His fingers keep working on my dress, gathering the fabric at my hips, lifting it up, up, up. Until I feel air brush my butt cheeks, which are exposed thanks to the nude thong I’m wearing. My hands are still on the glass and I drop one, wanting to reach back and touch him. Wanting to turn and face him so I can rub myself all over him.
Would he let me?
“Keep your hands on the window,” he says, his deep voice settling right between my legs, making me throb. I return my hand to where it was, bracing myself for what he might do, knowing he’ll most likely draw it out.
It’s torture, and he knows it.
I think he likes it too.
He slips his hands beneath the bunched fabric, his fingers tracing the waistband of my thong, making me jolt. I drop my head, my eyes closed, a whimper escaping me when he slips a finger beneath the thin strap at my hip, barely grazing my skin.
“Let’s take these off,” he whispers, his hands back on my hips, gently pushing. The fabric slides down, falling to my thighs until it gets stuck there. He bends forward ever so slightly, giving them a gentle shove and they fall to my knees, hesitating for only a moment until they’re at my feet, crumpled on top of my shoes.
I’m about to step out of them when his fingers press into my flesh, making me go still.
“Leave them there. Spread your legs.”
I do as he asks, stepping my feet out wider. My panties slide up with the movement, banding around my ankles, making a vulgar yet sexy display. I look like I’m trapped by my nude thong, my ass on display for my fiancé, my legs trembling with anticipation.
He hasn’t done anything to me yet and I’m so wet, the inside of my thighs is coated. I just want him to touch me.
I’m desperate for it.
Perry’s hands fall from my body when he takes a few backward steps, the skirt dropping back into place, covering me. I’m standing there with my hands on the glass and my legs still spread, my sheer panties stretched between my ankles. I can feel his gaze on me, heavy and hot, and I squirm a little, wishing he’d come closer to me.
“Jesus, look at you.” His deep, appreciative voice curls through me, making me warm. “You’re hot as fuck.”
“You haven’t even touched me.” Frustration has me feeling bold and I glance over my shoulder to find he’s watching me, his expression dark.
Hungry.
“I thought we were looking at the view.” His gaze is on me, not the city spread out before us. “You want me to touch you?”
I nod.
“Are you wet?”
Shock courses through my blood, his words making me wetter. No one has ever asked me that question before.
“Well?” he urges when I haven’t answered him.
“Yes,” I whisper.
“Touch yourself and show me.”
What?
I’ve never done that before either. Not for someone else.
My sexual experience is extremely limited. He might not get all of my firsts, but he’s definitely getting plenty.
He slowly approaches me again, so close I could touch him if I wanted to.
But I keep my hands on the glass, just as he said.
“Are you shy, Charlotte?”
My gaze meets his, noting the storminess in his blue eyes. I decide to be honest with him. “Yes.”