The ache between my legs grows more and more, deep, pulsing, until it’s almost unbearable.
I take matters into my own hands.
Literally.
I reach down, wrap my fingers around his wrist, and guide his hand lower.
He freezes.
Glances up.
I give him a look. One eyebrow raised. “I mean, youaremagic,” I murmur, breathless but teasing. “Let’s see what other spells you can cast.”
Carrson huffs a surprised laugh, then groans, as I press his hand exactly where I want him. His fingers slide into the heat between my legs, and I let out a sharp, involuntary moan.
“Jesus, Laurel,” he breathes, his voice rough with awe. “You’re,fuck, you’re soaked.”
“Yeah,” I whisper, my hips rocking against his hand. “That’s kind of your fault.”
His fingers glide deeper, searching, questioning, growing more confident with every needy sound he pulls from me. Every gasp. Every groan. His eyes stay locked on mine, dark and intense, like he needs toseethat I’m okay. That I want this.
He finds my clit easily and circles it gently, just once.
My whole body jolts.
“God,” I gasp, clutching the sheets, my hips rising to meet his rhythm.
“You’re so responsive,” he murmurs. “It’s fucking gorgeous.”
I should be embarrassed, but I’m not. Not with him. Not when he’s looking at me like this, like he wants todevourme andworshipme all at once.
“More,” I beg, pressing harder into his hand. “Please.”
His breath catches, but he obeys. One finger eases inside me, slow and careful. I let out a shaky breath. The stretch is new but grounding, like I’m finally fitting back into my own skin.
“Still good?” he asks, his voice low.
I nod. “Betterthan good.”
He adds a second finger, curls the two of them just right, and stars burst behind my eyes,blinding me with their colorful light. A sound escapes me, raw and unfiltered, half-gasp, half-moan. I barely recognize it as mine.
Carrson groans in response. “I love that sound,” he whispers.
He kisses me, slow and deep, like he’s tasting the moment.
Not wanting to be selfish, to only take and not give, I slide my hands down his back, tracing every ridge of muscle, then lower, pushing him closer to me.
“I want to touch you too,” I whisper. My voice is steady, but inside I’m trembling, in a delicious, anticipatory way that makes every nerve hum.
He pulls back just enough to meet my gaze. “Yeah?”
I nod.
I slide my hand between us, fingertips trailing over his stomach…lower…until I feel him against my palm, hard and hot.
His breath hitches.
Mine does too.
