with a similar ferocity of lust making his eyes smolder brought the excitement to fever pitch. He was so close she could smell him—a mingling of smoke and the soap he’d used to try to erase it. So close she could touch that hard chest.
Griff slid a hand insolently into the valley between her thighs and skimmed it upward. He encountered her uncovered sex and cupped it. Erica gasped, but did nothing to stop him. “Tell me what you told Corey last night. What did I do to you in your wicked little mind? Did I do this?”
With seeking fingers he separated her folds and slid one digit effortlessly inside her sodden channel. Erica moaned. Her head dropped back against the wall, a sign of surrender. After the nights of sharing sexual secrets with Corey, secrets that for both of them starred the man who was now skillfully manipulating her folds, Griff’s touch rendered her instantly weak. She couldn’t fight the erotic promises he made with his hands or his words.
“Did I suck this sensitive little clit?” he asked, and circled his thumb lightly over it. “Did Corey and I both fuck you in your dreams? Tell me your secrets, Red. Where did I put my cock last night?”
She opened her eyes and stared at him. “You put it in Corey’s mouth.”
Chapter Eight
Griff froze, not game to move a single muscle, lest the one in his groin region went off like a hair-trigger pistol. Erica held his gaze without flinching, her dark irises swallowing her pupils. Her eyelids drooped over them and her cheeks blushed pink.
Nothing in her expression told him she was in any way turned off by what she’d just said. By what she and Corey had apparently fantasized about together.
Oh God.
The evidence of her arousal coated his fingers, but still he had to know. Griff had to hear Erica say it. “Does it turn you on? The idea of Corey and me. Of watching us.”
Her breath was coming in rapid pants, mingling with his in the scant space between them. She never took her eyes off his. “Yes.”
Jesus Christ. Instant increase in the size of his already monumental boner. He could barely get his words past the lust-induced lump in his throat. “Red, if you don’t want me to fuck you right now, get out of here. Put some damn clothes on. Otherwise…” He let his gaze trail over her. The circular shadows of her areolae were visible through the too-thin cotton. He was so hard it was criminal. “Otherwise take this poor fucking excuse for cover off, before I rip it off.”
She reached for the sash barely holding the flimsy material together and tugged slowly on the end. He might have thought she was being intentionally tantalizing, if he didn’t recognize the tortured cast of her expression. Her limbs were simply weighed down by the magnitude of her lust, the way his were. He was impatient to be buried inside her, but everything about him felt heavy and sluggish—his arms, his dark, slowly spinning thoughts, his stiff, pulsing cock. His clothes irritated his burning flesh, but he didn’t want to pull his hand out of Erica to tear them off.
The robe parted. The dusky-pink nipples he remembered so well were flushed and tight, pointing right at him. She was slumped against the wall as though she had given herself over to him. He looked his fill of her while she stood there and breathed great lungfuls of air that caused her sweet globes to shimmy and thrust.
He inserted a second finger into her lush wetness, parting them to stretch her. Erica mewled. Her hips rocked. Griff pressed the heel of his hand flush against her mound, supporting her weight with that one hand, controlling her with only that touch.
It barely took a minute. She rode his hand into the fray, her gaze never turning from his until the instant it claimed her. An orgasm achieved in an instant that rippled over his embedded hand like a languorous dance, caressing and sucking at his fingers so eagerly his dick felt tortured by the need to feel that same connection with her
Griff slid a hand insolently into the valley between her thighs and skimmed it upward. He encountered her uncovered sex and cupped it. Erica gasped, but did nothing to stop him. “Tell me what you told Corey last night. What did I do to you in your wicked little mind? Did I do this?”
With seeking fingers he separated her folds and slid one digit effortlessly inside her sodden channel. Erica moaned. Her head dropped back against the wall, a sign of surrender. After the nights of sharing sexual secrets with Corey, secrets that for both of them starred the man who was now skillfully manipulating her folds, Griff’s touch rendered her instantly weak. She couldn’t fight the erotic promises he made with his hands or his words.
“Did I suck this sensitive little clit?” he asked, and circled his thumb lightly over it. “Did Corey and I both fuck you in your dreams? Tell me your secrets, Red. Where did I put my cock last night?”
She opened her eyes and stared at him. “You put it in Corey’s mouth.”
Chapter Eight
Griff froze, not game to move a single muscle, lest the one in his groin region went off like a hair-trigger pistol. Erica held his gaze without flinching, her dark irises swallowing her pupils. Her eyelids drooped over them and her cheeks blushed pink.
Nothing in her expression told him she was in any way turned off by what she’d just said. By what she and Corey had apparently fantasized about together.
Oh God.
The evidence of her arousal coated his fingers, but still he had to know. Griff had to hear Erica say it. “Does it turn you on? The idea of Corey and me. Of watching us.”
Her breath was coming in rapid pants, mingling with his in the scant space between them. She never took her eyes off his. “Yes.”
Jesus Christ. Instant increase in the size of his already monumental boner. He could barely get his words past the lust-induced lump in his throat. “Red, if you don’t want me to fuck you right now, get out of here. Put some damn clothes on. Otherwise…” He let his gaze trail over her. The circular shadows of her areolae were visible through the too-thin cotton. He was so hard it was criminal. “Otherwise take this poor fucking excuse for cover off, before I rip it off.”
She reached for the sash barely holding the flimsy material together and tugged slowly on the end. He might have thought she was being intentionally tantalizing, if he didn’t recognize the tortured cast of her expression. Her limbs were simply weighed down by the magnitude of her lust, the way his were. He was impatient to be buried inside her, but everything about him felt heavy and sluggish—his arms, his dark, slowly spinning thoughts, his stiff, pulsing cock. His clothes irritated his burning flesh, but he didn’t want to pull his hand out of Erica to tear them off.
The robe parted. The dusky-pink nipples he remembered so well were flushed and tight, pointing right at him. She was slumped against the wall as though she had given herself over to him. He looked his fill of her while she stood there and breathed great lungfuls of air that caused her sweet globes to shimmy and thrust.
He inserted a second finger into her lush wetness, parting them to stretch her. Erica mewled. Her hips rocked. Griff pressed the heel of his hand flush against her mound, supporting her weight with that one hand, controlling her with only that touch.
It barely took a minute. She rode his hand into the fray, her gaze never turning from his until the instant it claimed her. An orgasm achieved in an instant that rippled over his embedded hand like a languorous dance, caressing and sucking at his fingers so eagerly his dick felt tortured by the need to feel that same connection with her
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