Her back arches off the mattress when I add another finger.
“You feel so fucking good,” I rasp, plunging my fingers in and out of her.Again and again.
“Softer or harder?” I ask, having kept my pace gentle.
“Harder,” she moans.
Oh, Christ. That one word, raw and atavistic, slams into me, sending my blood into a full boil. I drive my fingers into her, harder and faster. She bucks her hips, chasing every thrust,pulling me deeper and deeper into her heat.
She’s moaning and rocking, her breasts bouncing. One hand fists in my hair, and the other clutches the sheets—unrestrained, holding nothing back.
It’s a thing of beauty, seeing her so wildly turned on. I pump my fingers again, pushing her toward the edge. Then in a deliberate stroke to take her over, my thumb grazes her clit.
“Chaz!” My name explodes from the back of her throat—that tight, swollen knot beneath my touch begging for release.
Sweat trickles down my back, determined to give her this. I increase the pressure. Her body trembles and strains, reaching for it. Her breath spills out in husky exhales. She’s so close I can feel her teetering on the brink.
And then it’s gone—a bucket of ice water dousing the flames. Her body stiffens, going rigid in a way I recognize from before. Her hand grabs my wrist.
“Lex?”
“Stop. Please.” Her voice quivers, breaking something in me. I pull back instantly.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers.
“It’s okay, Blue. Come here.” I pull the comforter over us and draw her into my arms. She curls into a ball, small against my chest.
It wasn’t a panic attack this time, but the fallout feels just as heavy. She’d been right there with me, so open and trusting, giving herself so freely. And I still couldn’t help her win that battle.
Holding her close, I run my hand in slow, soothing strokes along her back. Rationally, I know this isn’t about me beingunable to satisfy her. It’s not some blow to my ego, but it is a blow to my heart. I hate that she’s disappointed and hurting. I hate that she blames herself. I hate that she feels broken, and I couldn’t show her that she’s not.
Lexie shifts, looking up with an anguished expression, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.
“I’m sorry,” she says again, a single drop spilling over onto her cheek.
I catch it with my thumb. “There’s nothing to be sorry for, Lex.”
“Don’t tell me you’re not disappointed. I won’t believe you.”
“Of course, I’m disappointed. I wanted to give you that. But touching you, making you feel good—that doesn’t always have to end in an orgasm.”
“But it never does. I thought it would be different this time. It felt right. I wasn’t in my head. It was there, so close, and then it just disappeared. Maybe it’s hopeless.”
“I don’t believe that. This is all still new. It might take more time and practice. I’m all for that. I’ll train like it’s the Olympics.”
She gives me that withering look.
“I’ve got more than just these fingers. I’ll show you my other talents next time. Figure out what works for you.”
“Your fingers weren’t the problem.” Her voice goes quiet. “Trying just might frustrate us both.”
“Only if we make it all about that. Did you like me touching you?”
“I loved it.”
“Then that’s all that matters. The rest willcome.” I shoot her a wink, pleased with my pun.
She shakes her head, but her smile is real. Then, as if her mind has shifted again, she lets out a frustrated groan. “Ugh! I should’ve just faked it. Saved us both the trouble.”
