Free Unforgiven by Elizabeth Finn Page B

time this night, she was held firmly against this wall, allowing a man to show her just how much he wanted to fuck her. She welcomed this man far more than the other, and could she unwrite what she’d almost been willing to do with the other just to make herself feel better about herself, she’d do so in an instant. This was what she wanted. This was what she always wanted. She trusted his touch, his force, his power, his intent, his everything. This was what she always wanted. Always.
    She melted when she felt his fingers brush up past the hem of her dress. His fingers trailed lightly up her thigh—so lightly they tickled and innervated her desire until her knees were shaking, and she was whimpering between the smacking of their lips. His mouth was still ravenously assaulting her lips, but his fingers were gentle—gentle and trembling slightly against her skin as they moved. His lips paused as did his fingers when he hit the top of her thigh just as his fingers brushed the lace of her underwear. He stroked along the edge of the fabric that met her bikini line, and he breathed his minty breath into her mouth. He was deciding, and could she make the decision for him, she’d force his hand farther, but she froze in her spot, waiting, begging in her mind for more.
    She could hear the sound of him swallowing as he struggled, and when he let go of a deep, pained sigh, she did too. He pulled his fingers from her skin, and his forehead dropped to hers, refusing to let his lips touch hers again.
    “Oh, fuck, Bailey.” He was whispering again, and he couldn’t seem to catch his breath. She could feel his brow flinching against her forehead, and she couldn’t seem to loosen her grip on his arms. “I can’t do this.”
    The rejection was painful; knowing he wanted it didn’t soften the blow in the least, and when he turned to walk from her without another word, she couldn’t seem to loosen her grip on his arm. He stilled when he felt her fingers pulling against him, and he turned back slowly, refusing to look at her. She couldn’t tell what was going on in his head, but she was still coursing with need. The need was as much to be reassured as it was to be fucked, and the combination of those desires was nearly overwhelming.
    “Dammit, Bailey.” He was speaking through gritted teeth as he finally looked at her. She didn’t waste even one second before she lunged at his mouth, standing on her tiptoes to close the distance. He met her halfway as he seemed to lose control again, and she ended back up against the wall as his hands held her still and his tongue thrust and tasted her mouth. There was nothing gentle or slow about the trail of his fingers back up under her dress, and the moment he hit the lace, he pushed his hand roughly past the material and cupped her sex. His finger slid between her lips, and she could feel the soaking wetness coating his finger as he moaned.
    He stroked, but didn’t push into her. “Is this what you want?” His voice was breathy and aroused, and her body responded perfectly at nothing more than the sound of his warm, needy words. “Huh?” She listened to his panting voice as his finger slid through her cum. “Where’s this going to end, Bailey?” She whimpered as her fingers dug into his arm. “With my cock inside you?” And the moment he spoke the words, his finger invaded her tightness, and her sheath tightened and trembled around his finger. “Fuck, that’s good.” He wasn’t even speaking to her as he muttered the words. He sounded nearly desperate, nearly angry, but so nearly ready to lose his mind that he couldn’t stop. He couldn’t stop. That was the desperation and anger she was hearing. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” His finger was plunging into her wetness, and she was gripping his arm, groaning with her mouth buried against his chest.
    He slid a second finger in with the first, and his thumb started swirling around the peaked nub of her clitoris as she gasped for air.