Page 3 of Storm in a Teacup
My mouth drops open. This has taken an unexpected turn. “I don’t even know your name.”
“Not sure that matters. It’s Linny. Kiss me.”
I chuckle. She cannot be serious. I glance at her ex to find him still watching us, then look back at her, her deep blue eyes pleading. Well, kissing a beautiful woman would turn this night around, even if it is just at the expense of her ex-fiancé. Kissing a beautiful woman is a fantastic way to forget about what a complete and utter arse I made of myself earlier.
“Alright.”
That’s the only word she needs. She leans forward, pressing her mouth to mine. Her lips are soft and tentative upon introduction, but as we become acquainted, she urges more firmly into me. My hand finds her hip, clutching it over the gauzy fabric of her black, floral dress.
Abruptly, she pulls away to whisper, “Is he still watching?”
I check. He is—staring, in fact—his face aghast by what he’s witnessing. Shocking this man fills me with a guilty, horny kind of joy. “Aye.”
Her lips find mine again as she shifts to perch across my lap. The weight of her body on mine sends an ease through my chest.Goddamn, I needed this. My hand glides up to lace in her silky hair, grasping tightly, tugging a little. A small moan signals her approval, even if only for the aspect of the show we’re putting on,as her mouth moves more fervently on mine.
At what I find to be a terrible moment, she draws away and directs, “Kiss my neck.”
I do as I’m told. My mouth travels down her throat before I improvise, pushing her thick jumper off her shoulder to place my attention there. Her soft and positively delectable flesh tempts me to sink my teeth in.
Breath labored, she asks, “Still watching?”
I scrape my fingers across her neck to draw her hair away and clear my vision. He’s gone back to talking with his mates, but his body is angled in our direction as he steals frequent peeks. No one else in the group seems to have taken notice, which means he has chosen not to share that he can see his ex-fiancée aggressively snogging a random bloke on a bench across the square.
“Yeah,” I whisper into her throat.
“Then grab my boob.”
I tow myself away to gaze at her full-on, eyebrows raised.
“Grab my boob,please,” she amends, eyes cast bashfully downward.
My mouth is drawn in by the heat of her skin, trailing along her jaw before I locate her lips.
“Only because you said ‘please.’”
Her palm rests on my cheek as we reconnect. I graze a hand up her side before finding the small, firm breast, encompassing it in my grasp.
A true whimper escapes her mouth and—bloody hell—that sound alone gets me instantly hard. She pulls at the tie on her dress, a bow atop a keyhole resting in the center of her chest, then guides my hand under the fabric so my palm is skimming her taut nipple. I adjust my touch so my fingers can find focus on the pebbled bud, rolling it gently between my fingers.
“Fuck,” she breathes into my mouth.
I shift us slightly to ensure she is completely covered from everyone besides myself as my mouth moves to her neck again.
“Still watching?”
It takes great effort to drag my attention away from her, but I manage only to discover he’s gone. The group must have left.
Desperately, I do something I’m ashamed of: I lie. “He is.”
She pulls my mouth back up to hers, body grinding into me, drawing a thick groan from the base of my throat. Just a bit longer, then I’ll tell her he’s gone. Her tongue traces the inside of my mouth, and I can’t remember a time when her tongue wasn’t in my mouth, because what is the point of remembering anything beyond this moment?
Fuck.
My conscience gets the better of me. I draw away, internally kicking and screaming, to whisper, “He left.”
Staying on my lap, and pressing into a very sensitive appendage of mine, she directs her attention toward the pub. “He did. Cool.” Linny climbs off me, standing as she re-ties the top of her dress in a tight bow and smooths down the skirt. “Well, thanks.”
“Yeah,” I manage to get out, head clouded by the shock of her absence from my lap.
