Page 5 of The Engagement Gift (The Gift 1)
The sound she made was animalistic. A groan seemed to rip from deep inside her. “Put me on my knees, Officer. Put me on my knees. Push me down. Play with me.”
Yes.
Hell yes.
I knew what she wanted when she used that word.
I pulled out, banding an arm around her waist as I brought her to the carpeted floor, her wrists still cuffed.
She sank down on her elbows, beautifully bound, and lifted her ass for me. I pushed back inside, then played with her till my fingers were coated in her wetness. As I thrust in her, keeping the pace she needed, I traveled to her ass. Her lush, ripe ass that I loved to fill. That she loved to have filled.
Tonight, though, was for teasing. I’d lose my mind if I took her ass. And I needed all my focus on the objective, so I ran my finger against her back entrance, and she moaned even louder. “Officer, yes. Please. Play with me.”
I pushed my finger inside, knuckle deep, and her back bowed. “You like that, don’t you?”
“I do,” she panted. “It gets me so wet.”
She was close. I had to get her there. Get her to admit her deepest fantasy.
Even while fighting off my own release.
Because holy hell.
Pleasure stoked inside me, restless, relentless pleasure. But I held back, growling in her ear. “Tell me what gets you the hottest. Tell me what you want the most.”
She cried out the words “I want . . .” and I tensed, hoping she’d say it.
But her next word was “you” as she keened, breaking, coming all over me.
The thing was, I knew her answer was true. But it also wasn’t all true.
I’d seen her browser history. I knew what she liked.
But I wanted her to tell me so I could give it to her.
She had to confess she wanted two men inside her at the same time before I’d bring someone in.
3
Lily
In retrospect, perhaps I should have said something in the heat of the moment. I was certainly tempted. The words were on the tip of my tongue.
I want a threesome.
The thing was, I’d lost someone I loved before. Not because I’d confessed fantasies of double penetration. Please.
But even so, the pain of loss was not new to me, and I didn’t want to scare away the man I loved madly by confessing something that didn’t need to be confessed.
“Sometimes you can say too much. Sometimes a fantasy is just a fantasy,” I explained to Kate as I sank down in a leather chair in the coffee shop near the office. I gripped my latte, having given her the SparkNotes version of last night. “And in the end, I said nothing. I don’t want to overstep.”
“Right, but are you comparing apples to orangutans?” Kate asked before taking a drink of her tea.
I laughed. “I don’t think that’s a thing.”
She leaned forward and tapped my knee emphatically. “Nor is it a thing that just because you lost someone you loved in a car accident—which admittedly is a horrible thing to go through—you’ll lose your fiancé because you tell him you want to . . .” She stopped, perhaps casting about for just the right words. “Expand your horizons.”
Heaving a sigh, I answered, “I get it. And yet, when it comes down to it, it’s not a chance I want to take. Because I don’t want to lose him.”
Losing my childhood best friend the night before our college graduation eight years ago was hard enough. I could still recall with cruel crystal clarity the phone call. The police had found my roommate’s car wrapped around a tree. The girl I’d been best friends with since I was ten had been struck in a hit-and-run. Dead on impact.
Here one minute, gone the next.
Losing her was devastating, but in time, I’d healed. I’d learned, too, that the key was talking about it with people who’d been through something similar.
That was why I’d connected with Finn right away.
He was completely different from the other guys I’d met in my twenties—guys who believed being in touch with your emotions meant punching a wall when the Dodgers lost the World Series or cheering when you scored a coveted free-parking spot here in Vegas.
I loved a great parking spot at the Wynn, too, but when it came to a relationship, I needed a little more.
I found that in Finn Nichols.
I met him at a bar, of all places, but I knew. Knew he was different.
I saw it in his eyes, midnight blue and full of passion, and I felt it in his honesty.
Those were the traits he’d led with, and he was still that way with me. I hoped he’d always be that way—open and vulnerable, not to mention sexy as sin.
I could recall the night I met him with crystal clarity. He didn’t use a line on me. He didn’t break out any eye-rolling bar pickups like I seem to have lost my phone number. Can I have yours? Or I’m no mathematician, but I’m pretty good with numbers. Tell you what, give me yours and watch what I can do with it.
