“Just kissing you,” he murmured, his voice turning her knees to rubber. “Tell me to stop anytime.”
“Okay.” Her cheeks felt like they were going to burn the particleboard cubicle to the ground.
He pressed her against the back wall, narrowly avoiding the metal hook her jeans hung on.
“You’re a very pretty girl, Ophelia,” he said, one of his hands coming up to cup her jaw. His thumb grazed her cheek, and she worked hard at not melting into his hand again like she had in the SUV. Was she so hard up for affection that she was willing to accept it from a stranger?
This one? Fuck, yes.
“You think so?” She knew she was pretty enough, but compared to most of her friends who’d had work done, all she saw in the mirror were her flaws.
“Yes.”
Just like that. Simple. Not some sort of line to get into her pants. A man like Luke didn’t need glibness and tricks to get a girl into bed. He probably had a gaggle of Snapchat stalkers begging him to screw their brains out.
His lips hovered over hers for a long moment and with every passing second the heavy ache between her legs got worse. By the time he got around to kissing her, she was going to go off in her pants.
She leaned in, trying to hurry him, but he pulled back and slid his fingers into the back of her hair, making a fist close to her scalp. Heat rushed through her body, like a sudden fever, and her eyes drooped half closed. More turned on than afraid, she moaned, then felt ridiculous for doing it.
“You like a man to take charge of you?” he whispered, his lips barely grazing hers.
Gasping for breath, trying to slow her galloping heart, she focused on his words. “I don’t know.”
“Oh, I think you like this, pretty girl.” His mouth brushed hers, teasing. He flicked his tongue over her lips and her lips parted, ready for whatever he wanted to do.
“I do?”
He kissed her then, holding her in place, trapping her with his body and his mouth. He kissed like a man who had all the time in the world. His lips teased at hers, and gradually his tongue insinuated its way into her mouth, coaxing hers to reciprocate, patient and sexy,
making her head spin. Her hands were trapped between them against his chest, and she longed to slide them up under his shirt. So she did. Why the hell not?
He let go of her hair, but his lips held her in place, kissing, teasing, stealing her air. One of his hands rested gently on the side of her neck, the thumb creeping toward the front to band casually over her throat, holding but not squeezing. Making her belly flutter. With his other hand, he unbuttoned the khaki shorts she’d just tried on. His palm flattened against her belly, then slipped down into the waistband of her panties. The shorts fell to the floor and pooled around her ankles.
Fuck. They were in a fitting room. She had to tell him to stop.
In a minute.
His mouth on hers felt too good for her to interrupt, and his hands were making her shivery and needy.
Lower his hand slid, and rather than stopping him, she spread her legs farther apart, giving him access to whatever he wanted.
“Such a good girl,” he murmured, the words trilling excitement through her as he slid his hand down between her legs. One finger rubbed back and forth, insinuating itself between her labia. She gasped in pleasure although her cheeks burned with embarrassment about how slick she was. He coaxed a finger up inside her, then a second, his thumb finding and circling her clit. Gasping, she grabbed his arm and went up on her toes, but his mouth came down on hers again, swallowing her moan before someone heard.
God, he was going to get her off right here. She couldn’t be quiet enough for that!
But she couldn’t stop him either. To stop him she had to say a word. A color. She didn’t care what color it was, really. She forgot there were colors, focused on the feel of his mouth on hers, his firm grip on her throat, the fingers touching her, moving inside her, making her whimper and wriggle. His little finger strayed and slid across her anus and her whole body tensed, like she’d been given a pleasurable shock. She was embarrassed by his mistake, but it had felt so wrong and so good.
He toyed with her and she dug her fingernails into his forearm, shaking, trying hard not to come, and knowing she’d never be quiet enough.
“Please don’t make me come,” she whimpered.
“No? Why not?” He slowed his kisses, giving her a chance to answer, but his thumb was brushing back and forth across her clit—flick, flick, flick. “I want to feel you come on my fingers, pretty girl.”
“I’ll be too loud. Please!” She was fighting to hold back, trying to think of getting caught or something equally humiliating, but nothing in her mind could control her reactions to what he was doing to her body.
“No, I’ll keep you quiet.”
“Please,” she begged.