My Cone and Only (King Family #1) - Susannah Nix Page 0,74

there, her hand came to a stop. Simultaneously relieved and disappointed, I let out a long, shaky breath.

As soon as I let my guard down, Andie squeezed my thigh again, her fingers digging in hard enough to make me see stars as her hand grazed my dick.

My spine went rigid and I dropped a hand in my lap to cover hers, seizing it mid-stroke and holding it still. Andie didn’t move, or look at me, or in any way acknowledge what we were doing. She kept right on talking to her friends while my hand held her hand on top of my dick.

My heart hammered as my better angels warred with the devil inside me. I couldn’t have told you what Andie’s friends were talking about if my life depended on it. I just kept nodding vaguely and hoped to hell no one asked me anything.

Andie’s fingers pressed down, and the devil kicked those angels to the curb. Swallowing a rush of saliva, I let go of her hand.

Glutton for punishment? Hell yeah, that’s me.

Her gaze drifted my way, and she smiled slightly—mischief glinting in her eyes—before turning back to her friends. Slowly, so no one would see her arm moving, she stroked her fingers over me.

A bead of sweat formed at my hairline, and I reached up to wipe it away. She rubbed harder, and I gritted my teeth, forcing out a long breath through my nose.

“You okay?” she asked mercilessly, turning her gaze on me again. “You look a little flushed.”

“I’m great.” My voice was so rough it was almost a growl.

“Here, have my water,” Kaylee said sweetly. “You’re probably dehydrated from all that sweating you did onstage.”

“Thanks.” My fingers clenched around the plastic bottle she pushed toward me, nearly crushing it before I managed to check myself. Carefully, trying not to let my hands visibly shake, I unscrewed the lid and took a drink.

I nearly choked to death when Andie curled her fingers and dragged her knuckles over my cock. Coughing, I reached up to wipe my mouth as every eye at the table glanced my way.

“Pardon me,” I rasped into my hand, my face reddening as Andie ruthlessly continued to rub me. Heat streaked up my spine, crackling like electricity as the pressure built inside me, and I shifted my leg, unable to keep still.

Andie watched me as she pressed even harder, and I had to bite down on my tongue to keep from groaning.

Fortunately, somebody chose that moment to climb up on one of the nearby tables and dance along with the song playing over the sound system. Everyone at our table turned to watch and egg him on.

Thank the sweet baby Jesus, because I couldn’t hide my full-body shudder as Andie’s hand moved faster, her lips parting and her eyes darkening as they stared into mine. I was about to go out of my mind from the tension scraping through my veins like ground glass.

Before I lost it and jizzed in my pants at the table, I hauled myself out of my seat, muttering an excuse about needing to take a leak as I tried to hide the raging bulge in my pants.

Stumbling inside the bar’s cramped interior, I made my way down the dingy back hall that led to the restrooms. Instead of going into the men’s room, I pushed out the back door and into the loading zone beside the dumpster.

I sagged against the wall, trying to calm my breathing as I conjured a series of unsexy images to alleviate my current physical predicament. People chewing with their mouths open. My stepmother’s spandex yoga outfits. The vomit and urine stains painting the side of the dumpster next to me. That one nearly did the trick until the door swung open, and Andie stepped outside.

I tossed her a glare as she let the heavy metal door slam behind her. “Are you trying to kill me?”

Her mouth quirked. “Maybe.”

She took a step toward me, and I held up my hand. “Don’t you dare.”

Ignoring me, she slipped her arms around my waist and pressed her lips to the base of my throat. “I hated that fucking song,” she growled into my neck.

“Which one?”

Her teeth bit into my skin hard enough to make me twitch. “You know which one.”

I had a guess. “‘Are You Gonna Be My Girl?’”

The song I’d sung while looking at that college kid, Hannah. The one with the lyrics that sounded like I was hitting on her, even though it had been