Page 70 of Guilty Minds
“What?” I rear back, staring into his eyes.
“Oh yeah, I still hate you. Because after you told me the truth, I had to come to terms with the fact that I’m the one to blame, and blamingyouwas always easier.” He brings his face closer to mine and hisses. “And even when I hated you, I wanted you. And I hated you for that. And I still want you. And still hate you.” He presses his front into mine, and I can feel his hardness against me. His whole body pushing into mine. All his power trying to get inside of my pores.
“Wanted me?” I parrot. It seems like all my intelligence checked out the moment Justin began spurting nonsense, and that was the only thing I caught out of all the ugly words.
He brings his index finger under my chin and gently tilts my head up. “Yeah. Wanted to fuck you till you can’t walk anymore. To rip those fucking leather pants you like so much off your little round ass to see how wet you can get from just my touch. I bet you get really wet, right? You’re a naughty girl, aren’t you?”
My blood most definitely left my brain because I’m lightheaded and can barely think. The only thing I can do is imagine where he would touch me and where I want him to touch. Justin has very big and very capable hands. I bet his touch would feel sogood. I squeeze my thighs together in an attempt to ease the heat between them; otherwise, I'll be begging for his help. And I won’t.
“Are you wet now, Kayla?” He says my name on an exhale, and I get tingles from the tone he's using: he's switching from friendly to commanding, and I don't know why I like it so much, but I do. My breathing speeds up, and I arch my back just a little, just so my boobs can graze his chest and scratch the itch. “Oh, I bet you are. Shall we find out?”
His right hand comes behind my neck, gently massaging my sore muscles. He keeps his face a few inches away from mine, watching my face relax as his capable fingers do their magic. Once my shoulders drop, he moves his hand to my front. He follows one side of my collarbone with his index finger before turning his attention to the other. He’s a large man everywhere. His palm is enormous, too. It’s splayed over the top of my chest, and while tracing my collarbone with his index finger, he’s grazing his pinky over the top of my breast, spreading his palm wider and wider, his fingers moving lower and lower.
With a quick swipe, he grazes my nipple. They’re so hard they could cut glass, I swear. And then he grazes it again. All while watching my face. My eyes are trained on his, but they’re half-closed. I can barely keep them open: I’m not used to such intimacy, and every deliberate touch sends my body into overstimulated shock.
His hand comes higher, enveloping the base of my throat in his grip. He doesn’t squeeze, but firmly keeps it there. His hand on my throat is enough to keep me under his total control. I never knew I liked to be dominated, but it turns out I do.
“How wet are you now, Kayla?” He asks hoarsely.
“I’m not.” I croak.
“Liar.” He chuckles and brings his lips closer to mine. So close, but not touching. Just hovering above. Just a hair out of reach.
He moves his hands between my breasts and trails them down to my belly, where he rests. "What will I find if I keep looking further?"
“Nothing.” I’m totally lying.
He chuckles into my mouth, moving his hands lower and lifting the hem of my skirt up. His fingers hover just about the waistline of my panties. I mentally curse myself for wearing my very unsexy black boy shorts. They’re my safe pick I wear in case the wind decides to blow up my ass so I don’t flash my bare butt cheeks to the entire town.
His middle finger pulls on the waistband, sneaking inside, and I inhale quickly. Despite regretting my choice of underwear, I’m so happy that I randomly decided to shave this morning.
“Bare? All the way?” He asks into my lips, but again, without touching them.
I don’t think he needs my answer because it’s clearly a one-actor show. I let myself enjoy it and see where it goes.
His finger dips even lower, very close to its target—my target—but still out of reach. So close.Just move a little lower. Please.
And he finally does: his middle finger lands on my clit, and I shudder from the feeling of somebody else touching it besides me. His finger feels different from mine, larger and rougher, and I like it. I let out a fast exhale, and hecatchesthe air with his lips. How do I know? His lips land on mine with a loud growl. His other hand comes behind my lower back and pulls me into him while he makes lazy circles with his middle finger with his other hand. He presses harder and then lets go. Harder… and lets go. It’s pure torture, and I whimper. He takes it as an invitation and nudges my lips with his tongue, and I don’t fight him on it.
The second the tip of his tongue gently touches mine, tasting and probing, the wetness pools between my legs, and I buck into his hand. Justin growls louder and moves his finger further. He bites my lip over my ring and pulls on it. “Bad, bad girl.” He says, stopping the kiss for a moment.
He rests his forehead against mine, his finger dipping in and out. Hearing my soft moans, he adds his thumb on my clit, and I begin panting. He catches every single one of my exhales with fast kisses on my lips.
He speeds up the tempo, and I open my mouth to try to catch his lips, needing something—what he’s giving isn’t enough anymore. I grab his shoulders and pull him closer. His hard muscles under my grip are not enough. His enormous fingers on me are not enough. Maybe it’s because he’s not going deep, just here, just close to the surface, teasing. Playing. Driving me absolutely insane.
“Justin.” I whimper.
“Yes, baby. What do you want?”
“Justin!” I beg.
“Yes, baby, I’ll give it to you once you tell me what you want. What do you want?” His voice is collected. Too collected for such a sensual situation.
“I want to—” I’m panting. He slows down and smiles into my lips.
“Yeah? What is it, baby? What do you want?” His voice turns raspy.
“I want—” It’s hard to say it out loud. I’ve never said it before.
