Page 82 of Dream Chaser

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Thigh Whisperer:

You’re really going to pretend you didn’t moan my name when I kissed that spot behind your knee?

Heat rushes up my neck before I can stop it. I remember exactly how it felt—his mouth there, soft and slow. If his intent was to wreck me, mission completed.

I type back, fingers steady even if my freaking heartbeat isn’t.

Me:

That was me kicking you in the head. By accident.

Liar.

Thigh Whisperer:

Iz. If that was a kick, I can’t wait for you to do it again.

I squeeze my thighs together, jaw clenching as I recall his voice low in my ear, his hand between my legs, my body betraying me with every gasp.

Me:

Whatever.

Thigh Whisperer:

I memorized every noise you made. And I know the exact sound you make right before you come. It’s my second favorite.

I palm my face as I try to slow my breathing. That sound? Yeah. It escapes when his fingers curl just right.

Focus …

Me:

Thigh Whisperer:

Too late. It’s on replay in my head. Especially the part where you begged. Hot by the way.

Muscle memory kicks in, and my back arches as if his breath is on my collarbone, and I hear it—the way he says my name like a promise and a prayer all at once.

Nope. No.

Me:

My favorite of yours was the grunt, followed by the wide-eyed confusion before you came. You looked like a baby deer in the headlights. Cute, by the way.

I follow it up with:

Me:

Ooo, maybe I’ll name your dick Bambi.

I laugh to myself as I watch the dots bounce.

Thigh Whisperer:

I’m more a twelve-point, and you know it.

Me:

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