Part 6 (2/2)

I chuckle and shake my head. ”I told you. She's not my girlfriend.” My fingers rise farther, farther still, and I encounter nothing but bare skin. ”Are you wearing panties?”

Rose slowly shakes her head, sinking her teeth into her plump lower lip.

”Consistent, aren't you,” I murmur as I slip my hand to her trembling belly, sliding it lower until I'm cupping her between her legs. I can feel the heat emanating from her p.u.s.s.y and my c.o.c.k stiffens, strangled beneath the fly of my jeans. ”Spread your legs.”

She does as I ask without hesitation, her thighs opening enough to let me in, and I run my fingers over her slit, back and forth, searching her folds. ”You're f.u.c.king soaked.”

Another whimper escapes her and she closes her eyes, tilting her head back, lost to the pleasure. ”Look at me,” I command and she lifts her head, meeting my gaze, hers full of antic.i.p.ation and fear and arousal. ”Feels good?”

Rose nods but otherwise doesn't say a word and for whatever reason, that p.i.s.ses me off. I want her to be as into this as I am and I can't tell if she really is or not.

I stroke her, trace her folds, circle her c.l.i.t, slip a finger inside her welcoming body, and she moans. Moans louder when I remove my fingers from her p.u.s.s.y and rest them against her mouth. ”Open up.”

Her eyes go wide and slowly she parts her lips, allowing me to slip my fingers inside her mouth. ”Taste how much you want me,” I whisper, smiling when I see the spark of anger in her gaze.

She probably thinks I'm an arrogant a.s.shole. I don't really care. This is hot as f.u.c.k, making her taste herself, watching her squirm. She sucks my fingers into her mouth, all four of them, and I can only imagine her giving me a b.l.o.w. .j.o.b.

”Get 'em nice and wet,” I whisper, and she sucks harder before I pull them from her mouth and return them to her p.u.s.s.y, teasing her swollen c.l.i.t. ”f.u.c.k, you feel amazing.”

Her eyes close as if she has no control and she drops her head forward until her forehead meets my shoulder. I continue to stroke her, her panting breath, her low moans driving me on. I want to make her come. I want to see her come.

And then I want to send her back out to that table full of oblivious people and follow after her about five minutes later. I want to sit across from her for the rest of the night and pretend she doesn't exist, all the while knowing I just made her come all over my fingers in the bathroom.

”I've been wanting to do this to you since the last time I saw you,” I whisper close to her ear just before I nibble on the lobe. My fingers never leave her p.u.s.s.y. I'm working her into a frenzy, my hand busy beneath her skirt, her legs still spread, her mouth falling open.

”Oh G.o.d,” she chokes out, her entire body going still.

So does my hand.

Her eyes pop open and she stares at me, her expression full of agony. Full of pleasure. ”Please,” she whispers, and I know exactly what she wants.

But I want to hear her say it.

”Please what?” I ask innocently.

”Don't-don't stop.”

Slowly, I slide my middle finger through her folds, flicking it against her c.l.i.t. ”Don't stop what?”

Surprisingly enough she laughs. ”You know what.”

”Are you saying you want to come?”

She nibbles on her lower lip again-does she know how s.e.xy that is?-before she answers with a soft, ”Yes.”

I kiss her cheek. Cup her face with my other hand and turn her so I can drink from her lips. ”Ask for it,” I say against that tasty, plump mouth.

”What?” Her voice falters. I don't know what's possessed me, but I love talking to her like this. Treating her like this.

”I want to hear you say the words, Rose.” My hand goes still once more and the whimper of frustration that falls from her lips sends a surge of satisfaction rolling through my veins.

I'm a sick f.u.c.k tonight. I don't usually do this sort of thing, but there is something very dirty about getting Rose Fowler off with my fingers in a public restroom, demanding that she tell me exactly what she wants from me.

”I want to come,” she says, her voice strong, her gaze still on mine. ”Please, Caden.”

It's the way she says my name. It's the use of the word please. Would she ever beg for her pleasure? I'd love to hear her. I'd love to see her down on her knees, my c.o.c.k in her mouth, her tongue teasing, her fingers stroking ...

f.u.c.k. I can't let myself get distracted. That'll have to happen another time.

Without a word I increase my pace, sliding my fingers inside her body, my thumb pressing against her c.l.i.t. She never looks away from me, not once, as her breathing increases, her mouth works as if she wants to say something, and again her body goes rigid.

But I don't still my hand this time. I keep moving, keep f.u.c.king her with my fingers, keep teasing her c.l.i.t with my thumb, and then her entire body is quaking, a gush of wetness bathes my fingers as her shaky moan lets me know without a doubt I just made her come. Her gaze is still on mine and I can't look away, I can't say a thing. I can only watch as she falls apart and then just as quickly pulls herself back together.

She licks her lips as I remove my hand from between her legs, her fingers working on the front of her dress, doing up the b.u.t.tons. I step away, running my hand over my hair as she straightens her dress, then combs her fingers through her hair as she turns toward the bathroom mirror.

I just stand there like a dumba.s.s, watching her. My c.o.c.k strains against the front of my jeans and my fingers are wet. I rub them together, bring my hand up to my face, and take a sniff. They smell like her p.u.s.s.y and still I can't move. Go to her, what the f.u.c.k?

”Did you just smell your fingers?” she asks incredulously.

I don't answer her. Just continue to stare as she washes her hands and shakes them in the sink before she runs her damp fingers through her hair one more time. Then she grabs a hand towel and dries them off. A boring little ritual I'm oddly fascinated with. Finally she turns and looks at me, a pleasant smile on her face. Like we're old chums versus newfound lovers who just messed around in a bathroom like s.e.x-crazed lunatics.

”Um, thanks. That was ... interesting,” she says as she starts to walk past me.

I'm not about to let her get away that easily. Reaching out, I grab hold of her arm, stopping her. ”Interesting?”

”And satisfying,” she adds, that smile still on her face.

”I'm sure,” I say dryly, earning another laugh from her, surprising me. She's treating this encounter so casually. I should like it. Prefer it. Most women would freak out or expect more. Not this one.

And I'm oddly disappointed.

”I need to get back out there before Violet starts looking for me.” Without another word, a glance, a thank-you, nothing from her, she walks away, head held high, a hum emanating from her as she unlocks and throws open the women's bathroom door, exiting the room.

s.h.i.+t, f.u.c.k. I need to get the h.e.l.l out of here before someone else finds me. I dash out of the women's bathroom and go into the men's, thankful I'm alone. The reflection in the mirror reveals the same old me, but I feel different. Stupid, I know, but I can't help it. I am not the same man I was before that encounter with Rose. I appear calm on the outside but inside, I'm rattled. Thrown. Turned on.

Jesus.

Turning on the faucet, I splash cold water on my face, hoping it'll slap me back into reality, but it doesn't. My head feels like it's in a fog.

A Rose Fowlerinduced fog.

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