Breakaway (Beyond the Play, #2)(48)

He kisses me as we sit down—on the same side this time—and puts his hand on my thigh, underneath my skirt. Past Penny knew what she was doing when she opted for the skirt and tights today.

“Callahan,” I murmur as he traces a nonsense pattern into the tights. “What are you doing?”

“What number is public sex?”

The blush practically erupts on my face. This is perfect; we’re not the only ones on the train, but it’s not so crowded that we’re likely to be interrupted. An edge of danger, but not enough risk to make me hesitate. “Semi-public. And six.”

“Skipping ahead a little,” he says as he kisses my neck. “Still need to fuck your ass sometime soon, sweetheart. But not here.” He digs his nails into my tights—and then rips them to get at my panties.

“Those were my good tights,” I protest, my voice fading as he rubs his knuckles over the front of my thong.

“I’ll buy you new ones.” He keeps kissing my neck, unwinding my scarf and flinging it onto the seat across from us. “I’ll buy you ten new pairs. Whatever you want.”

He certainly didn’t bat an eye at buying me a hundred-and-fifty-dollar dildo, so I don’t doubt he’d take me to the mall to buy new tights. It’s easy to forget because he doesn’t seem like a rich boy—certainly nothing like Preston’s type of rich boy—but his family is loaded. He keeps teasing me over my panties as he rummages around in the bag from Dark Allure, and the underlying level of arousal I’ve been feeling whenever I’m around him gains steam. When he finds the remote-controlled vibrator, he curses at the packaging; I take it from his hands and rip it open at the exact moment he ruins my panties, too.

“Cooper!” I say, scandalized. The tights are one thing, but my underwear? He definitely owes me new ones. “You’re acting like a barbarian.”

“I’ve had a fucking hard on since the store,” he says against my ear. “Fuck, you’re wet too. You’re such a little slut.”

The words make me moan, tipping my head back against the seat. The train starts to move, the lights dimming as we head through the tunnel. For a couple of long minutes, I can’t see anything but the lamplights streaking by us in blurs of orange—and I can’t fucking focus on a thing but Cooper’s fingers teasing my clit.

“Wanna put my fingers in,” he murmurs against my ear. “Can I finger-fuck you right here, where anyone could see us the moment we’re out of the tunnel?”

I nod against his shoulder; I don’t trust myself with words right now. He presses in one of his long, thick fingers, deliciously slow, and I moan again, grabbing the air until I settle my hand on his arm. He kisses the side of my head as he adds another finger, scissoring them roughly. I cry out, but fortunately the sound gets swallowed up by the train whistle.

The world around us explodes into light again. Cooper keeps fingering me, angling his body so I’m hidden as much as possible. It’s like he doesn’t want anyone to see not only because it would be mortifying, but because he wants me all to himself. Right when I start rocking against him, squeezing tightly to keep his fingers inside, he eases out.

I look at him pleadingly, a protest already on my lips, but he grabs the little vibrator—which I now see is shaped, abstractly but still recognizably, like a fox, complete with a pointed nose perfect for nudging against a clit—and tucks it against my folds. He tugs my skirt down. I smooth out my wrinkled sweater. You’d be able to glance at us without finding anything out of the ordinary—other than the bulge in his pants and my flush, that is.

He grins as he holds up the remote. “Gotta be quiet for me, baby girl.”

I bite my lip as he turns on the vibrator. The sudden burst of motion has me gasping, but he kisses me to tamp down the noise, his hand stroking over my skirt. The remote is hidden in his palm; he presses another button and the rhythm changes. The tail part of the vibrator, just barely pushed into me, vibrates rapidly, while the head—and that nubby nose, bumping right up against my clit—pulses in long, slow strokes. I’m thinking it’s going to be hard not to come in approximately thirty seconds, never mind how loud I am, when the door to the car slides open.

I bite my lip so hard it hurts. Cooper doesn’t even blink; he just crosses his ankle over his knee and pulls out his phone as the conductor, an older woman with curly hair, approaches. We’re the only two in the car, so she makes a beeline right for us, smiling all the while.

“Tickets?” she asks.

“Here you go,” Cooper says, holding out his phone.

“Perfect,” she says as she scans the tickets. “What were you up to today? Something fun, I hope?”

“We’re McKee students,” Cooper says. He puts his arm around me casually—and then he must press the button on the remote again, because the vibrations ratchet up higher on both ends of the toy. It’s all I can do not to moan aloud, aching for relief. “We just had lunch with my brother and his fiancée.”

“Oh, how nice,” she says. “Are you familiar with the city?”

Cooper, the bastard, chats with the conductor for a few minutes as he changes the speeds and rhythms of the toy. I just smile tightly, trying desperately to avoid making it clear what’s going on through an ill-timed gasp or whimper. Not that I want him to stop—I don’t want that. I just want to come, and then get on my knees and suck his cock until he calls me a slut again.