Page 80 of Wraith

When I pull back, her pupils are blown wide and her breathing has gone shallow.

“Come here,” I say, and I pull her into the changing room I just vacated.

She follows willingly. I close the door behind us and flip the flimsy latch. The space is barely big enough for two people, nothing except a narrow bench against one wall and a mirror that’s seen better decades. The fluorescent light overhead flickers once, twice, then steadies.

“Wraith,” she says, and her voice is breathless. “We‘re in a store.”

“I know.” I glance at the door, at the gap at the bottom. I can’t see anyone. Can’t hear anything except the distant hum of the lights and our breathing. “The girl at the counter can’t hear anything with those headphones.”

June’s eyes go to the door, then back to me. I can see her weighing it all: the risk, the impropriety, the chance of getting caught.

Then she smiles. That dangerous smile that New June wears when she’s about to do something reckless and irresponsible in equal measure. Possibly with a whip in her hand.

“What did you have in mind?”

“I’m hungry,” I say, dropping to my knees in front of her. The carpet is thin and rough against my knees, but I don’t care. “I want a snack before our date.”

Her breath catches. “Dylan...”

I slide my hands up her legs, pushing the dress higher, exposing her thighs. She’s wearing the same panties from this morning — plain cotton, nothing special, but the sight of them makes my cock harden against my new slacks.

I hook my fingers into the waistband and pull them down slowly. She steps out of them and I pocket them because I can, because I want to, because having them in my pocket during dinner will drive me insane in the best way.

Then I lean forward and press my mouth against her pussy.

She makes a sound that is something between a gasp and a moan, and her hand flies to her mouth to muffle it. Her other hand finds my hair, fingers threading through it, gripping hard enough to hurt.

I take my time.

Lick her slowly, thoroughly, tasting her arousal mixed with the faint remnants of this morning’s shower. She’s already wet, already responding, and I work her with my tongue the way I’ve learned she likes, in circles around her clit, then direct pressure, then back to circling.

Her hips roll against my face.

She’s trying to stay quiet, but small sounds keep escaping, little breathy whimpers and gasps that she can’t quite contain. I look up and see her watching me in the mirror, her eyes half-lidded, her face flushed, one hand still pressed to her mouth while the other grips my hair like an anchor.

I slide two fingers inside her, and her knees buckle slightly.

I hold her up with my free hand on her hip, keeping her steady while I fuck her with my fingers and suck her clit.

“Dylan,” she breathes against her palm. “Oh, fuck, Dylan, I’m going to come.”

She comes hard, her pussy clenching around my fingers, her whole body going taut and then releasing. I lick her through it, drawing it out, making it last until she’s pushing at my head because it’s too much.

I stand and her hands are immediately on my belt, fumbling with the buckle, urgent and clumsy. She gets it open and shoves my slacks down along with my boxers, and my cock springs free, hard and aching.

She drops to her knees.

“I need to suck your cock,” she says, her voice nothing more than a breath.

The first touch of her mouth makes me close my eyes. Hot and wet and perfect, her tongue swirling around the head before she takes me deeper. I brace one hand against the mirror and look down at her, look at this beautiful woman in a sundress on her knees in a changing room, taking my cock into her throat like she’s starving for it.

I thread my fingers through her hair, guiding her rhythm, not forcing but directing.

She follows my lead, taking me deeper, hollowing her cheeks on the upstroke.

When she looks up at me with those hazel eyes, still taking me in her mouth, I nearly lose it right there.

“Stop,” I say, my voice rough. “Stand up.”