The Scumbag's Guide To Heroism novel Chapter 425

Chapter 425: 425 | It’s Leverage

I got a hand under her thigh, palm on skin above the boot, and slid it up until the pleated skirt gave way and gathered. She was warm. She was shaking. She was also glaring at me from four inches away like she intended to file a complaint about it.

"Tell me to stop."

"No."

"Say the words."

"I don’t want you to stop." She said it flat and then heard how it sounded and her whole face went crimson to the hairline. "Obviously I don’t want you to stop, I have been thinking about your hands specifically, do you understand how much that has cost me in productivity."

"You’ve been keeping a number."

"Of course I’ve been keeping a number." Her legs came up and locked around the back of my thighs. "Eleven hours. Approximately. Distributed across nineteen nights."

I laughed against her mouth and she bit my lower lip for it, hard, and then made a broken little sound when my hand went the rest of the way up.

Lace. Expensive, soaked through, and the second my knuckles brushed it her spine arched off the table and every ounce of Lang composure in the building evacuated the premises.

"Ah. Ahhn. Mm, ah, wait, wait, I need to." Her nails went into my shoulders through the shirt. "I need to know that this isn’t."

"It isn’t."

"You don’t know what I was going to say."

"You were going to ask if this is because of what you did in the meeting." I pushed the lace aside and she made a sound with no consonants in it at all. "It’s not. This has been on the table since Building C and you know it, you’ve had a number for it. Eleven hours."

"That was distributed."

"Distributed."

"Nnh, fuck, don’t stop doing that, don’t, mmm."

She got loud. That was the thing nobody would have predicted about Petra Lang from watching her sit in the top row with her planner closed. She got loud and completely unguarded, high broken little cries with her forehead against my collarbone and her hips chasing my hand, and the table creaked under her every time she moved, and about ninety seconds in she stopped forming words in English entirely and switched to something that might have been French.

Maribelle had said this room was soundproofed. I remember being extremely grateful to Maribelle.

"Belmont. Belmont, I’m." Her thighs clamped. Her voice broke into pieces on the second syllable of my name. "Ah, ah, hah, I’m going to."

"Look at me."

"I can’t."

"Look at me."

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