I lick my lips and moan, easily falling into the picture she’s painting. “Then what?”
“Then I drag my hands up and down my belly and over my thighs, and through my wetness, teasing myself until I can’t take it anymore.”
To my surprise, she slips one hand beneath the waistband of her skirt, and I watch, mesmerized, as she runs her index finger up and down her slit.
“What do you do then?”
She shudders as she begins to rub the little bundle of nerves at the apex of her thighs. “I gather some of my wetness on my fingers and rub my clit. I start slow, and then hard and fast, alternating between the two until I come.”
“Show me,” I demand, wondering what’s brought about this wild side of her.
Her hand speeds up beneath the material of her skirt, and thanks to the mesh, I have a pretty decent view. She rubs at her clit like it’s a genie lamp and she desperately needs a wish, until finally, she shatters, coming hard and then slumping against my chest.
By the grace of God, I manage not to come in my pants.
I gently rub her back as she comes down from her orgasm, whispering all the while how perfect and gorgeous she is.
But when she finally sits up, she won’t meet my eyes. “Hey, what’s wrong?” I ask.
“I’m so sorry!” She brings her hands up to cover her burning cheeks.
“For what?” I ask, gently uncovering her face so that I can see her bright blue eyes.
“For that!” she whisper-shouts.
“Bluebird, I don’t know what’s going on in that pretty head of yours, but I promise, that is not something you need to apologize for.”
She shakes her head like she doesn’t believe me, so I take a chance and wrap my arms around her, drawing her close. “Is everything okay?”
She sighs. “Yeah, it’s just been a weird week, and I…I don’t know why, but I trust you.”
I press a featherlight kiss to the top of her head. “You’re always safe with me.”
“Thanks.” She wriggles out of my hold just as the bouncer knocks on the door. “Our time’s up.”
She stands and awkwardly shuffles toward the door. “Have a good weekend.”
I stare at the door for a few minutes after her departure, palming my erection through my jeans, willing it to go down as I lift my forgotten glass from the table. “It’s already the best,” I say to the empty room before draining the last of my whiskey.
Another knock sounds, and I place the glass back on the table, knowing the staff will get it, and head out into the hallway.
I stagger a little as I cross the threshold—though, I’m not sure if I’m drunk on lust or just plain drunk. Either way, I’m in no shape to drive.
It’s late, but I dial the one person I know will answer my call no matter what.
“Orion,” Stella says, picking up after the first ring, “is everything okay?”
“Yeah, but can I crash with you tonight?”
“Are you…have you been drinking?”
“Is that a yes?” I ask, ignoring her question altogether.
She sighs. “I guess, but you have to be quiet and on your best behavior. I have a new roommate.”
“Emmy moved out?” I ask, meandering toward the bar.
“Just next door.” I hear shuffling and then, “Do you have a ride?”
“Gonna order an Uber.”
“Okay.” She exhales loudly. “I’ll leave the door unlocked for you.”
“Thanks, Smalls.” I end the call and drop down onto a barstool.
“What can I get you?” the bartender asks.
“Just a water please.” I open the Uber app, request a ride, and settle in to wait.
The bartender slides my water to me and quickly moves on to help the next patron. But I don’t bother drinking it—my mind’s already reliving every moment from the VIP room.
Tonight, though unexpected, was a fucking dream come true—and I swear to God, I’m willing to do anything to make my dream of Birdie a reality, because as insane as it sounds, the little blue-eyed vixen is it for me.
CHAPTER SIX
FRANKIE
“Mama.” Maverick’s soft voice wakes me. “I’m hungry.”
I roll over and face him, smiling when his messy hair comes into view. “Why don’t you go have a yogurt while I shower and then you can help me fix some breakfast?”
“Two yogurts?” He sticks out his lower lip in a pleading pout.
“One and a juice box.”
“You got yourself a deal.” He holds out his hand and I slide our palms together so we can shake on it.
“Be quiet in case Stella is still sleeping, okay?”
He nods and then tiptoes out of the room. Only his version of tiptoeing looks more like a cartoon villain trying—and failing—to be sneaky. God love my crazy boy.
I grab my phone on the nightstand and fire off a text to my brother—keeping in touch has been a real pain now that his tour’s officially kicked off.