I want to drag Josiah through the parking lot, find a secluded spot in the woods, and fuck him against a tree, but several people make a beeline for us. I suppress my frustration, even out my breathing, and try to focus on each conversation, profoundly aware of the tall man beside me smiling easily like he didn’t just have his hand shoved between my legs. Some of the parents own businesses and ask about the Skyland Association. A few are basketball moms I’ve seen at practices and games. Josiah is at every game and spends a lot of time working with Kassim on fundamentals. We’ve kind of found a new group of parents to socialize and commiserate with. They usually watch us with varying degrees of fascination and curiosity. They know we’re divorced, but we’re always together at parents’ nights and games and any of Kassim’s or Deja’s activities. It feels like basic good parenting to me. Set your shit aside so you can put your kids first…101.
While we’re laughing with the parent of one of Kassim’s teammates, Josiah’s hand creeps to the small of my back. It’s a casual touch, innocent to anyone watching, but it may as well be a poker, blazing through the cotton of my blouse.
While one of the PTA committee heads drones on about some fundraising idea to a few of us, I hazard a glance at Josiah. He grins, leaning down to whisper in my ear.
“You really want to fuck me right now, don’t you?” he asks, the words singeing the sensitive skin of my neck.
My smile stays fixed, plastered on my face, but I barely hear the conversations going on around me for the next fifteen minutes, and couldn’t tell you a thing anyone said. I grin and nod, but have trouble focusing on anything other than this fire Josiah started and won’t get to extinguish.
“That’s really generous of you, Yasmen,” the PTA committee head says. “I appreciate it.”
“Huh?” I’m jarred by the sound of my name. “What?”
“I was just saying we really appreciate you volunteering to take the lead on the spring dance.”
What the…
That’s what I get for checking out and fantasizing about forest sex.
“Um, oh.” My startled gaze pings from her smiling face to Josiah’s knowing smirk. “Of course. Of course. Anything for the kids.”
“I’ll email you this week,” she says, glancing at her watch, “but I really need to go.”
I look around, surprised to find that we’re the last ones in the auditorium. Other parents have left to see their kids’ teachers, or maybe have already spoken to the teachers like we have, and headed home.
“You ready?” I ask Josiah, breathless and still turned on, but resigned to a date with my vibrator tonight.
“Not quite.” He casts a look around the empty auditorium and grabs my hand, walking me up the aisle and toward the stage.
I snicker, looking over my shoulder to check for any bystanders. “Where are we going, Si?”
“My tongue would like some quality time with you, and my dick requests the honor of your presence.”
He pulls me up the steps and backstage. We venture deeper into the shadows, past costumes and props and stage lights and finally into a dressing room nestled at the very end of the corridor. He closes the door behind us and flattens me against it, muscled forearms on either side of my head.
“I’m still mad at you,” I whisper, biting into an irrepressible smile. “For doing me like that during the budget presentation.”
He slips his hand into the waistband of my jeans, plunging his fingers into my panties and rubbing my clit.
“You feel mad.” He laughs, pulling wet fingers up to his mouth and licking them clean. “You taste mad too.”
Our laughter dies, and he lowers his nose to my neck, inhaling and kissing his way down, nudging the collar of my blouse aside to suck the top curve of my breast.
He palms the indent from my waist to my hip and grinds his erection into my stomach. My body autoresponds, melting into the unyielding line of his tall frame. I grab his neck and draw him down to me. When I suck his tongue, he groans and sends his hand back into my pants, into my panties. Without prelude, he fingers me, rubbing his thumb over my clit, pulling back to watch desire splash across my face. It’s so erotic, looking into his eyes while he plunges into me over and over.
My arms fall to hang loosely at my sides. I’m addicted to his touch. Nonsensical sounds spill from my lips. He palms my throat, his fingers tightening until I can barely sip air, somehow the struggle to breathe and the sensations taking hold of my body intensifying the pleasure. The heat of his hands, his eyes, burns rational thought to the ground. I grind against him mindlessly, no shame, all hunger.
“That’s right.” His gaze is riveted on my face. “Ride my hand. Come all over my fingers.”
A sob explodes from me, and he clamps his hand over my mouth, shaking his head.
“Quiet.”
I’m falling apart, and spilling onto his fingers, tears leaking through my lashes. I bite his hand covering my mouth.
He laughs and dips his head to the curve of my neck. “You’re vicious. Don’t stop.”
He drops his hand from my mouth and kisses me instead, swallowing my cries. He thrusts and rubs, strokes until my body weeps for him. The release quakes through me with core-racking shudders. I slump against him, overtaken by sensation, spent. He lifts my chin to kiss one corner of my mouth and then the other, dotting more kisses over my wet cheeks. I rouse myself to reach for his zipper, but he stays my hand.