Page 82 of Interpreter

Tim’s eyes dart to mine.

Did he feel me groan? I wouldn’t be surprised. Wearealmost sharing his pants.

Without another word, his chin dips and he presses his lips to my neck, dragging them down the length of my throat. I shift on his knee, grinding myself just a little deeper into the denim.

“Look down,” he whispers against my throat.

I really don’t want to. I feel the girls standing at attention as if saying,“Here we are, Mr. Lambros. Keep us warm. This bitch is a cockblocker.”

I sigh, hoping he feels it and catches the look of annoyance on my face. This is ridiculous. My girls behaved the entire time I was here. The only reason they are poking through the lace of my bra is because he wet them.

He. Wet. Them.

It was sexy—even if the water was freezing—and now I’m super turned on. But I will not let him think he is right. He’s not. My nipples have not been hard this entire time. Hell, I’ve been in the house for the majority of the time. He’s ridiculous.

My throat is pushed against his lips as I barely look down at my whores of nipples, clearly poking out through my shirt.

He pulls back and grins. It would be cute if he wasn’t getting on my last nerve.

“You sprayed me with cold water, which was rude, by the way.”

Soft laughter bounces between our bodies, and I try—and fail—not to grin at this insane argument we’re having.

“Youwere rude,” he counters.

“How wasIrude?” I blanch. “I simply came to talk to you—”

Warmth.

That’s all I can think as the muscles in my neck give out and my head falls back in a groan as Tim’s mouth wraps my straining nipple in the warm cocoon of his mouth. Slowly he sucks the greedy little nipple in his mouth, massaging, caressing her into a state of flaccidity.

My free hand goes to the back of Tim’s head and holds him there, just in case his head needs a little support. His mouth could get tired. You never know.

“What the fuck were you doing with Cal, Mami?” His voice his rough and gritty, and I totally swoon that he kept with our bedroom names for each other. He lifts me off the ground with one arm—I swear to God—and slams me on the hood of his car as if I weigh nothing.

My back is soaked in suds as he slides me up the hood of his car before yanking me back down and splaying me out wide for his perusal.

“I hope these aren’t good panties,” he mutters, fingering the edge of the material. “Because they aren’t going to make it out in one piece.”

I don’t see what’s so sexy about a man ruining underwear but—the fabric rips at my hip, and Tim’s tongue is right there to soothe the reddened skin. Ah, yes. Now I see the appeal. With only his head visible between my legs, I fall back, enjoying the feel of his mouth, quiet and not demanding like usual. I let the hulk of a man finish tearing the fabric from my body and discard them where no one cares to even look. Especially not me. All I care is that he keeps doing that thing with his tongue—oh shit. Yes. Right there. One by one, he pulls my legs over his shoulders, his huge-ass arms winding between them and holding me open.

“You didn’t answer me,” he says, the golden flecks in his eyes shining just above my clit.

Ugh. Why is he still talking? Why can’t we work this out physically?

The air hits my exposed flesh and my back arches. “No. They weren’t good panties,” I moan. “Please put your mouth back on me. Fuck the panties.”

I’m desperate. Needy and fucking desperate. The hood vibrates, and I pull my desperate ass up enough to see he’s laughing at me. “What’s so funny?” He takes a minute, eyeing my pissed-off look, I’m sure, and then yanks me down to his chest, basically using me as his personal gear shift.

“I’m not talking about your thong,” he growls. “I’m talking about Cal.”

“Eww. Why are we talking about Cal when we’re….” I motion at my spread-eagle position. There is no room for Cal here. This is a Tim and Milah space.

Tim’s mouth goes back to my clit, and his thumb presses against my ass. I clench, not because I’m scared—well, maybe I am, a little. I hear the noises Felipe makes sometimes when Marcus is over; that can’t be comfortable at first.

His thumb loses the pressure as the other fingers join in with my sweet torture. Two, in particular, glide inside me, thrusting in and out lazily until they stop.

“Answer me,” he growls, his eyes on mine.

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