My hand lifted, my fingers just above the cool plastic that obscured the top half of his face. Gray stood perfectly still while I slipped under the mask, grazing his warm skin. His head jerked back as though he’d been burned, a rough exhalation escaping his mouth. My heartbeat sped up as I lifted it the rest of the way, until his beautiful face stared back at me.
I leaned forward on my tiptoes and put my mouth on his, his breath sliding between my lips before his tongue followed. Gray’s arm curled around my waist, holding me up against his body, his arousal brushing me. My arms came up, wrapping around his neck, my breasts grazing his hard pecs, the mask sliding from my fingers to hit the linoleum floor with a crack.
Gray’s mouth plundered mine, his arms holding me in place against his body as his hands squeezed my waist, his fingers molding my shape.
I sucked on his bottom lip. The taste of him swirled in my mouth, mingling with his cologne to create a heady flavor that enveloped me.
It was never enough. It was always too much.
My hands became desperate, the fever that had taken over my lips making my fingers bolder still. They slipped under the collar of his sweater, stroking the skin there, the bunched muscle that jumped at my touch. He groaned, the sound muffled by the force of our mouths, the flame of desire burning us from the inside out.
An ache began between my thighs, moisture pooling, a tingle spreading throughout my limbs. I was on fucking fire and I wanted him to bring me the release I craved.
I arched into his touch.
He rewarded my boldness with his hand on my thigh, just below the hem of my tutu. His palm against my leg warmed me through the thick tights. His mouth released mine, his gaze pinning me to the wall, my concentration focused on his touch, wanting, needing him to move his hand higher.
He didn’t.
He stayed perfectly still, his hand branding me, holding me in place, giving me the chance to say no, the chance to walk away. If the feeling inside me wasn’t clawing, scratching, desperate to get out, I would have laughed. He couldn’t have pushed me away if he tried.
His eyes darkened as I met his gaze, giving him my answer.
And then he moved.
His hand trailed up the inside of my thigh, sucking the air out from the room, commanding me to spread my legs without a word.
All it took was his touch and my body responded instantly.
I cursed the thick tights I’d put under my costume, railed against the stupid cold weather that had me placing function over fashion. Over easy access. Over this.
Although, in my defense, it wasn’t like I’d been able to predict that I’d find myself up against a locker with Gray’s hand between my legs.
It was glorious.
The ache between my thighs intensified, throbbed, the promise of his fingers tantalizingly close, mind-blowing.
At least I’d foregone a full ballet costume, wasn’t wearing a leotard. All he had to do was reach higher and slip his hand into the waistband of my tights.
“Touch me,” I whispered, the sound unnaturally loud in the alcove off of this quiet hallway that had somehow become our own private world.
He moved, as if my words had given him the permission he needed to take what he wanted, and gave me everything.
Gray
Blair’s leg quivered beneath my touch, the scratchy tights against my skin an erotic torment.
I wanted to feel her soft skin, hated the barrier between us. Her body curved into my touch, throwing off heat. I forced myself to go slow, to drag the moment out when all I wanted to do was rush, to prolong her arousal until her legs parted for me, until soft pants escaped her lips, and I heard the word, please, delivered in a tone that bordered on desperation.
My fingers trailed up her thighs an inch. Then another. I stroked, higher still, until I felt her body go boneless in my arms, soft sighs slipping out of her mouth, filling my ears in a melody that spurred my limbs.
A low, almost inhuman growl escaped me, my fingers drifting over her sex, pressing against her tights, her wetness seeping through the fabric.
“Fuck,” I groaned, pushing forward, my cock rocking against her core, my hands on her hips under the pink tutu, searching for entrance.
I leaned into her, inhaling her scent, my nose grazing the sensitive skin at her neck, teasing another shiver from her. My teeth found the hollow between her neck and shoulder and bit down, tasting her there, marking her, any hope of civility completely obliterated.
I sucked on the curve of her neck, imagining that creamy soft skin marred by my lips, tongue, and teeth. It felt like I was defiling perfection, molding it, changing it, taking all of that goodness and making it something wanton. Turning her into the girl who stood with her body pressed against mine, rubbing herself over my fingers, her body quaking around me.
I had to have more.
My hands traveled up under her skirt until they reached the waistband of her tights, my dick jerking with a surge of triumph. I hovered there, dragging my fingers across her stomach, the softness there, back and forth, while she shivered against me.
When the pressure in my chest became too tight, the ache in my cock too great, I slipped under the elastic, my fingers sliding down, down, until I found the nub I was looking for. I rubbed her clit with my middle finger, once, twice, the movement teasing a tremor from her body. Then another.
I forced myself to go slow, to make it good for her, reached for control only to discover it had snapped a long time ago.
I stroked downward, my body shuddering as I traced her soft lips, as they coated my fingers.
So fucking wet.
My free hand reached out and grasped her neck, holding her head back so that our gazes met.
Her eyes were glassy, unfocused, her eyelids fluttering as if she were trying to get her bearings, trying to get herself under control.
I waited for the words, for her to tell me how badly she needed my touch, my fingers hovering just outside of her entrance, inches away from sinking home.
She opened her mouth to speak, to give me what I wanted, to give me everything by the look in her eyes, and yet no words came. She was somewhere else entirely, somewhere where pleasure took over and consumed past the point of reason. I lowered my fingers another inch, teasing her there, stroking through her wetness and warmth. She jerked against my hand, and then I couldn’t take it any longer; I slipped my middle finger inside, the feel of her body clenching down around me making my balls ache.
Whatever fantasies I’d had about touching Blair Reynolds, this blew them out of the water.
Blair
His finger filled me, thick and sure, and then another one joined it, stretching me, fucking me.
I tried to set the pace, tried to move over his hand, honing the orgasm building inside me to a sharp point.
He didn’t let me.
The hand that had held me by the back of my neck, the hand that had felt so masculine and so strong, now came down my body, pressing between my breasts, lower, until it settled on my stomach, holding me still, commanding me to go at his pace, to take what he gave me.
I stopped moving, the need to come obliterating all else.
He rewarded me by increasing the thrust of his fingers, pumping in and out, each movement creating a delicious friction, heightening the sensations in my already sensitive core.
He curled his fingers when he was fully seated inside me, each time sparking the beginnings of my orgasm, each touch a promise. He played me like an instrument, each stroke teasing out another note of my arousal until I’d been reduced to an incoherent mess.
Words and sounds escaped, but I had no clue what I was even trying to say. My hands reached out, gripping his biceps, my nails digging into his black sweater, somewhere between holding on for balance and trying to pull him closer. Begging, demanding he give me what I wanted, what I needed.
And then it started, the heat spreading through me, his thumb rubbing over my clit, once, twice, until I was coming, my body in spasms as I shattered in his arms.