“Please, please . . .” I didn’t know what I was asking for. I just needed a release from the hold he had on me. I closed my eyes, so ready to come from his touch.
“Eyes on me. I want to see you.” He stroked me faster as I obeyed, opening my eyes. His brows were drawn as he rested his forehead against mine. “I want you to come, Scarlett. I want you to admit you want this. And I want you to know I was the one who did it to you in a bathroom in a restaurant full of people.”
His words turned me on even more, making the buildup unbearable as I rocked my hips against him. He sped his pace, squeezing my clit between his two fingers.
“Tell me you want it. Tell me perfectly proper Scarlett Carmichael wants to be finger-fucked like a hot slut.” His words should have made me angry, but they only made my orgasm approach at a faster clip.
“Kennedy, God, I can’t.” There was no purpose to my words, delivered on a pant. I was nothing but an arrow drawn tight, ready to be shot skyward. “I want it.”
He squeezed my clit between his index and ring fingers, stroking across it with his middle finger as he did so. He sped his finger, playing me as I held my breath. “Come for me.”
His rough voice lit the powder keg and my orgasm burst through me. My hips seized, my pussy clenching as I came. He kissed me, hard, stealing his name from my lips as I cried out at the waves of pleasure. I scratched down his chest, my nails scoring his dress shirt. He sank his tongue inside me, fucking my mouth just as surely as his fingers had done to my pussy. Moving his fingers lower, he shoved them inside me again and groaned as my pussy spasmed with the last throes.
He gripped up on my spot, drawing out the final drops of bliss. Slanting over me, he drew his fingers out and ground his hips into me, his cock hard and ready in his pants. Then he broke our kiss and brought his hand to his mouth, licking and sucking every last bit of me from his fingers while staring into my eyes. I had never seen anything hotter in my life.
He dropped my thigh and backed up a step before yanking my skirt back into place. The outline of his cock was stark against his pants, and I wanted to feel it inside me. It was foolish, and wrong, and stupid. But I still wanted it. Snap out of it.
“This was a mistake.” I shook my head, trying to clear it.
“No, it wasn’t.” He peered down at the nail marks along his shirtfront.
“This won’t happen again.” I stood a little straighter, though my clit was still off in outer space somewhere, buzzing with aftershocks.
“It will.” He grinned and adjusted his dick with a slight grimace. “Well, maybe not quite like this. Next time, I’m going to give you everything I’ve got. And you’re going to take every last inch.”
I bristled at his cocky attitude. “Taking two inches isn’t really a feat, Mr. Granade.”
He stepped toward me again, and I backed into the wall, a thrill rushing through me at his aggression.
Taking my hand, he ran it down his cock. “Does this feel like two inches, Scarlett?”
I closed my eyes and stroked him through his pants. Definitely more than two inches. He jerked against my palm and put his hands on the wall on either side of my head.
“If you keep doing that, I’m going to fuck you right now.” He nipped at my jaw. “And we have Carey waiting for you to flirt with him some more to seal the deal on finding Fluffy.”
The case. Right. I dropped my hand. “You need to go. Now.”
He eyed my lips. “Give me one more kiss and I will.”
“No.” I crossed my arms over my chest.
“I knew you’d say that.” He leaned closer and sucked on my bottom lip, pulling it between his teeth before kissing me fully and then backing away.
“See you at the table.” He pushed through the door and strutted out of the restroom. As soon as he was gone, I walked out and sank onto the fainting couch.
What just happened? It didn’t matter. I would see to it that it never happened again. I was a professional. Kennedy was just a hired gun. And a cocky asshole. And a great kisser. And, fuck, his fingers.
I stood and went to the vanity, making sure my appearance gave nothing away. Other than the extra rosy tint on my cheeks—which I could blame on alcohol—nothing seemed amiss.
Well, nothing other than the mind-blowing orgasm Kennedy Granade just gave me during a business dinner. Nothing other than that.
Chapter Six
Kennedy
I sauntered into Stone & Porter at one in the afternoon on Friday, my hangover still pulsing through my head to the beat of my heart. When I awoke in the usual world of post-alcohol hurt that morning, I had a smile on my face. Scarlett Carmichael, reserved and well mannered, had come as I finger-fucked her against a bathroom wall. And I was determined to get another shot at her sooner rather than later. Like a heat-seeking missile, my dick said “target acquired.”