Her Teddy Bear #2 by Mimi Strong Read Free Book Online Page A

show suite, on the dresser, as strangers were milling around downstairs. Trevor. Fingering me on my own desk, in my office, where I work, and making me come.
    Unfortunately, my hands didn't have that same magic his did, and I couldn't get off. I rolled onto my stomach, driving my mound harder and harder into my fingers, but it only started to sting and not feel good. There was nothing I could do to give me the satisfaction I craved, so I rolled out of bed, threw on some clothes from the floor, and crept out of the house.

    “This is crazy,” I told myself as I drove into the half-circle driveway that looped at the front of Trevor's huge house in the suburbs. “I should go home.”
    Instead, I parked the car and walked up to his front door.
    I didn't ring the doorbell, because the lights were out and I wasn't sure if his ex-wife was still staying at the house or not. I did not want to see her, not tonight, not with me in my sweatpants, there in the middle of the night for a booty call, of all the things.
    I had texted Trevor when I got in my car, so he knew I was coming, and I texted him again.
    Two long minutes later, he opened the door.
    Completely naked.
    With a semi-firm erection.
    He threw the door open wide, for anyone to see, and said, “Naomi! You came over!”
    “You're drunk.”
    “I had a few.” He waved me in.
    I came in, feeling both uncomfortable and a little excited. As he grabbed me and kissed me roughly, his penis got even more firm, pressing into my stomach. I grabbed his shaft with my hand and squeezed it. Oh, yeah, that was what I wanted.
    He said, “You want some wine? You have to catch up with me. Come to my room! I have wine!”
    “I bet you do.” I glanced around, annoyed to see women's shoes strewn about the foyer. His ex-wife. And where was she at the moment? In bed? Had she been responsible for his drunken state?
    Trevor tried to pick me up, but I told him I didn't feel safe going up the stairs in his arms when he was inebriated.
    “I'm not,” he pointed a finger at me, a wavering finger, “I'm not ineb-eb-eb-ated.”
    I smacked him on the ass and said, “Let's see if you can still fuck when you're drunk.”
    He gasped, his mouth making an exaggerated O shape. “Naomi! You are talking so dirty. I like you.” He nuzzled my hair and tried to kiss me.
    I grabbed his hand and led him up the stairs.

    True to his word, Trevor did have wine in his room. And beer. And scotch.
    I didn't want to be stone-cold sober while he was having so much fun, so I poured a few glugs of scotch into a glass and tossed it back. And then again.
    The scotch in my stomach radiated with warmth, filling me with golden light. I was starting to like scotch.
    Trevor lay back on his bed, spread-eagle. “Come sit on me,” he said. “Sit anywhere.”
    I poured some wine from the open bottle into a glass—his dresser had been turned into a makeshift bar, complete with an ice bucket, and some chips and pretzels—and had a sip.
    Within a few minutes, I had a nice buzz, and Trevor's drunken actions weren't as comical, but seemed sweet and funny.
    He stared, wide-eyed, as I stripped for him, peeling off my sweatpants, T-shirt, and sports bra as though they were made of silk and sequins.
    “Damn,” he said, his deep voice sending shivers up and down my spine.
    I climbed onto his four-poster bed from the bottom, and I remembered that thing he'd wanted me to do.
    I turned around, showing him my ass, which he began to gratefully squeeze.
    His feet were clean and smelled good, and the idea of making him moan sent more shivers through me. I deliberately ran my tongue along the top of his foot, through the dark curls, and then sucked the tip of his toe. He squirmed with pleasure underneath me.
    “Damn.”
    I sucked the toe harder, taking it all into my mouth. I was on my hands and knees, facing his feet, and at the same time, he moved one of his hands off my ass cheek and dragged a finger down my aching crease, through my