Fat Read Online Free Page B

good in a long time. It was nice to be touched. Held. Treasured.
    I looked up at the stars again.
    “You do that a lot.”
    “What?”
    “Look up at the stars. That’s what you were doing on the roof of The Rooster.”
    “It’s one of my favorite things to do.”
    “Do you know the constellations?”
    “Some of them, but they mostly look like flecks of glitter on velvet. No particular shape, so I can’t really identify them by sight. Like, right there?” I pointed. “That’s the Little Dipper. And that’s all I’ve got.”
    His hands started moving up and down my bare arms slowly, his callused fingers slightly rough. My body responded, I was hyperaware of everything. The hitch in my breath, the breeze on my skin in the wake of his caress, the hard ridge digging into my hip.
    It had been so long since I’d been with someone, I’d forgotten how good this part was—the chase. The build-up where every touch primed you for more. His thumbs brushed the edges of my breasts as he stroked—made me wonder what would happen if I turned into his hand.
    Of course, here on a boat in the middle of the river wasn’t exactly the right place to do that. This was the tease. I braced my hands on his thighs and they were solid as concrete. I repositioned myself, but really it was just an excuse to rub myself against him and offer the best view of my cleavage.
    He grew bolder with his touch, dragging his fingers over my collar bone, down my arm, then back up again. It was a challenge not to arch my back, demand more. I wanted his hands all over me.
    I’d already decided I was going to sleep with him, that was a given. This all felt much too good to deny myself.
    “Your skin is so soft.” He continued in the same, unhurried manner—as if he’d be content to pet me like some kitten all night.
    It was time to up the ante. I’d tell him what I wanted. It was easy for me to do that when I already knew a guy wanted me. I knew all the tricks, all the moves… I played the game of seduction well. As long as it was a guaranteed win.
    I flexed my fingers around his jean-clad thighs, lightly kneading. “And you’re so hard.”
    “Yeah, I am.” His breath was warm against my ear and his stroking stopped.
    I made a small sound of protest, but one arm was around my waist while the other, the one that was between me and the back of the bench, moved so that his hand slid under my dress—hidden by my crinoline.
    To any passerby, we just appeared to be a couple cuddling under the stars.
    But my breath caught in my throat as his hand moved steadily up between my thighs.
    “Do you want this, Claire?”
    Who wouldn’t? “Yes.”
    He was like some kind of magician, dipping his fingers past my panties and moving in a primal rhythm that lit me on fire.
    “I’m going to make you come so hard and long you’ll beg me to stop.”
    “Tell me how.”
    “You like it dirty?” he asked in a low tone.
    Apparently, I did tonight. It was like I was possessed, I wasn’t me. I wasn’t this wanton thing, this woman who let a guy do these things to her in a public place. Or on a first date.
    But I didn’t want to be Claire anyway. I wanted to be the version of Claire I painted up like some goddess of womanhood and confidence. The version I always pretended to be.
    “I like it dirty, I like it clean—I just like it.”
    “You’re so wet and hot. I can’t wait to taste you.” He plunged deeper, his thumb brushing lightly over my clit.
    Shivers of pleasure and anticipation ricocheted through me and I struggled not to buck my hips too obviously.
    “You’re so fucking beautiful.”
    The orgasm that hit me was unexpected and almost uncomfortable. There’d been no long, slow build. No ratcheting up of sensation, it just crashed into me like a wrecking ball. I just shuddered against his hand.
    I knew what had done it, what had pushed me over the edge. His raw confession about how he thought I was beautiful.
    I was so pathetic.
    But Brant