Till Summer Do Us Part(89)

Oh, God, these questions are not what I was expecting.

“And don’t tell me you don’t masturbate. That’s a lie,” he says.

“I wouldn’t say that.” I give it some thought. “Umm, I don’t think I think about anything. I kind of just go for it and let my body feel the pleasure. That’s pretty much it.”

“And how do you masturbate?”

“You can’t ask two questions.”

He flashes the card to me. “It’s on the card.”

Damn it.

“Um, I mean, with my fingers.”

“That’s it?” he asks. “You don’t watch anything?”

I shake my head. “No, I like playing with my nipples first, teasing myself. And then I work my hand down between my legs where I’m ready, and then I just…circle around, you know?”

He slowly nods, wetting his lips. “Yup, I do fucking know.”

The way he’s looking at me—it’s dangerous. Very dangerous. So dangerous that I fear what it might be like when we get back to the cabin.

I pick up a card and read him the next question. “Would you prefer to be loud when having sex or quiet, as if you’re pretending that no one can hear you?”

“Loud,” he answers and then drinks. “I want everyone around me knowing that I’m fucking my girl, that she’s having a good time…and that she’s coming on my cock, because that’s how my girls come.”

Well…there you have it. He’s fulfilling my sexual fantasy with other people. Then again, I would have easily guessed that Wilder is the kind of guy who can make that happen. Just from the way he pulls on that lip ring, I can tell that he has the moves, the swagger that makes a woman lose all control when he’s inside her.

And yup…there I go, throbbing again.

I clear my throat. “That’s, uh, that’s really good to know. Happy for you.”

“Thanks,” he says and picks up another card just as a second round of drinks is dropped off at our table. “Is spanking something you’d like to try with me?”

My eyes widen from the thought.

Try with…me.

Why does that feel like an invitation?

“Uh, I don’t know. Remember, standards are low. I’d just like to orgasm at this point.”

He sets the card down, looking incredibly disgruntled.

Not wanting to dive into those feelings, I pick up a card and read it out loud. “What color underwear would you like to see me in?”

“None,” he answers without skipping a beat. “Absolutely none.”

“Oh—”

He leans in and says, “And I’d want you to tease me about it. I’d want you to be wearing a short skirt with no underwear and then come up to me in my office or while I was on the phone and bend over right in front of me. I’d want to see everything, Scottie. Fucking everything. I’d want you to torture me with the knowledge that you’re not wearing underwear, to the point that I could not do anything about it until many hours later.”

Wow.

That humid summer air is pumping.

“Um—”

“And when I did get a chance to take care of it, I’d keep you bent over, spank that fine ass of yours, and then bury myself between your legs until you’re coming…on…my…thick…long…pierced cock.”

Dear God in heaven. Is it…is it hot in here?

Because I’m hot. Is anyone else hot?

I need a fan.

Did he just say pierced?

I think he said pierced.

He downs the rest of his drink and then says, “Your turn.”

My turn?

He expects me to just answer a question after he announced to the table that he’s pierced down below? Does he really think I can just function? As if everything is okay?

Because it’s not.

Everything is not okay.

I have questions.

Serious questions.

Like…where exactly is he pierced? Does he like it? Does it feel good for him? Would it feel good for…other people? Why did he decide to share that private information?

Why is he looking at me right now as if he could put me on this table and…eat me?

“How’s it going over here?” Sanders asks, startling me.

“Fine,” I yelp. “Fine. Everything is fine.”

“Really? You seem a little jumpy.”

“No, not jumpy.” I push my hair behind my ears.

Just turned on and questioning every choice I’ve made leading up to this point.

“She does seem a little jumpy, doesn’t she?” Wilder asks. “I think it’s the questions that are making her jumpy.”

“Ah, yes, I can imagine. Which one did you just answer?”

“What color underwear I like her best in,” Wilder answers, clearly not caring at all about privacy. “Of course, it’s a clear-cut answer. None. Then I went into detail about a scenario I’ve thought about when she’s not wearing any underwear.”

Sanders chuckles. “Hence the jumpiness.”

“I’m not jumpy,” I defend.

“Seems like you’re jumpy,” Wilder presses. “Not sure she could handle my suggestion of what she’d do with no underwear.”