I should not be this attracted to this woman.
To any woman.
But I want to slam into her and feel her vagina clench around my dick and listen to her scream my name, and then I want to do it all over again.
I slip my hand into her pants and stroke her over her cotton panties.
She’s wet.
She’s wet for me.
Wet, and wrenching out of the kiss with a moan. “More,” she pleads.
“How much more?”
“All the more.”
Chuckling is painful, but God, she’s funny and sexy and strong and smart, and I want this to last forever, but I also want to get her off before she decides she has to go. I stroke her center again. “All the more? I’m a math teacher, not an English teacher, but I don’t think that’s right.”
“Flint—”
She cuts herself off with a curse as I tease the edge of her panties. Her hips buck, and she twists like she’s trying to help me find her clit.
“Yes, Maisey? Tell me what you want. Tell me what you want me to do.”
“Stroke—under—panties—touch—me—bare.”
“Like this, baby?” I push the edge of her panties aside and stroke in her curls, knowing I’m not where she wants me to be.
I want to get her off.
I want to get her off with my fingers. With my mouth. With my cock. With toys. I don’t care how—I want to get her off.
And I want to make this last as long as possible.
“More—middle,” she gasps.
“Here?” I stroke her hot, wet labia, and she moans, her eyes crossing just before her lids shut.
“Oh God, yes,” she moans.
She bucks her hips into my hand, still pinned to the doorframe, her head back, her lips parted, while she pants and writhes in my touch.
If you’d told me this summer Maisey Spencer would be the easiest woman in the world to please, I would’ve laughed in your face.
But here we are with her riding my hand, gripping my shoulders so tightly I’ll probably have fingerprint bruises tomorrow, while she moans and rocks against me.
I circle her clit with my thumb while I enter her with one finger. Her hips jerk, and her moan goes high pitched. “More,” she chants. “More. More fingers. Touch me—oh God, keep playing—oh yes—my clit, and—ooooh God.”
“Like this?” I thrust two more fingers inside her while I press my thumb to her clit, and it’s like I’ve hit her on button.
“Yes. Yes. Oh God, yes yes yes, I’m coming, I’m—ahhhhhh.” Her inner walls clench hard around my fingers. Her hips jerk erratically. She shifts to grip me by the hair again, and fuck me again.
The color high in her cheeks. Her unfocused eyes. The sound of her voice as she chants incoherently. Her plump lips. Her pussy in my hand.
This.
This is what I’ve wanted for weeks in a way I’ve never wanted any woman before.
I’ve never waited this long for a woman before.
I hold her, still teasing her clit and thrusting my fingers into her as she rides the waves of her orgasm until she sags against the doorframe.
I catch her before she slides all the way down it.
“Oh God,” she whispers again between pants while I angle her more against the wall than the doorframe and hold her up. “What time is it? Can you do that again? Take your clothes off. I want to lick your tattoos. Will you really come fast if I ride you right now? I have seven minutes before Junie will notice I’m running late.”
I half blink, half laugh. “You—”
“I’m equal parts determined to return this favor and terrified we’ll get caught. I know I get things for me, but she’s still—she’s so—okay. Done talking. Take your pants off.”
“Maisey—”
“Turnabout’s fair play. But my hands don’t work. That orgasm broke them. So you have to do the unbuttoning for me.”
I’m smiling as I drop my forehead to hers. “Am I going to have to jerk myself off too?”
“No, but you will have to throw me on your bed and have your way with me. With your penis. In my vagina. For the record. Are my eyes still crossed? I feel like my eyes are still crossed.”
“Your eyes are closed, sweetheart.”
Closed and getting wet at the corners.
Shit.
“Maisey?” I touch the tear slipping out of the corner of her eye. “Did I do something wrong?”
“No. No! It’s been a long time since . . . someone else . . . took care of me,” she whispers.
I open my mouth, then close it.
That she hasn’t had a man-made orgasm in a long time probably shouldn’t be a surprise. Much as she’s nothing like I would’ve expected after watching her show, everything I’ve heard about her ex suggests I haven’t read him wrong at all.
He doesn’t deserve her.
Probably never deserved her.
Also, I need to quit reading the tabloids, and yes, I know I’m lying to myself when I say it’s so that I know if one of my students might be having an extra-rough time at home.
“Lucky you have me right down the driveway,” I finally murmur.
That earns me a laugh that I’m nearly certain is real. She blinks her eyes open, swipes at them quickly with her apparently not-useless hands, and then squirms in my arms. “I should go. We can—Junie’s planning on going to a sleepover next weekend at Abigail’s house with half the soccer team. You can come up to my house then, and we can, erm, finish what we started. Unless you want me to jerk you off real quick. I could. I’m very good with my hands, and I think they’re working again. Oh God. That sounded totally lame and porn movie-ish, didn’t it? I’m really—I haven’t—it’s been—gah.”
I kiss her forehead.
Can’t help myself.
This Maisey?
She’s real. She’s not a made-for-TV inept repairperson. What you see is what you get. I wonder if there are pockets of the internet devoted to Maisey-stan because of that show.
There should be.
“Next weekend,” I murmur. “Text me.”
“But you—”
“Know that you deserve champagne and roses and bubble baths, and I’m going to do this right.”
I feel her shiver. “Are you trying to impress me?”
“If I haven’t already, I’m fucked.”
She laughs again. It’s a soft sound, almost hesitant, and there goes my heart again.
Wanting to save the injured damsel.
For the first time in my life, I don’t mind that saving takes work.
She’s worth the effort.
Chapter 24
Maisey
Normal.
I can act normal.
It’s not easy sneaking back into my own house when I can still smell my orgasm on me, knowing my teenager’s like a bloodhound when anything’s out of the ordinary. But I call out a cheery, “Hi, Junie, I’m back,” as if everything’s normal, because if I believe it’s normal, then it’s normal, right?
That orgasm was not normal, but I’ll contemplate that later.
Along with how much I need a time machine so that I can both leap ahead to this weekend and come right back here because my time with Junie is limited and I don’t want to miss a moment.