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The weight of her small hand on my cock was maddening. I wanted more. I wanted to get rid of the denim between us, but this wasn’t the time or place for that. Anyway, I was supposed to be fucking with her, not the other way around. Resisting the urge to buck up into her grip, I grabbed her wrist.
“Red.”
She swallowed and slowly removed her hand. “What now?”
“Now, it’s my turn.” My hand landed on her knee. It was bare. That damn dress had ridden even further up, sitting high on her tennis-toned, tanned thighs.
“Green,” Winter said.
I ran my thumb in circles over her kneecap. I slid my hand up the inside of her thigh, inch by inch.
“Spread for me,” I told her firmly, and like a good girl, for once, she did. glided my hand up her thigh, her skin the silkiest thing I’d ever felt. Untouched territory.
“Yellow,” she whispered, her attention stuck to my hand as my fingers inched closer to disappearing under her short hemline.
I continued, heat racing down my spine. My balls were aching, even more than my cock at this point. The urge to sink inside Winter’s bratty virgin body and fill her up, to send her home to daddy dearest full of me, dripping and ruined, and mine already, was nearly overwhelming.
My fingers disappeared under the hem of her skirt. I looked at her, waiting to see when she’d red-light me. Her lips were parted, flushed pink with arousal. Her blue eyes appeared black in the dim light, blown wide open. She wasn’t anything like I’d expected her to be. The more dangerous our game got, the more she liked it.
Lace under my fingertips. Her panties. I stroked along the front. Still, she didn’t say a fucking thing. She was hot and damp. I just knew that under that expensive material she’d be wet. Slippery with want, for my touch. The knowledge felt like when I scored the winning goal with only seconds until the buzzer sounded. A victory.
I stroked her through her panties, and her breath came short. Her hips moved in slow circles, pushing her hot pussy against my hand. Suddenly, I needed to feel that wetness more than I needed to breathe. I wanted to taste it.
I pulled the material back with one finger and slipped my hand inside. Wet heat met my touch, her cunt, hairless and slick. I traced up her slit and found her clit, and she nearly jumped off the table.
“What now?” she asked in a breath.
“Now, you say red,” I muttered, though it was the last thing I wanted to hear.
She swallowed hard. I wanted to taste that strong, slim column.
“Red?” she whispered, putting her hand on my wrist.
“Was that a question or a command?”
Her cheeks were flushed like I’d never seen them before. She wasn’t embarrassed. She was turned on.
“I—,” she repeated, fighting to keep her composure.
“Remember, you only have to say red if you want me to stop.” My voice was thick with want. She had to be able to hear it. She had to know what she did to me. It was clear as fucking day. There was no way in hell I was stopping now, not when her quivering cunt was crying out for my touch and I had her right where I wanted her. I wanted to see her come. I wanted to see her without any games, or manipulations…just her. The real her.
“Red?” she asked again, sounding conflicted as hell. I knew exactly what she felt. “I should say red, shouldn’t I?” she muttered to herself, her eyes growing darker as her pupils expanded.
“You want me to make it easier for you, Your Majesty?” I leaned down and bit her inner thigh, and she jerked, her hand tightening on my wrist.
She gazed at me, transfixed, and then jerked involuntarily when I circled her clit, applying more pressure.
“You want me to make you, is that what you want?” I murmured, lost in this game we were playing. Neither wanting to back down or lose. Neither wanting this excuse to take the game to a new, dangerous level, to end.
She bit her lip, wavering on the cusp of darkness. The world stopped turning in that moment, drifting through space, out of order, unnatural and unbearable. Then she nodded and I could breathe again. The world swung back into motion, and I couldn’t fight my victorious grin.
“It’s really pretty simple in that case, then. After all…fire trucks don’t stop at red lights.”
The hooded bud was already hard and swollen, turned on. I rubbed my thumb back and forth across it, finding a rhythm that had her gasping. Her grip on my wrist eased; she’d realized I wasn’t stopping. Her nails sank into my sleeve, not resisting, but holding me right there where she wanted me, instead.
“There are people,” she murmured.
Ah, so that’s what she was worried about. She thought I’d let other people see her unravel.
