She reached again for his cock, her fingers brushing against his member, now at a point of sensitivity hitherto unknown to him. Stars flooded his vision.
He grabbed her wrist.
“No. Not me. This is for you.”
Her eyes widened at this proclamation. But she didn’t object. Instead, she stilled. Waiting for him.
He reached for her skirts, pulling up her thin dress and petticoat, and then finding her chemise and lifting it likewise.
When his fingertips grazed over her bare thighs, he felt himself almost spend. But he gritted his teeth and held back. He knew there was no way he was leaving this encounter without spilling, his senses were too heightened, it had been too long—but he wouldn’t let himself yet.
When he realized that she wasn’t wearing drawers, he nearly wept. Instead, he felt her soft curls and heard her gasp. She spread her legs, just slightly, at the contact.
Good god, she was soaking wet. He bit back a sound that, he was sure, if he had let himself emit it, would have been scarcely human. Instead, he delved into her, gently stroking that desperate, wet place he had found.
Olivia moaned and steadied herself against his shoulder.
“Does that please you?” he said, still just stroking her languidly, not trying to elicit any particular reaction from her, not trying—yet—togoanywhere.
She murmured an incoherent assent and closed her eyes, her head resting against the back of the tree.
Montaigne continued stroking her, reaching deeper as he did so and feeling her open for him. Soon, he was fairly fucking her with his fingers, sliding in and out of her. From the sounds that she made, he knew she was enjoying the sensation. He gloried in watching her and he found self-possession through it—he could forget his own frenzy when he touched her.
Still, despite how deeply he now slid into her, giving her all she could want in her channel, he had yet to even graze her clit. He wanted to tease her, to make her feel some scintilla of what he had felt all of these years, waiting for her.
“Augustus,” she said, bucking against him lightly, trying to move, he knew, to get more friction where she needed it most. “Please.”
“Say it,” he whispered in her ear and then kissing her neck, which only made her cry out once more. “Tell me what you want.”
“You have to let me—I need to come. I’m so close—I just—I can’t—”
He grinned. Earlier, she had madehimstammer. Now, he was returning the favor in the best way imaginable.
“I will,” he said, once more in her ear, “if you tell me something.”
“What?” she said, her voice going foggy as he continued to stroke her. “What do you want me to say?”
“Tell me something no one else knows about you,” he said, realizing he wanted the intimacy as much as he wanted her to find her pleasure. No, that wasn’t even quite right. He knew he could give her pleasure. He felt he had been made for it. But he wanted more from her—he wanted her to feel it as he felt it.
“Augustus,” she said, a whine entering her voice, and this time she bore down on him with her cunt, trying, he knew, to find her release.
“Naughty,” he chided her, moving so that he still filled her with his fingers but denying her satiation. “But no.”
“I don’t know. I have no secrets.”
“I don’t believe you.”
He added a few tender strokes to this statement and, then, to convince her, he edged slightly upwards, so that the back of his hand brushed against her clit.
“Ahhh,” she moaned, at the contact. “Please.”
“Tell me. And I’ll let you have it.”
Her eyes flew open.
“Only you,” she said, “Only you can make me come so hard that I see stars.”
Slowly, the meaning of her words—thatthiswas her confession—dawned on him. He stopped moving, stunned, by what he had been able to extract. He was aware again that he was as hard as steel and he had the seed of anticipation soaking his smalls. That he would give anything to thrust himself where his hand was now and give himself over to her warmth.
