Page 57 of The Fire We Crave

“Always.”

He slides his fingers ever so slightly beneath the elastic of my panties and rubs them back and forth, but not close enough to where I need him. It’s teasing, and he smiles at me. “Eyes on me, sugar.”

My hips lift of their own volition.

Here on the bed, my clit aches, and I lift the hem of my dress and slide my fingers beneath the waistband of my panties, rubbing over my firm but tender clit, then dipping between my lips.

I’m as wet in real life as I am in the image of the two of us.

My breath stutters when I exhale.

In the daydream, Smoke removes my panties, then slides his palms beneath my ass to tug me a little closer to the edge of thepool table. When he has me where he wants me, he drops to his knees, places my legs over his shoulders, uses his thumbs to peel my lips apart a little, like an intimate book, and then licks me.

A swift swipe from opening to clit with a wide flat tongue.

I lift on my elbows so I can watch. “No other pussy tastes as good as yours,” he says, before licking his lips.

He kisses along my thigh, occasionally nipping me with his teeth or sucking hard enough to give me a hickey.

It’s agonizingly slow.

In reality, I slide my finger inside myself and bite down on my lip to avoid making any sound to alert Smoke. I wish I had my vibrator, or even better, Smoke. But it’s more than enough to provide accompaniment to the daydream.

Dragging wetness to my clit, circling it, squeezing it, pressing hard.

Grinding against my fingers, my palm.

God, it feels so good.

Dream Smoke adds his thick finger too, deliciously stretching me. I imagine it’s his finger working me over, his saliva making me wet.

There’s a knock at the door, and it bursts open before I can stop. “I just wanted to say I’m—fuck!”

I snatch my hand from between my legs, but there is no way he didn’t see, and I’m sure the scent of masturbation hangs heavy in the air.

I try to sit up to close my legs.

“Don’t move,” Smoke says in a tone so deep and intense, I can’t move, even though embarrassed heat floods my cheeks.

His eyes move between meeting mine and looking at what is surely the mother of all wet patches on my panties. Smoke rubs his fingers over his lips, but there is no indecision in his eyes.

“Put your hand back, Quinn. Show me what you were doing.”

I need to find my voice, or at least the will to move, because surely this is?—

“Now, Quinn. I’m not a patient man.”

My eyes don’t leave his, and his don’t leave mine, as I do what he says.

“Good girl. Now, stroke yourself, but don’t you dare dip those fingers back into that pussy yet.”

My lips throb as my finger glides over them without entry. My hips rise to meet them, desperate for penetration. But it’s impossible to not follow his orders.

I drag my finger over my clit, then circle it before allowing the slide again.

Smoke lowers his hand and rearranges his dick in his denim. But he doesn’t play with it. Doesn’t get his obviously engorged length out and stroke it. “You have any idea how hard this is making me?”

I nod and run my tongue over my lower lip before biting down on it.

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