Page 49
“Oh. Right,” she says with a smile.
“Your dress tonight reminds me of the pirate wench one,” I remark.
She glances down then nods. “Yeah, it sort of does look like it.”
“And it’s even darker in here than it was at the party that night,” I point out.
“Uh-huh,” she replies while biting her bottom lip. “But after getting caught last night, we shouldn’t…”
“We shouldn’t,” I agree since that’s the morally, lawful right thing to say. But then I slip my fingertips up the back of her smooth thigh underneath her skirt. “But I really want to.”
“You do?” Maggie asks sounding surprised. “Even after…”
“Yes.”
She doesn’t say another word, just takes my hand and pulls me toward the back of the club, through the crowd of people. I see the perfect spot, a sofa in front of one of the mirrored columns. It’s perfect actually.
I take a seat and Maggie sits down on my lap a little too hard, making me groan. Then she gets to work fixing her skirt to drape it over our thighs and up to my stomach.
Leaning her head back on my shoulder, she says, “Hurry.”
When I lift my hips to retrieve a condom from my pocket, she gasps.
It takes longer than it should to lower my zipper and roll the rubber on, since I can’t help but tease her a little with my fingers, running one along the string of her thong. I love watching her face in the mirror as she squirms.
Once I’m finally ready, I tug her panties aside and line myself up. Maggie sinks down onto me, taking me so damn good, slick and tight.
“Perfect,” I choke out. “You’re fucking perfect,” I tell her.
It takes me a moment to get control of myself, then I grip her hips and guide her movements while thrusting up into her.
The music drowns out our moans and the sound of our bodies slapping together faster and faster.
When I pull on Maggie’s braid to kiss her neck, she leans her back against my chest, wrapping her arms up and around my neck. I watch in the mirror as the pleasure takes over her face. She rides me so good I don’t give a shit if anyone sees us.
“Yes, yes, yes,” she cries out as her body clenches around mine with her release. “I wanted it to be you that night,” she whispers breathlessly.
My hands tighten on her hips.
“What?”
Maggie turns her face toward mine, flushed, wrecked, and beautiful.
“At the Halloween party…I pretended it was you. I always wanted it to be you,” she admits.
My forehead falls against her shoulder as the confession slams into me.
Jesus Christ.
All those years. All those missed chances.
For a second, the music, the club, the people around us all disappear.
Ten years.
Ten years of wanting her and trying not to.
And all this time, she’d wanted me too.
