Page 47 of Swept Away
“What about that story?”
“What story?”
“You don’t even remember? You said you were looking for your stepsister.”
His smile fades.
“I am.”
“I was talking to someone today about that house,” I start, and he straightens and shifts to me.
Smoothly, he spreads his hand over my neck and puts his lips against mine.
“Let’s not talk about that now, yeah?” he says quietly but firmly. “I’d rather hear more about you,” he goes on, tearing his eyes away from me and moving them over my body.
His hand comes to my knee, and I get the message and pull my mouth shut.
“I don’t want to talk about that stuff,” he says, distracted, stroking the inside of my knee and shifting me off my axis.
As curious as I am about that story, it’s not my business after all, so he’s within his rights to ask for some privacy.
His eyes become heavier and heavier as he moves his hand under my skirt, and I wrestle with the reality of having no underwear and another man’s eyes on us.
As much as I’d like more control over these things, I have a deep need to have his hand move up my thigh.
His eyes lock on mine, and in their depth I see exactly what he’s thinking.
He wants to run it up my thigh as much as I do.
My focus is solely on him, so I can’t speak for the other man as I don’t know what he’s doing and whether he’s still watching us.
Mason’s hand slides up all the way.
He does it slowly, without stopping until he reaches the warm spot between my thighs.
His eyes are trained on me, gauging my reaction.
The forbidden pleasure that I feel compares to nothing that I have ever felt.
His eyes move over my lips before reading my reaction.
A puff of air blooms on my lips, and a quiet gasp of panic tells him what he needs to know.
He slides his fingers over my slit, like it’s normal to have his hand up my skirt, right between my thighs, and his thumb over my clit.
His friend seems frozen next to us, although he can’t see much as I’m mostly facing Mason.
He is so quiet that I could swear he’s left the room.
But Carter is there, beside me. I know it. The heat of his body creeps up my back.
“Do you like it?” Mason asks quietly against my lips, and my chest moves up and down as fingers of heat slide inside my neckline and harden my nipples.
I nod.
“Good,” he says, grinning, his focus shifting to my lips.
Propping his arm on the back of the sofa, he moves his hand between my legs, stroking me, no longer caring that my crumpled skirt is in no way hiding what he’s doing.
