Free Theirs to Play by Kenya Wright

teeth. “Are you trying to tell me that you’re not wet right now?”
    She avoided glancing my way.
    “Then that’s a yes,” I said.
    “It doesn’t matter if I’m wet.”
    “Hell yes. It does.”
    “I already told you I was attracted to you.”
    She tried to scoot away. I kissed her again, slipping my hands up the lace fabric. Her nonchalance about my not meeting her needs aggravated me. We both knew she was wet, but I had to really feel it for myself. Something inside of my body drove me crazy to confirm it. Maybe her insults wouldn’t be so hard to swallow down if I knew she was hot for me, even though something in the back of my head said it wouldn’t satisfy me either way.
    “I loved seeing those pretty folds on my sun deck. Can I touch her tonight?” I sucked on Dawn’s neck.
    She arched into me. “Yes.”
    What?
    I’d been ready for a challenge, eager in fact. The damn woman was unpredictable. If she wasn’t insulting me, she asked about my mom. If she wasn’t making me think badly about myself, then she was driving me crazy with her body. Now she sat on that table with the moonlight shining on her skin, telling me I could caress her center.
    I froze. “Yes?”
    “Just one touch.” Her voice came out shaky.
    Maybe the tequila is working on both of us.
    I tried my best to take my time, but I pushed through the fabric, yanked back her panties, and groaned out loud as soon as my finger greeted that soaked treasure of hers.
    “You’re way more than wet.” I thrust into her, praying that I would be lucky enough to have my cock experience that same liquid warmth. She felt so good around my finger, tight, and soaked in want. It did insane things to my system. She seeped into my skin, made me desire more than her flesh.
    “Mmm, Freddy.”
    “Oh please, say that again.”
    “Freddy,” she moaned.
    My whole body set on fire.
    She let her head fall back. Those wavy strands poured down to the table while her breasts rose in the air at face level. I had no time to wonder about the servants or if I should ask. The guitar no longer played and the singing had ceased.
    Everyone better make themselves scarce. I don’t want anything to interrupt this.
    I yanked down her gown and freed her breasts. She possessed lush caramel mounds decorated with almond colored nipples. I captured one with my lips, sucked that stiff nipple in and flicked my tongue across the tip.
    “Oh, Freddy.”
    “That’s it.” I licked her nipple again. “You sure you don’t want to tell the big bad rich boy to stop?”
    She spread her legs open a little wider. “Not yet, unless this counts as sex.”
    “No way.” I glided my finger in and out of her. “Sex is my cock inside of you. There’s no way I’m going to let you take my cock out of the game. Not when you get this wet around me.”
    She trembled. “You can’t blame me. Your hands work magic on my skin.”
    I slipped my finger out of her and circled her throbbing bud with my thumb. “Then I am your type?”
    “No.”
    I don’t know why, but I stopped fondling her.
    No? As wet as she is, she fucking says, no?
    “What?” Panting, she stared at me.
    “I’m still not your type even though my fingers are inside of you?”
    “You’re someone I would have sex with, but nothing else.”
    I stiffened again. “Meaning?”
    She blew out a long breath. “Why does it even matter?”
    “It doesn’t.” I removed my hands and stepped back.
    She quirked her eyebrows and wore a confused expression. “Oh my god. Yes, it does matter to you. It really does. You actually care about what I think, but why?”
    “I don’t.”
    “You do.”
    “Fine,” I said louder than I’d intended. “You’re smart, independent, and seem to have a decent head on your shoulders. Maybe, I believe your opinion of me could be accurate.”
    “That shouldn’t mean anything to you.” She moved the gown back over her legs and I regretted my sudden attack of insecurity right in the middle of