Free Afternoon Delight by Anne Calhoun

swollen and slick with her juices, flushed a dark pink, and the scent rising from between her legs made his head spin more than the white wine at dinner. Slow circles, his brain recorded. Not pressing very hard. Soft thighs dented by the drawn-tight panties. Teasing. Drawing it out.
    Savoring it. This was insane, and so fucking hot.
    Then she parted her fingers so the index and middle finger trapped either side of her clit, and rubbed. A little harder, a little faster. Leaving his elbows planted at her hips, he stretched back and trailed his cheek and nose over her belly, her inner thighs, not quite touching, close enough for the nerves to fire at imagined touch.
    He paused above her hand and blew gently on her knuckles. “Good?” he asked.
    She tensed and groaned. Her thighs were quivering with the build. “Good,” she said.
    â€œIt’d be better with me inside you.”
    â€œGod, yes,” she said.
    â€œLet me,” he said. He wasn’t asking. “Sarah. Let me inside you. I’ll make it so good for you.”
    â€œI know you would,” she said, nearly inaudible. “But not today.”
    He growled, the sound rumbling from low in his chest, and watched, trembling with frustrated desire as her fingers rubbed faster, harder. Then her sex pulsed, her clit fluttering as she went rigid and cried out, soft and helpless. Her fingertip stroked slowly as her body shuddered with each pulse of pleasure. He’d never paid such close attention to a woman’s orgasm before. It would be interesting if it weren’t so fucking frustrating.
    When she went slack, she lifted her knuckles to his chin and tipped it up, so he was looking at her face. For a long moment their gazes locked, her breasts lifting with quickened inhales and shallow exhales, his muscles trembling. Then she trailed her slick fingertips over his mouth, pausing to gently press on his lower lip.
    He almost came in his jeans. Instead he licked each fingertip, the taste of her juices spreading over his tongue. But rather than licking his lips, he levered forward and kissed her. She moaned and opened her mouth, letting him lick his way in, stroke her tongue with his, nibble at her lower lip, then her upper lip.
    â€œYou are an absolutely rotten loser.”
    â€œI am not. I just don’t concede defeat,” he said, and kissed her again.
    â€œYou’re touching me.”
    â€œI’m kissing you. You didn’t say I couldn’t kiss you.”
    â€œYour skin is touching my skin.”
    He kissed her heated cheek, then her ear. “Darlin’, if we were skin to skin right now, you wouldn’t be arguing semantics with me.”
    She put her hand in the middle of his chest, just touching, not pushing. The pressure and heat set his nerve endings on fire and made the hair lift at the back of his neck before racing down his spine to coalesce in his balls. “That was incredible.”
    â€œSpeak for yourself.”
    One fine brown eyebrow arched. He was close enough to see a small chicken pox scar on her temple, another by her left ear, and a smattering of freckles on her forehead. “That wasn’t good?”
    â€œIt was frustrating.”
    â€œIt’s not always about the end result,” she said with a smile.
    â€œThe fuck it isn’t.”
    â€œHot dog eating contests are about the end result.”
    â€œYou came. You’re in no position to talk about this.”
    â€œDouble or nothing?” she said.
    He stared at her. “What?”
    â€œDouble or nothing? We go again, no getting off until the next time we meet. If you fail, you get a repeat of tonight.”
    â€œThat’s the nothing,” he said. “What’s the double?”
    â€œYou decide.”
    â€œYou’re actually going to send me home like this.”
    She tucked one hand into the rat’s nest of hair behind her head, not accidentally lifting her breasts, and watched her