Free Gray's Girl by Mina Carter Page B

heated pussy lips, exposed by the lack of underwear and concealed under the long skirt of her dress all at the same time. Every time she moved it was the same thing. Even though her thong had been tiny, the fact that the little scrap of satin wasn’t covering the small area between her legs made her feel naked. Aroused. Wet.
    Constantly.
    “I know.” He grinned, his expression totally unrepentant, the promise in his eyes heating her blood all the more.
    Leaning in, his lips brushed her ear as he spoke softly. “I want you to go to the ladies’. Lock the door to the cubicle and touch yourself. Pretend it’s me as you do. Play with your clit, fuck yourself on those pretty little fingers until you’re ready to come. But do not let yourself come,” he ordered sternly. “I’ll know if you do. Now go.”
    Oh God, he was going to be the death of her. Arousal zipped through her like a race car as she nodded and pushed to her feet, walking toward the toilets on shaky legs. Her body had been on high alert since earlier, when he’d pulled her into that cubicle and eaten her out until she’d come screaming his name. The second time he’d brought her off with his hand, but it had been no less intense for that. Not with him whispering all the things he wanted to do to her, with her, and have her do to him. Things that made her blush and catch her breath in need just thinking about. Half of them were not just kinky; she’d have called them outright perverted…if anyone but Gray had suggested them.
    She made it to the bathroom without giving herself away too much, although the woman at the counter by the basins gave her an odd look as she passed. Catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror as she walked down to the farthest cubicle she could find, Frankie didn’t blame her.
    Her skin was pale against the black of her dress and the dark brown of her piled-up hair. Only the bright pink of her cheeks and her overbright eyes saved her from appearing monochrome. She looked overwrought, like a woman on the edge. And she was. On the edge of her control, hands shaking as she shut the door on the last cubicle and lowered the seat.
    Cheeks hot enough to cook eggs, she lifted her dress and sat down. The fabric bunched around her waist as she spread her thighs, closing her eyes as she slipped her hand between her thighs. The first stroke of her fingers against slick pussy lips made her bite her lip. She was wet, her lips silky and slippery as she circled her clit.
    Play with yourself. Fuck yourself. Do not let yourself come. I’ll know if you do.
    He wouldn’t know, would he? How would he know?
    She carried on stroking, then thrust two fingers inside her soaking pussy, replaying the memory of his fingers inside her earlier. Frustration welled up as she thrust and circled, driving the need inside higher and higher. She didn’t want to do this herself. She wanted him here, his big body covering her, his tongue thrusting in her mouth as he used his fingers to bring her to the edge. Then he’d pull his hand away, replace it with the blunt, broad head of his cock. Stretching her as he pushed his way inside—
    Crap! Her release roared up; the heavy wave of her climax almost overpowered her. She couldn’t come. Panting, she snatched her hand away and clamped her thighs together. Her clit throbbed in protest as she desperately tried to hold off. She couldn’t come. He’d told her not to.
    Fluffy kittens, her nan’s wooly sweaters on the line. Post office queues. She thought of anything and everything she could that was cute or boring or definitely not sexy to stave off the orgasm.
    Wrung out and keyed up at the same time, she leaned sideways against the wall, using its tiled surface to cool her brow. After long minutes she opened her eyes, the thwarted ache in her body under control. Just.
    Standing, she unlocked the cubicle and headed to wash her hands. Fix her hair. Check her makeup. Do the normal woman-type things as her own cream