Good Girl Page 23

I’m guessing it’s the latter.

Because Jenny is lying on her back, the sheets bunched down around her hips, her hand inside her little sleep shorts.

My cock goes from half-mast to full hard-on in half a second, because I’ve never seen anything half as hot as this blond princess touching herself while thinking of me.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see her dopey little dog giving me a curious look from a pink dog bed in the corner, and I say a silent prayer of thanks that the dog doesn’t sleep on Jenny’s bed, because in about five seconds there’s only going to be room for two of us.

She doesn’t register my presence until I’m standing beside her bed, and then she gasps in surprise as her eyes fly open.

She freezes, her entire body stiffening, the small circular motion of her hand halting. I’m glad. I want to be there when she goes over the edge.

It’s too dark to tell, but I’m guessing she’s blushing, probably embarrassed as hell at being caught, and I don’t give a shit.

I lower myself to the bed, and she doesn’t move as I stretch out beside her. I don’t touch her. Not at first. I prop my head on my hand, my eyes trailing over her curves until my gaze comes to rest on that naughty hand.

I drag my gaze back up to hers. “Are you wet right now, Jenny Dawson?”

She gasps a little at my words, jerking her hand all the way out of her shorts, even as her hips arch in protest.

“What are you doing here?” she whispers.

I ignore the idiotic question as I smooth my palm over her hip. “My question first, princess.”

She bites her lip, and it’s all I can do not to roll on top of her, rip off those tiny shorts, and bury myself inside her.

I lower my head, my lips trailing over her neck before I bite her softly. “Be a good girl now, Jenny. Tell me the truth. Are…” I slide my hand down the side of her hip. “…you…” My hand slides forward and down until I’m palming the smooth, silky skin of her inner thigh. “…wet?” My thumb slides up and I let it hover near her but not actually touching her, and she makes a keening noise of want.

I make a rough sound in the back of my throat. “Well then. I guess I’ll have to find out for myself.”

My hand moves back up, fingers grazing the curve of her stomach before sliding under the silky fabric of her panties to the even silkier skin beneath.

“As I expected,” I whisper against her neck. “Soaking wet.”

She doesn’t reply, her eyes fluttering closed and her breathing quickening as I slowly stroke her, my fingers gliding easily against her wet flesh.

“Whose fingers do you like better, Jenny?”

She doesn’t respond, and I move my hand back slightly, denying her contact. “Jenny. Whose fingers?”

The greedy little wench arches her hips, but I resist, not giving her what she needs until she gives me the words I need.

Her body tells me she wants me, but I need to hear her say it.

“Come on,” I breathe against her throat, trailing soft kisses there. “You can do it.”

I suck on her neck, hard, and she cries out.

“Yours,” she gasps. “I like your fingers better.”

“That’s a good girl,” I say, my fingers resuming their exploration of her hot center.

I haven’t enjoyed fingering a girl this much since junior high, and I take my time figuring out what she likes. Two fingers circling her clit makes her pant, but those same two fingers deep inside her make her moan.

I alternate between the two, keeping her just on the edge but not letting her go over.

My mouth waters with the need to taste her, but when I start to pull my hand away to go down on her, she grabs my wrist, nails digging into my skin. “Noah. Please. I need—”

My name on her lips nearly destroys me, somehow far more intimate than her slickness all over my fingers, and I have a definite oh fuck moment as reality sets in.

I’m messing with a girl I have no business messing with, a girl whose every whimper sounds innocent as fuck, who, despite her current reputation, doesn’t seem the least bit skilled in seduction.

But an ugly thought has planted itself.

Other guys have done this.

And while I have absolutely zero issues with Jenny Dawson hooking up with whoever the hell she wants, the stab of possessive jealousy is bitter and foreign in my mouth.

The fact that other guys have touched her like this and heard those breathy little moans sends a surge of jealous rage through me, something far more intense than the sting of Yvonne cheating on me.

The realization of just how much pull this girl has on me makes me a little bit mean. Meaner, I should say, since I’ve not been exactly kind in my effort to keep her at arm’s length.

“What do you need?” I demand, my wrist easily resisting her efforts to push my hand back to her. “You need my fingers on you? In you?”

“Yes!” She arches, too far gone to play coy anymore.

Still I press her, wanting to punish her for making me desire her the way I do. “You like when I fuck you with my fingers?” I ask crudely before sliding two fingers back inside her, hard.

Jenny gasps as I slick my fingers in and out of her without mercy.

“What about this?” I ask, sliding a third finger into her slowly.

She gasps again in shock. I sit back slightly so I can watch her face, watching for that ecstatic place between pleasure and pain, knowing from the wild, desperate look on her face that I’ve found it.

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