He'd pry her legs apart to get to her sweet heat, but she opened enough for him to delve under the edge and brush her wet curls. She bit into her bottom lip as he glided a finger between her silken folds and deep into her channel. She barely rocked against him, and cream slicked his finger.
“Oh, okay,” she said on a breathy gasp. “One touch,” she whispered.
With a reluctant groan, he removed his hand.
“Don't,” she said with a commanding tone. “Do not put your finger in your mouth, or everyone is going to know where you've had it.”
He chuckled and adjusted her skirt to cover her thighs.
“I'm going to mingle.” She set her drink to the side and slid off the barstool. “Maybe I'll go dance.”
Right, and he'd sit at the table and drive himself crazy if he had to watch her flirt with the bar crowd. Krissy didn't mingle, she pollinated. She flitted from table to table, sometimes talking, always smiling and laughing. It wasn't her fault she was beautiful and men loved the way she was built. But her ass belonged to him now and he wasn't going to stand around while someone else ogled it.
“I'll come with you.” He stood.
“No. You stay here.” She leaned in close. The essence of her perfume drifted around him. Her fingers rested on his forearm, burning her brand into his skin through his clothing. “Johnny,” she whispered. “My panties are wet. My clit is throbbing, and if you touch me again, I'm going to come on your hand.” She narrowed his eyes. “That is not going to happen.”
“No one is looking under the table.” Mentioning her coming had his cock instantly hard. He experienced the same hunger he had in Drew's laundry room, yet he didn't want to take her in the bar bathroom. Too degrading and dirty. He'd rather whisk her home, make love by worshipping her body from her delicate toes, up her toned calves, smooth thighs...damn, but he needed to stop now. Swallowing the excess saliva in his mouth, he said, “How long should we stay?”
“A little while longer.” Laughter hinted in her smile. “It's an endurance test, remember.” She spun on her heels and sauntered her sweet ass in the direction of the pool tables.
The erection in his pants faced the endurance challenge. Tracking her movements around the bar only brought to mind the way she moved under him. She glanced over her shoulder. The hussy, she knew what she did to him and took perverse pleasure in his misery. He smiled. Who cares if she was right? He did enjoy her blatant sexual energy. He just didn't want anyone else feeling the effects.
“Johnny, you want to sing?” Ryan smoothed his hair back with his fingers.
Johnny hadn't had near enough to drink to sing karaoke with Ryan. “No duets tonight.” At least not the singing kind, and not with Ryan. He glanced around the room having lost sight of Krissy. He wasn't keeping track. He simply enjoyed the view.
Maybe he did need to focus on something else. The night would end soon enough and then he'd have her to himself again. He upended his beer. “Buy me another and I'll sing.”
Krissy closed her eyes. A particularly bad rendition of Matchbox 20's Push bellowed from the speakers. Johnny and Ryan serenaded a red- faced Casey from the karaoke stage. Shelby laughed and cheered from the table. In fact, the whole bar was singing along.
Stu's collected regulars like the six- pack. It was a rare treat for Johnny to sing. She could tell by his tone— and the fact he could carry one— that he wasn't drunk.
Stepping around a couple, she worked her way to the edge of the room, trying to find an unobstructed view. Ryan played the Las Vegas crooner and Johnny held the microphone like a washed up rocker without the big hair. Casey's head bobbed to the beat.
Johnny looked good. He didn't work out often, but his physically active life sculpted lean muscles into his genetically lucky physique. They used to play racquetball until Johnny's school schedule interfered.
Speaking of
“Oh, okay,” she said on a breathy gasp. “One touch,” she whispered.
With a reluctant groan, he removed his hand.
“Don't,” she said with a commanding tone. “Do not put your finger in your mouth, or everyone is going to know where you've had it.”
He chuckled and adjusted her skirt to cover her thighs.
“I'm going to mingle.” She set her drink to the side and slid off the barstool. “Maybe I'll go dance.”
Right, and he'd sit at the table and drive himself crazy if he had to watch her flirt with the bar crowd. Krissy didn't mingle, she pollinated. She flitted from table to table, sometimes talking, always smiling and laughing. It wasn't her fault she was beautiful and men loved the way she was built. But her ass belonged to him now and he wasn't going to stand around while someone else ogled it.
“I'll come with you.” He stood.
“No. You stay here.” She leaned in close. The essence of her perfume drifted around him. Her fingers rested on his forearm, burning her brand into his skin through his clothing. “Johnny,” she whispered. “My panties are wet. My clit is throbbing, and if you touch me again, I'm going to come on your hand.” She narrowed his eyes. “That is not going to happen.”
“No one is looking under the table.” Mentioning her coming had his cock instantly hard. He experienced the same hunger he had in Drew's laundry room, yet he didn't want to take her in the bar bathroom. Too degrading and dirty. He'd rather whisk her home, make love by worshipping her body from her delicate toes, up her toned calves, smooth thighs...damn, but he needed to stop now. Swallowing the excess saliva in his mouth, he said, “How long should we stay?”
“A little while longer.” Laughter hinted in her smile. “It's an endurance test, remember.” She spun on her heels and sauntered her sweet ass in the direction of the pool tables.
The erection in his pants faced the endurance challenge. Tracking her movements around the bar only brought to mind the way she moved under him. She glanced over her shoulder. The hussy, she knew what she did to him and took perverse pleasure in his misery. He smiled. Who cares if she was right? He did enjoy her blatant sexual energy. He just didn't want anyone else feeling the effects.
“Johnny, you want to sing?” Ryan smoothed his hair back with his fingers.
Johnny hadn't had near enough to drink to sing karaoke with Ryan. “No duets tonight.” At least not the singing kind, and not with Ryan. He glanced around the room having lost sight of Krissy. He wasn't keeping track. He simply enjoyed the view.
Maybe he did need to focus on something else. The night would end soon enough and then he'd have her to himself again. He upended his beer. “Buy me another and I'll sing.”
Krissy closed her eyes. A particularly bad rendition of Matchbox 20's Push bellowed from the speakers. Johnny and Ryan serenaded a red- faced Casey from the karaoke stage. Shelby laughed and cheered from the table. In fact, the whole bar was singing along.
Stu's collected regulars like the six- pack. It was a rare treat for Johnny to sing. She could tell by his tone— and the fact he could carry one— that he wasn't drunk.
Stepping around a couple, she worked her way to the edge of the room, trying to find an unobstructed view. Ryan played the Las Vegas crooner and Johnny held the microphone like a washed up rocker without the big hair. Casey's head bobbed to the beat.
Johnny looked good. He didn't work out often, but his physically active life sculpted lean muscles into his genetically lucky physique. They used to play racquetball until Johnny's school schedule interfered.
Speaking of
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