Struck from the Record © K.A. Linde 2016
Clay saw Andrea arch an eyebrow over Bad Suit’s shoulder. He raised his eyebrows. She tilted her head toward the restroom, and he smiled, letting her know he’d gotten the message. Loud and clear.
He wedged his way through the crowd, receiving disgruntled shouts from the people he’d unceremoniously shoved out of his way. When he finally made it back to the restrooms, he found Andrea standing outside the door, as if waiting for the next chance to go inside, which he knew she never did. Queuing was not one of Andrea’s specialties.
“Hello, gorgeous,” he said, approaching her.
“You, sir, are in big trouble.”
“Tell me all about it.”
A girl left the restroom, and Clay pushed Andrea inside. The girl gave them a strange look, but there were other restrooms for people who needed it. He locked it from the inside and turned to face his girl. He grabbed her around the middle and hauled her against him. She was so small, always had been. She’d been obsessed with her weight in college and ended up in a lot of counseling to try to fix the issue, but she’d always be small.
He pressed her body back against the door, and she met his gaze with a determined one of her own.
“Clandestine,” she murmured in a tone that made it seem as if she were unimpressed.
“You said I was in trouble,” he prompted.
With her words, blood was already pumping to all the right places. Fuck, she turned him on. The chase, the rendezvous, the game.
His hands slipped down her black dress, slinky and sophisticated, and he knew it cost a fortune. Everything that Andrea liked did. Instead of going for her lips, he nuzzled her neck, making her arch against him, and then he trailed rough kisses over the territory he was claiming.
“Yes,” she said, trying to seem unaffected, “you came to ruin my fun, and then you didn’t even make a move. Clay Maxwell, whatever has gotten into you?”
“You’re too hasty.” He nipped at her neck, and she squeaked. Oh, how he loved that sound. “I was assessing the situation and determining when to go in for the kill.”
He forcefully grabbed her leg and pulled it up around his waist. Her dress slid past her upper thigh, nearly revealing what was underneath. He slipped his hand under the material and realized with satisfaction that there was nothing underneath.
“Oh, dirty,” he growled playfully. “You were ready for me.”
“I was, but you’re too slow. I’m planning to leave with him.”
“Like hell you are!” Clay barked out.
“What? You can have your fun for the night, but I can’t?” Her eyes issued a challenge.
“I haven’t had any yet,” he growled, “but I will now.”
Clay’s hand slipped back under her dress until he found her pussy, hot and aching for him. She enjoyed this as much as he did, and he’d remind her exactly how much. He wanted to just take her against the door, but he’d rather she beg him for it later.
Without a second thought, he slipped his finger between her lips and trailed it through her wetness before massaging her clit. He had perfect access from this angle, and the only way it would be better was if he could bury his face in between her legs and feel her come all over him. She’d definitely beg then.
“Mmm,” she purred, grinding against his hand.
Abruptly, he removed his finger from her clit and pushed two fingers up inside her. She was dripping wet, and he coated his thumb before circling her clit and finger-fucking her hard. It’d be so much better when he got his cock up inside her, but for now, this would do. His dick was as hard as a rock, and it was practically painful as he watched her eyes roll back into her head while her pleasure mounted.
“You’re not playing fair,” she groaned.
“Only way I know how.”
“Oh, please, make me come.” She looked at him, her eyes hooded. “If you can.”
Motherfucking challenge accepted.