I hadn’t noticed when he’d removed one of his hands from where he gripped mine, but I noticed now that he was trailing his fingers up my thigh, slowly lifting the hem of my skirt as his hand rose higher and higher.
I whimpered a little, but the hand on mine held fast, and he shook his head. One tiny motion. No.
I closed my eyes and surrendered to both the unspoken command and to my own overpowering need to revel in the exhilaration of this moment. He had me pinned against the wall, held in place by his large hand cupped around my wrists. His body was so close to mine I could feel his heat. And his hand was rising higher and higher toward my now-soaked panties, my throbbing clit, and my cunt that was slick with arousal.
Every scrap of reason inside me was screaming that I needed to open my eyes and tell him no. That I needed to walk away. That this was a bad idea and that I knew better and hadn’t I told myself over and over that it was a bad idea to let myself go wild? That nothing good ever came of it.
That I would regret it in the morning.
But I didn’t regret it then. Not one little bit.
I shifted my stance and spread my legs wider—and I was rewarded by his low, sensual growl of approval. Slowly, his fingertip traced the edge of my panties, easing down the side of the V that covered my pubic bone. I whimpered as he teased me mercilessly, his finger grazing over silk and elastic, the edge of his skin barely brushing the sensitive skin of my inner thigh.
“Frustrated, beautiful?” he murmured.
My head was back, my breathing fast. “Are you insane?” In my head, I was screaming. In real life, I could barely formulate words. “Jesus, Evan. Please.”
He spread his fingers so that now he was teasing the indention at the juncture of both my thighs, his strokes light but firm. And never, ever touching the soft flesh beneath the silk or brushing over my tight, demanding clit.
I struggled to pull my hands free, desperate to finish what he had started. But he held me fast, and I wanted to shout curses, to make demands, to drop down on my knees and beg. But it was all I could do to draw breath as my body shuddered, every nerve, every sensation pooled between my legs in anticipation of a touch that he seemed determined not to give me.
“Please, what?” he asked, as I dragged my teeth over my lower lip.
“Please,” I repeated. “Please everything.”
His low, satisfied chuckle washed over me, teasing my skin with as much sensuality as if he were trailing a feather over me.
“Touch me,” I demanded.
He bent closer so that his breath tickled my cheek. “I am touching you.”
I wiggled my hips in unspoken demand. “You know what I mean.”
“I do,” he said. “But I want to hear you say it.” He drew his tongue up the edge of my ear, and I bit down on my lip for fear that if I didn’t I would cry out in both pleasure and frustration.
“I want—” I swallowed and tried again. “I want you inside my panties.”
To his credit, he complied, and I sighed with pleasure as his fingers stroked my slick, swollen flesh. I was completely bare, having recently discovered Brazilian waxes, and the way his finger slid over my wet flesh was driving me completely insane.
He didn’t, however, touch my clit, and so I had no relief for the desperate, pounding growing need that was building inside me.
I moved my hips, trying without words to let him know exactly what I wanted.
“Demanding thing, aren’t you?” he teased.
“Dammit, Evan, you’re being exceptionally mean.”
“Maybe.” He stroked his finger lightly over my clit, and my entire body lit up. “But I’m damn sure enjoying myself.” He slipped his fingers inside me, and I gasped as my muscles tightened around him, drawing him in. “That’s it, baby. That’s what you want, isn’t it? You want to be fucked.”
I clenched my hands into fists, managing to gather enough self-possession to say, “You’re just figuring that out?”
He laughed softly, but whatever amusement I’d felt in the wake of my comment faded under the slow, rhythmic assault of his hands upon my body, sliding deeper and deeper, leaving me breathless and anxious and so very, very close.
When he drew his hand free, I actually whimpered, and when he slid his fingertip—wet with my arousal—between my lips, I moaned and took him in, closing my eyes as I sucked and teased, imagining it was his cock in my mouth.
“Dear god, that’s hot,” he whispered. He moved closer, and I felt the press of his erection against my belly, tight and hard beneath the denim of his jeans. “I want you, Angie. I want to yank your skirt up and rip these damn panties off. I want to bury myself inside you and watch your face while you come.”
I said nothing, only drew him in deeper and relished the soft sound of his own, responsive groan.
“But not here—not in an alley.” He drew his finger from my mouth, and my eyes fluttered open. “I’m taking you home. I’m going to fuck you, Angie, but I’m going to do it properly. Say yes, baby.”
I nodded.
“I want to hear it.”
Stupidly, I nodded again. “Yes,” I said, after fighting to regain the power of thought.
“Good girl.” He gave me a moment to recover the ability to walk, then led me toward the street where, I presumed, he’d parked.
We’d only taken two steps toward the intersection of the alley and the street when a shadow fell across the sidewalk, followed quickly by a form that I recognized. Bruiser.
A second guy flanked him, tall and lean, with the kind of sauntering walk that told the world he could beat the crap out of just about anyone.