The Scumbag's Guide To Heroism novel Chapter 360

Chapter 360: 360 | This Was About Want

My hands had been behaving themselves on her waist. That needed to change.

I slid them down, over the curve of her hips, under the hem of her bunched-up skirt. The stockings were softer than I’d expected, smooth synthetic warmth stretched over the firm muscle of her thighs. I traced higher, found the edge where stocking met bare skin, and heard her moan into my mouth when my fingers crossed that boundary.

"Ahh... yes..."

Her ass filled my palms like it had been designed to fit there. Round and firm from conditioning sessions, soft enough to give when I squeezed, covered by nothing but thin cotton underwear that was already damp against my knuckles. I kneaded the flesh, spread her cheeks slightly, felt her grind down harder against the growing bulge in my shorts.

"God, Lukas..." She was panting now, grinding against me with a rhythm that was getting increasingly desperate. "Your hands feel so good..."

I squeezed harder. She moaned louder.

On screen, the Tokyo hero team was probably doing something dramatic. I couldn’t have told you what if my life depended on it. My entire existence had narrowed to the weight of Felicity Hardy in my lap, the heat of her center grinding against my cock, the sounds she made when I touched her exactly right.

"Haah... haah..." Her breathing had gone ragged, each exhale punctuated by a soft sound somewhere between a moan and a whimper. "Don’t stop... don’t you dare stop..."

I pulled her ass forward, changing the angle of her grind, and she practically collapsed against me. Her forehead fell to my shoulder, her hips moving in tight little circles that rubbed her clit against my shaft through our clothes.

"Mmmnnn..." The moan came out muffled against my neck. "Right there... just like that..."

I could feel how wet she was getting. The dampness had soaked through her underwear, creating a slick friction that made every movement feel like too much and not enough at the same time. Her hands clutched at my shoulders like she’d fall if she let go.

"Felicity." My voice came out rough, barely recognizable. "Look at me."

She lifted her head. In the flickering light her face was flushed, her lips swollen from kissing, her eyes glazed with something that had nothing to do with the movie playing behind us. Her blonde ponytail had come loose, sending strands of golden hair across her cheeks and into her mouth.

She was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.

"You’re so pretty when you’re desperate," I said.

"Shut up." But she was grinning, breathless and wild. "You’re one to talk. I can feel how hard you are."

"Your fault."

"God, I hope so."

She kissed me again, hungrier than before, and her hips started moving faster. The wet sounds of her grinding against me mixed with her moans, with my groans, with the distant soundtrack of heroic bullshit that neither of us cared about anymore.

I’d known Felicity Hardy was dangerous. I hadn’t known she was this kind of dangerous. The kind that made you forget about consequences, about complications, about the girlfriend waiting in her room at eight o’clock with instructions to wear something she could take off.

The Temptation Gauge pulsed in my peripheral vision. I didn’t look at the number. I didn’t need to. I could feel it climbing with every sound she made, every desperate grind of her hips, every time her breath caught on my name. The way her wetness had started to soak through the thin fabric separating us. The way her whole body trembled like she was on the edge of something she couldn’t control.

My hands slid under the skirt again, palms splaying wide against bare skin. Squeezing. Spreading. Pulling her down harder against me as I thrust up into the friction.

"Fuck!" The word burst out of her, high and desperate. Her nails carved lines down my chest through the shirt, and her head tipped back as her spine arched. "Right there... don’t stop... please don’t stop..."

I wasn’t planning to.

"Lukas..." Her voice had gone tight, strained. "I’m... oh god, I’m getting close..."

Already? We’d barely done anything. Just grinding and groping in a dark theater like teenagers who’d never learned about privacy or patience.

But when I looked at her face, at the way her features had twisted with pleasure and desperation, I realized this wasn’t about technique. This was about want. Felicity Hardy had wanted this, wanted me, for weeks. Every casual touch in the hallway. Every territorial claim on the seat beside mine. Every loaded comment and meaningful glance and carefully constructed excuse to be near me.

It had all been building to this. And now that she finally had what she wanted, her body was responding like a dam breaking.