Folk Around and Find Out (Good Folk: Modern Folktales #2)(75)
“Which part?” He’d come closer while he spoke, his hand sliding higher on my leg. I tilted my head back to maintain eye contact.
“I’ll do—” His head descended; he placed a light kiss on my neck; my breath caught. “Whatever you want—” Another kiss, this one with a scrape of teeth that had me shivering. “Whenever you want—” His hand on my leg slid my skirt upward. “However you want.”
He raised his head then, spearing me with a heavy-lidded stare. “Will you let me?” Holding my eyes, he brushed his lips against mine, teasing me. “Will you let me be the one who takes care of you? The one who makes you feel good? You’re all keyed up, frustrated. It’s not fair, you being neglected like this. I’d be happy to help if you wanted.”
He was right. I’d been feeling needy and frustrated for a long, long time. But like fantasies of him, I’d buried it all. Better to forget about silly wishes and dreams.
This wasn’t a dream. This was happening.
Panting now, ensnared by his offer, hypnotized by it, I nodded and whispered, “Yes.”
Lost in his sudden seduction and the promise of him, wanting it, starving for it, how could I say no? He’d found precisely the right words to unlock every single one of my inhibitions, and when his hand finally lifted the hem of my skirt to my waist, I widened my legs to accommodate him.
I felt his smile against my neck and the heat of a whispered, “That’s my angel,” as he tugged down the side of my cotton undies. I helped him, lifting my hips until he exposed me, parting me with a gliding stroke.
Hank leaned back, his eyes sharpening on my spread legs. “So wet. And so fucking pretty.”
Sucking in a trembling breath, both at the vocalization of his praise and the feel of his skillful caress, I gripped his shoulder with the hand he didn’t hold captive. My stomach twisted, my body ached, strained where he gave me the lightest touch, making me senseless with wanting more, wanting everything.
“I could do this all day,” he mused, sounding distracted, his stare ravenous as it roved over my body.
Overwhelmed, my head fell back as he fondled me, teased me. He released the hand he’d held and moved lower, cupping my breast over my camisole, his fingers covetous, greedy. Shifting to the side, he gently tugged the strap down to bare my skin for his gaze and hot mouth.
I felt drugged, heavy, dizzy and beyond confusion, pulled beneath the undertow of where need meets scarcity and depravation. Prior to our frantic fumbling at his bar, it had been so long. So long since I’d been touched, longer still since I’d been touched with the intent to arouse, to please, to satisfy. I couldn’t think, couldn’t remember it ever feeling this good, this intentional and focused, and Hank had barely rounded second base.
“More,” I said on a broken moan, his teasing making me wild. “Harder. And—” I need to hear his voice. “And keep talking.”
Hank’s movements stalled. But before I could overthink or second-guess my blurted requests, he shifted his body and pushed a long finger inside me. I gasped.
“You like that.” The words were a rough command, not a question.
I bit my lip and nodded, a little whine escaping my throat. I gripped both his shoulders now, needing to anchor myself to something solid as he added another finger and quickened the pace of his invasion, the base of his palm pressing and rubbing against me with each thrust.
“Are you going to come?” he asked darkly between the wet, full-mouth kisses he lavished on my neck, chest, and breasts, the sounds of his fingers working my entrance a sloppy, erotic accompaniment. “Are you going to come for me, angel?”
His tongue swirled around my nipple, then he trailed his lips lower to nip at the side of my breast, sucking it into his mouth. The pleasure-pain of his assault made my hips lift, tilt, and rock against his hand. A pleased sound rumbled out of him, the vibrations echoing through my ribs.
“Fuck. You’re so fucking gorgeous,” he whispered roughly, his words sounding dazed. “I can’t wait to fuck you. I can’t want to fill you with my cock. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
The image he conjured—a suppressed, secret fantasy becoming reality—sent me spiraling. My whole body heated with a brilliant, flashing pulse and tensed at his filthy words. I cursed, my hands sliding to his arms, my abdomen twisting, coiling with vicious, spikey heaviness. I fought and surrendered in a single breath, unable to draw another, lost to my body’s bliss. Coming apart, holding on to him, I stifled the cry of ecstasy before it could rip from my lungs.
But, holy effing fracking fricking Frankenstein, it felt fantastic. So good and raw and necessary and monumental and gratifying and finally.
“So good,” he said somewhere near my ear, echoing my thoughts as I slowly re-emerged with the present, his mouth and tongue laving my skin between statements of admiration, his arms wrapping around my body to hold me. “So beautiful.”
Drawing me close, pulling me almost on top of his lap, he tucked me under his chin. My fingers had been twisted in his shirtsleeves and I released the fabric when he repositioned me, leaving me at a loss as to where to place my hands.
Before I could feel too awkward about it, he gently plucked one from my lap and threaded our fingers together, just like he’d done before. But this time, he lifted my knuckles to his lips and kissed them.