Page 11 of Thirst
I reached under the fishnet skirt. If anyone else had tried to order me around like this, I would’ve been out of the washroom like a shot.
But this was Cain. I obeyed.
He watched, eyes hooded, as I dragged the tiny black thong down my legs and over my high heels. He held out his hand and I gave it to him.
“That dress—” he muttered, shoving the scrap of lace and satin into his jacket pocket.
I smirked. “You like it?”
“Hell, yeah.” He shrugged out of the jacket and hung it on a hook, his gaze never leaving me. “Every hetero male in the gallery liked it.”
“I didn’t wear it for them.”
“I know.”
“Cocky.”
It was a game we played, teasing each other. Making it clear that this thing between us was about sex, nothing more.
Or at least, it was a game for him. At some point it had stopped being a game for me, something I tried not to think about.
“You like me cocky,” he said and crowded me against the cool tiles. He dragged up my skirt and cupped my mound, sliding a finger through my pussy lips. “You’re so wet. This is all for me, isn’t it?”
Sweet Luna, it felt good. I drew an audible breath through my teeth.
“Answer me,” he said sternly.
I pursed my lips, pretending to think. Playing the game one last time. “Maybe.”
He fisted his free hand in my hair, pulling my head back so his eyes bored into mine. The firm hold sent heat straight to my core. “The truth, Nyx.”
I licked my lips, drawing out the moment.
That wicked finger brushed over my center, right where I most wanted it, then lifted again.
I whimpered and wriggled my hips. “Yes.”
His voice dropped. “Yes, what?”
“Yes. It’s because of you.”
Satisfaction flickered across his face. His hand moved to the back of my nape, and he leaned in, nuzzling my cheek.
“Gods, I want to fuck you,” he muttered. “But first, I need answers.”
A ragged exhale escaped me. “Don’t stop. Please. I’ll tell you whatever you want, but please don’t stop.”
“Damn you.” He pushed two fingers into me, a little too hard. “I can’t…tell you no.”
I moaned and clenched around him, so slick, so turned on, the roughness felt good…necessary.
“Don’t—” I said.
“Don’t what?” He dragged the fingers out. “Touch you?” He circled the heel of his hand on my clit, sending a sharp thrill deep into my belly.
I took his face in my hands. “Don’t…talk,” I said against his lips. “Just—" I gave him a raw, open-mouthed kiss.
He pulled back long enough to mutter, “We will talk,” and then he kissed me back, his hand still between my legs, working his fingers in and out of me. Then he added the knuckle of his thumb, massaging my clit as his fingers continued to stroke my inner walls.
