“So…” she began, her fingers twisting together. “What…what happens next?”
The question was so innocent, so utterly trusting, it stole the air from my lungs. I could hardly breathe, the weight of this moment, of her trust, pressing down on me. Every instinct screamed to close the distance and take her right here and now.
But that wasn’t what this was. This was for her. So I decided to go with it, to lead her through it, step by agonizing step.
“Unbutton your blouse,” I said.
Her eyes widened, but her fingers moved to the first button, fumbling before it slipped free. Then the next, and the next, until the fabric fell open to reveal a simple, lace-trimmed camisole beneath. The sight of her skin, pale and smooth in the soft light, made my mouth go dry.
“Good,” I managed. “Now the rest. Take it all off for me.”
It was a slow, mesmerizing striptease born of hesitation, not seduction. The camisole was pulled over her head, her arms crossing self-consciously over her chest for a moment before she forced them to her sides. Her trousers followed, unzipped and pushed down her hips to pool at her feet. She stepped out of them, kicking them aside with a clumsy foot.
And then she stood in the middle of our lavish suite, wearing nothing but a pair of simple white cotton bikini briefs. The stark innocence of the fabric against her lush body was a turn-on in itself. She was breathtaking. All tempting curves, flushed skin, and wide, uncertain eyes.
My gaze locked on her and didn’t let go. Every inch of her called to me—lush curves, soft skin—that perfect mix of innocence and sin.
Her breasts rose and fell with every breath, full and heavy, her nipples already tight from the tension humming betweenus. I could easily imagine the weight of them—the way she’d fit against me like she’d been made for it.
My eyes drifted lower, tracing the curve of her waist, the flare of her hips, the small strip of skin above those ridiculous panties that did nothing to hide how fucking perfect she was. This was a body built for pleasure. For a man’s hands. Formyhands.
“Now what?” she whispered, the words barely audible.
My gaze dropped to the thin cotton straining to contain her. “Have you ever touched yourself, Sutton?”
A violent shake of her head, her eyes going even wider. “No.”
“If it makes you uncomfortable…” I started, ready to call it all off. To pull her into my arms and just hold her.
“No,” she said, her voice gaining a thread of steel. “I want to learn.”
A fresh wave of heat crashed over me. “Then slide your hand into your panties. Find that little swollen nub for me. Can you feel it?”
Her fingers, trembling slightly, slipped beneath the white cotton edge. The sight of her hand disappearing, knowing it was seeking the most intimate part of her, was almost my undoing.
Her breath hitched, a sharp, sweet little gasp, and her eyelids fluttered shut for a moment before opening again, dazed. She nodded—a slow, wondrous dip of her chin.
“Now rub it. Slowly. Just for yourself.”
I watched, mesmerized, as her arm began to move, a subtle, rhythmic motion beneath the fabric. Her head tilted back, exposing the long, elegant line of her throat. A soft, shuddering sigh escaped her parted lips, and the sound went straight to my cock. This was the most erotic thing I’d ever witnessed—this beautiful, untouched woman bravely pleasuring herself at my command.
“Are you wet, sweetheart?”
She nodded again, and a breathy, “Uh-huh,” sighed out of her, a sound of pure, unadulterated sensation.
As her fingers worked their magic, her eyes, heavy-lidded with newfound pleasure, found mine. The uncertainty was gone, replaced by a smoky, focused intensity. A loose wave of her hair fell across her cheek, catching the light, and she didn’t brush it away. She was too lost in the feeling, her expression a perfect blend of concentration and bliss.
“Your turn,” she breathed, her voice thick and breathless. “Undress.”
Her voice wasn’t a request—it was a command. My body obeyed before my mind caught up, heat sparking through me like a live wire.
I didn’t rush. Control was half the thrill. One button. Then another. Slow, deliberate. I watched her watching me. Her gaze dragged over my chest, down my abs, lingering on the flex of muscle in my arms as I let the shirt slide off and hit the floor.
The way she looked at me—hungry, curious, and unsure whether to move closer or run—lit me up from the inside. Her attention was fire, and I wanted to burn in it.
I stood then, unfastening my pants and shoving them down, along with my boxer briefs, in one decisive movement. My erection sprang free, thick and aching, the tip already glistening. I froze at the flicker of doubt—was it too much, too soon?
That doubt vanished with her next words. “Touch yourself,” she said, her gaze locked on the hard evidence of my need.
