Chapter 29 (Museum Scene)

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I’m in awe of his incredible talent for looking perfectly angelic even in his most devilish moments. But not so much that I don’t feel his slim and fluid fingers quickly move aside my panties. Not really, huh? He wouldn’t do that. Not here. Not with all of these people in front of us. Not when the lights could flip on at any moment. He wouldn’t dar—ah!

I suck my lip in as his finger finds its warm home inside of me, once again proving just how daring he is.

I squirm a little in my seat and chew on my top lip in an attempt to stay quiet. My wide-eyed gaze darts over to his profile and I swear I see a slight smile drawing his lips upward through the flicker of the projector screen. He has his other arm resting on the armrest with his fist pressed lightly to his mouth appearing deeply engrossed in the film before us.

I open my mouth to whisper for him to knock it off but before I can get a word out, he begins to lightly stroke me from the inside with his finger and I have to snap my lips close for fear of what may come out if I try and tell him off. I place a hand over my mouth as I shift a little, hoping to get him to move without being obvious. But this only makes that tiny smirk on his lips grow. I’m hardly prepared when he quickly pushes his long middle finger in right beside his index one and I literally bite my finger to keep from screaming out.

I hate him. Man, I hate him and those stupid magic fingers. It sometimes annoys the crap out of me how I can’t deny him. I would never let this happen with anyone else. I mean really? Getting fingered in a museum in a room full of people? Nun-uh. I don’t do things like that. This for people who don’t practice self-control. For people who are too stupid to wait until they get home.

That’s my stance on such behavior.

So then…why are my eyes closing as I suck my lip into my mouth? Why are my knees gently falling apart to allow for better access inside of me? Why is the fact that anyone could turn around and catch us causing a crazy rush of excitement to course through me instead of the horror that would have only weeks ago?

More importantly: Why am I so crazy over this guy?

He speeds up the rhythm of the slow and even strokes of his fingers, this time pumping them in and out of me hastily. I lean my head back against the seat and scrunch my eyes close. It feels incredible. Just like everything he does to me physically always does. Like he just reached up and snatched a miniscule corner of heaven down and wound it around his hand just for my benefit.

He stops suddenly, much to my utter dismay. I bite my lip hard to keep in the quiet whine that almost slipped out.

But he doesn’t leave me waiting for long.

A split second later, he pulls out before pushing his two fingers in as deep as he can go from his position beside me. Just as fast, he curls his fingers harshly within, doing ‘come hither’ gestures inside of my being. I feel that now familiar wet and hot feeling building up down there. I feel the knot inside of my stomach. He has such great hands. Man hands rock.

I suck in my lip hard as my eyes tighten even more, not even the flickering light of the video able to slither its way into my vision.

Then Michael leans over and places his mouth almost directly on my ear as though innocently making a comment on the movie like he sometimes does. But what he says is anything but innocent and has me soaking all over his hand.

One simple command. “Come.”

 

And I do. Right there in that seat. Right there behind two row-fulls of his people. Right there on his hand. Just because he told me to. Just because he is my addiction and just because I’d do anything for him. I’m so strung out.

I can’t bite back the slightly guttural moan that escapes me just as I let go. Michael chooses that exact moment to swiftly pull his fingers free of my warmth and release a series of soft coughs to conceal my sound of pleasure. A couple of his employees glance back at him just as the credits come on and Duvall flicks the lights back to their natural illumination. He waves away their prying eyes and moves to stand up as they follow suit.

They exit the rows before us while I sit there trying to catch my breath and wrap my head around the whole new identity I’ve taken on ever since I began this program.

As Michael slides out in front of me to leave the third row, he glances down and winks a chocolate eye at me. He’s sporting that little smirk he always gets right after he’s played a prank on me. Kind of smug. Kind of sweet. So him.

“I told you, you shouldn’t have put on that skirt, girl.” He grins, removes his right hand from his pocket, sucks on his index finger, and swaggers smoothly to the door behind his posse, whistling a merry little tune under his freakin’ breath.

“Oh, this so isn’t over.” I mutter.

I gather the few strands left of my dignity, stuff them securely in my pocket, and follow behind.

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