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He probably said that to all the girls—an experienced guy who knew how to say the right thing. But somehow I couldn’t find it in myself to care. With the way he was looking at me, I felt fucking sexy. Powerful. “You’re not so bad yourself. Though I have a feeling you know exactly how crazy you drive women.”

He grinned, unrepentant. “Women? Or you?”

I licked my lips. “Me.”

He hooked two fingers in the waistband of my panties and slid them down, leaving me completely bare while he still wore a low-slung pair of black track pants. “Believe me. The feeling’s mutual. All those nights you made those sexy sounds on this side of the wall . . . I can’t even tell you what that did to me.”

The corner of my mouth lifted. “I probably have some idea. Remember, I’ve listened to you, too. Though, your noises weren’t always solo like mine.”

His eyes lifted to mine and darkened, as he ran gentle hands along my thighs. “Did that bother you?”

I wanted to look away but couldn’t. I also wanted to say no and brush off the question, but I couldn’t do that either. That stare of his was like feeding me truth serum, making it impossible to lie. “Part of me was jealous, though I had no right to be.”

“Hmm,” he said, his touch tracking lower, closer to where I most needed to be touched. “And the other part of you?”

Heat spread up my neck. “The other part of me was turned on, picturing it all. Picturing you.”

“Want to know a secret?” Two long fingers slid inside me, making me gasp with pleasure. “I knew you could hear us.”

My eyelids fluttered shut, his stroking fingers making it impossible to concentrate. “You didn’t care.”

The bed dipped as he situated himself between my thighs, all while continuing to touch deep inside me. “Oh, angel, I cared. I liked knowing you were listening—probably a little too much.”

His tongue slid along my folds, making me arch against his mouth. God, how was I supposed to form sentences when he was doing that? “You liked to torture me?”

He chuckled against my skin, his soft puffs of breath making my damp skin tingle and tighten. “Torture’s a favorite pastime of mine.”

He was torturing me right now, that talented mouth of his hovering right above my needy flesh. I tried to lift my hips upward, and he held me firm against the bed with his free hand. But before I could let loose a whimper of protest, he lowered his head, and his tongue was back on me, his fingers pumping inside me in time with the hot assault of his mouth.

“Oh, God,” I whispered, the tide rising inside me like a flash flood. I grabbed fistfuls of his hair and canted my hips against him, riding the growing waves of sensation. How could he bring me to the brink so fast? Eve

rything inside me felt ready to crack open already. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to breathe through it, but when he curled his fingers inward and sucked my clit between his lips, light flashed behind my eyelids and a sharp cry burst from me. He held on to me with his free hand, keeping my orgasm going until I thought I’d die from the intensity of sensation. Then he was easing away and letting me sink back into the bed.

I lifted my heavy lids. He was there between my knees, smiling like a wicked god—beautiful and dangerous. He brought his glistening fingers to his mouth and sucked them clean. The move made my still throbbing sex, clench. “You’re good at the torture and the rewards.”

He slid his wet finger along my bottom lip. “Both can be fun. And maybe I would’ve felt a little guilty about you having to listen to me had I not heard you getting off whenever I was done with someone else. You’re a dirty little voyeur, Cela Medina.”

The words fell over me, chilling some of the bloom of warmth from the orgasm. Dirty. That inevitable stab of humiliation washed over me. He was right. What was wrong with me? The guy I liked had been screwing other women on the other side of the wall, and even through the jealousy, I hadn’t been able to stop my body’s reaction. Listening would make my skin flush, my panties wet, and I wouldn’t be able to sleep until I touched myself. “God, you must’ve thought I was pathetic.”

His grip on my hip tightened, displeasure marking his features. “Cela . . .”

I put my hands over my face, unable to handle that judgmental stare right now. The glow of orgasm was fading fast, and the reckless abandon of being too turned on to care shut down. Suddenly, the truth of the situation was there, swooping in. And as if it’d been lying in wait to claim me after all of the crazy crap I’d done since graduation night, shame enveloped me. Once again, I was fourteen and in the rec room at my parents’ house, my mother having a conniption because she’d caught me looking at a naughty site on the Internet. The words depraved, perverted, and sinful being thrown my way. I’d been dragged to the confession booth at church before the sun had set that day, my mother’s words ringing in my ears. What were you thinking, Marcela? Imagine if your father had seen.

And I’d felt wrong, so very wrong, for not just looking but also liking what I saw, feeling my body stir and heat at the scenes portrayed. It’d been the first time I’d felt separate from that nice, obedient girl I’d been raised to be—different and other. Bad.

I tried to roll from beneath Foster, but he slapped my thigh with a sharp pop. I gasped, the pain snapping me out of my memory and freezing me in place. But still, I couldn’t face him.

“Look at me, Cela,” Foster commanded.

I shook my head, my hands staying over my face.

He grabbed my wrists and pried my hands away, pinning them alongside my head. His face was inches from mine when I forced my eyes open. “Don’t you dare be embarrassed.”

“Foster, please, I can’t.” I focused over his right shoulder, unwilling to meet his eyes.

He released one of my wrists and cupped my jaw—none too gently—guiding my gaze back to his. The firm grip both shocked and focused me all at once. “Listen to me. You will not lie here and feel ashamed. That’s unacceptable, angel.”

I blinked, stunned—both at the ferocity of his tone and the instant oh yes melting reaction of my body under his. God, what the hell was wrong with me? He was pissed and pinning me down, and I was getting hotter?


Tags: Roni Loren Loving on the Edge Erotic