arm as his fingers tantalize and torture in the most pleasurable of ways. I pull at his hair, breathe into his open mouth and speak a language I’ve yet to master with him, yet we both seem rather fluent in it. His heavy-lidded eyes drift up to mine, and a smile teases at the corners of his mouth. He watches me come absolutely undone in his arms, a look close to that of someone winning the lottery etched into every line of his face. A rush of heat cascades down my entire being, from crown to pinky toe. I’m clawing at him, blinking stars out of my eyes, perspiring from the warmth of his breath on my neck. My mind is beyond comprehensible thought, and he says, “Hold onto me,” and I somehow find the ability to comply, bringing my hand around his very impressive arousal.

His eyebrows rise, and a small laugh slips from between his panted breaths. “Not what… I meant…” he breathes, but doesn’t stop me as I dive under the waistband of his boxers and reciprocate the favor he’s so aptly giving me.

I’m losing it. My mind, my body, my everything. I feel myself rising to the peak of uncontrollable thoughts and actions, and my mouth connects with his shoulder, my teeth sink into the warm cotton of his shirt, and gone am I from this world.

“I’m sorry,” I hear from somewhere outside of my body. “Damn it, I liked that one, too.”

I shake my head, mind foggy as I fall back down into my feet. I’m tangled around Cooper, the hand I have wrapped around him moist with his release. I allow myself a small chuckle of amusement at being so far gone I hadn’t noticed until now that he’d been out of this world with me.

He braces himself using the wall, caging me in. He shakes his head, his blond locks wet with exertion as if we’d been doing a more strenuous workout than just biceps and forearms.

“You weren’t attached to it, were you?” he asks, dark blue eyes flicking to my shoulder. My brow furrows as I follow his gaze, then my mouth pops clean open at the sight of my tank top torn and hanging loosely off of my right breast.

“How dare you,” I tease, prying my arm from the stickiness of our tight grasp and lifting the wardrobe casualty with my clean hand. The reminder that I wasn’t too concerned about his clothing either has my gaze moving to his shoulder, and I bite back a grin as I nod to it. “I at least had the decency to rip on the seam.”

An echoed confusion crosses his face as he plucks the material off his skin and examines the teeny tiny hole I chewed in that very sexy white tee. I feel a giddy laugh erupt from his chiseled stomach still pressed with mine.

“Remind me to wear clothing every time this happens.” His joking and post-pleasure eyes meet mine. “I’d rather you tear through this than skin.”

“Likewise.” The implication that this isn’t just a one-time occurrence isn’t lost on me, and a rush of heat slides down my neck, making me feel as if I need to lie down before I fall down.

Sensing the change in my spirits, he releases his hold on me, slowly pulling his arm back and taking a step toward the banister. The rush of cold air wakes me up enough to realize just how very naughty this was, and how even though it’s a bad idea, I’d like to be that naughty with him again. And again. Maybe once more after that.

After tucking himself back inside his boxers, he reaches up to scratch the back of his head, and I admire the muscles in his arms and the talented tendons that run into his hands. I don’t believe I’ve gotten off on a hand job alone unless it was just me. It could very well be attributed to the fact that it’s been a very long time since Ms. O’s been around, and Cooper is pretty much my blond-haired fantasy man.

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