Wish I May by Lexi Ryan Read Free Book Online Page A

my heart racing and turn my muscles to jelly. “Me too,” I admit.
    His fingers trace an invisible line two inches up the inside of my leg, and I clench my thighs together instinctively, trapping his hand between my legs.
    “I can stop,” he says in a whisper. 
    “No,” I breathe. I want the opposite, and I force myself to relax, and my legs open to the exploration of his hand.
    “You look amazing in this dress. I love the way it shows off your legs, but it just makes me think of having them wrapped around me.”
    I bury my face in his neck and moan softly, remembering the way he used to touch me. He smells amazing, and his whisper-soft exploration of my thigh sends tiny shivers of pleasure through me.
    His hand slides higher until his fingertips reach the edge of my panties. I almost squeeze my legs together again—not because I want him to stop but because I want his hand there so badly, touching me, exploring me, his fingers sliding into me. 
    “What do these look like?” He traces down the satin center of my panties.
    Oh, God . By some miracle, I’m already ready for his touch. I haven’t been this turned on this quickly since…since William.
    His knuckles brush over me, lightly pressing the soft fabric against my swollen clit. 
    He opens his mouth against my ear and draws my earlobe between his teeth, nipping and sucking. My eyes flutter closed. I want to fall into the pleasure that’s spinning like a cyclone around every nerve ending, and I’m almost afraid of how quickly he has me falling into it.
    I rock into his hand instinctively. “Touch me.”
    “Tell me,” he whispers. He makes wicked little circles on my panties. “What do they look like?” 
    This desire clawing at me is madness. At this moment, I would do anything to get him to slide under the barrier between us. “They’re black satin.”
    “Mmm, satin. I can tell.” He rewards me by rolling his fingers against the fabric in question.
    Holy shit.
    “What else? How do they look?”
    Under the table, I cling to his forearm as if I’m afraid he might escape. “They’re string bikinis with a little bow at each of my hips.”
    His hand leaves that pulsing, aching spot between my legs to explore the string over my hip, leaving me ready to cry out or beg or both. 
    “God, I bet these are gorgeous on you. If I had you alone, I’d stand you in front of me in nothing these panties and I’d untie them with my teeth.”
    Yes, please .
    I can hardly breathe. I want what he’s describing. More. “Have you thought a lot about getting me alone again?” Drawing back a bit so I can watch his expression, I watch his eyes and wait for the answer I need to hear.
    “Every second since you showed up on my street.”
    “Me too. And before.”
    Heat flares in his eyes. The intensity of his gaze would scare me if I didn’t already trust this man with every inch of my being.
    He presses his mouth against mine as his hand returns between my legs. It’s not a gentle kiss. It’s hard—punishing and demanding—and I need it. I could lose myself here, in this kiss that is equal parts desire, anger, and regret. I could forget who I am, what I’ve done, and become the stroke of tongue against tongue, become the pleasure of his hand working between my legs as I moan into his mouth. 
    He breaks the kiss and leans his forehead against mine. “You feel so damn good.” His hand moves slowly, smoothly.
    How can he affect me so much more than any other man I’ve ever been with? He’s always been the standard by which all other men have been measured and come up short.
    I shouldn’t be here with him. I gave up my right to this seven years ago. I take a long drink of my wine—seeking courage and permission for this evening suspended outside of time and heartbreak. One night. One indulgence.
    I lift my hips off the seat, seeking out his touch.
    “Do you want more?” The words are so low they’re more a vibration against my ear than a