Page 74 of Biggest Player
I grin, trailing kisses along her jaw. “You love it.”
We both do.
How often do we get to feel like ...
We’re young again?
Not that we’re not young. Shit, I barely just turned twenty-five.
Her hand moves to my forearm, fingers curling around my wrist—but instead of pushing me away, the little minx guides me higher. Thesilent encouragement sends a thrill through me, and I wonder if being pleasured in public is something she’s done before.
I let my hand slide farther up her thigh, the intimacy of the moment electrifying.
The movie plays on, the romantic scene unfolding in the background barely a blip on our radar, our attention on each other. At least, mine is on her since I’m the one doing all the touching ...
Margot’s breathing grows heavier, her chest rising and falling in a rhythm that tells me she’s getting turned on.
“How’s this?” I whisper, hand teasing.
She nods, biting down on her lower lip from the anticipation. “Perfect.”
I continue my slow, tantalizing caresses—at least, that’s the vibe I’m going for—feeling the tension and desire building between us. Her soft sighs and tiny moans are sweeter than the sound of my chef announcing that dinner is being served, and that’s saying a lot because I fucking love to eat.
Seriously love it.
My hand moves with more confidence now, fingers tracing patterns on her thigh, venturing closer to her most sensitive spots, only holding back to make her squirm.
“You’re going to drive me crazy,” she murmurs just loud enough for me to hear, her voice a mix of frustration and pleasure. Whining. Pouting.
I chuckle, savoring the power and intimacy of the moment, but what she has yet to realize is that she holds all the power. All of it.
“That’s the idea.”
My fingers reach the apex of her thighs.
Once again, she shivers.
I take pleasure in knowing she feels pleasure, ’cause why the hell else would she be shivering?I bet her thighs would quake if I was kneeling between her legs... but that’s a pipe dream to save for another day. Or another outing.
Ha.
Like a good girl—or a bad girl, depending on how you look at it—Margot parts her legs to grant me better access, breath now coming in shallow, uneven gasps.
Naughty, naughty . . .
The vixen likes it.
And so, beneath the delicate fabric my fingers go and find her wet and ready. So wet. So ready.
Even though it’s been ages since I’ve gotten anyone off like this—usually we’re in a bed or at least somewhere private. Oh—and naked. I begin to move my fingers in languid, deliberate strokes, feeling her body respond to my touch. Margot’s hand covers mine under the blanket, her grip tightening with each passing moment.
My fingers travel with practiced ease, finding a rhythm that makes her breath catch and her body tremble beneath the lap blanket.
I am driving her wild.
Margot leans her head back against the leather theater seat, eyes fluttering closed as I work my magic, getting her off like a goddamn boss, the hands I get paid so much money for doing double duty.
I am a triple threat.
