She doesn’t know if she’s ever made that sound before, rough and throaty and wild. But the feeling of Catherine around her,her hooded eyes looking up from Rosalie’s breast, her beautiful body stretched out against her—it’s almost too much.
But there isn’t time to revel, not when Catherine’s fingers are skating up her thigh, not when she’s sinking down lower to return the favor.
“Tell me what to do,” Catherine whispers, pressing a firm kiss to Rosalie’s hip bone as her fingers stroke playfully at Rosalie’s center.
Rosalie swallows hard, her mouth parched, overwhelmed with glorious sensation.
“Tell me,” Catherine insists.
She rather likes being bossed around, it turns out.
“Kiss me,” Rosalie rasps out. “At the top. Slow and firm.”
Catherine does, pressing long, slow kisses as her fingers tease at Rosalie’s entrance.
“Li—lick me,” Rosalie whispers, hips lifting off the bed as Catherine complies.
She’s never asked for what she wants before. Never had the chance. It’s wonderful, and terrifying, and utterly, sinfully, fantastically hot.
“Your—your fingers,” she manages. “Curl—curl up and—ah!”
She slaps a hand over her mouth, looking down at Catherine, whose lips are quirked upward even as she continues to lap at Rosalie, needing absolutely no further instruction.
Rosalie tries, she does, to keep giving suggestions, but the sensation is too great. The perfect curl of her fingers, the languid pressure of Catherine’s tongue, the hand she presses onto Rosalie’s hips to keep them down as she strains up against Catherine’s mouth—
That it’s Catherine making her feel this way. Catherine teasing and testing and learning and thriving as every single part ofRosalie’s body tightens, as everything narrows to the sensation of Catherine’s face and fingers between her legs, the feel of the down comforter clenched in her hand, and the beat beat beating of her hammering heart until—
White-hot pleasure explodes from Rosalie’s center, her belly clenching, legs shaking. She’s seeing stars, and galaxies, and waterfalls, and explosions, and she keeps her hand plastered to her mouth, just barely holding in a shout of ecstasy.
Slowly, after what might be hours, she comes back to her body, floating into herself on a cloud of pleasure, and wonder, and Catherine wrapped around her.
She turns her face and meets Catherine’s very smug grin.
“You are far too good at that for a first time,” Rosalie says, her voice low and scratchy.
Catherine smirks, leaning in to kiss her. Rosalie can taste herself, can still taste Catherine between their mouths, and she groans, reaching out to pull Catherine on top of her.
“There must be dirty books somewhere in your house.”
“I may have studied up, yes,” Catherine says, shrugging a little.
“You need absolutely no instruction,” Rosalie insists. “That was incredible.”
“I’m glad,” Catherine says, smiling at her, relaxed and comfortable and clearly more than a little proud of herself.
Which forces Rosalie to lift her still tingling arm and glide her hand down Catherine’s taut, smooth stomach.
“You don’t need to—”
But Catherine’s already squirming, already so ready and wet when Rosalie glides her fingers between her legs. She moves slowly, watching Catherine’s face go slack, then tense.
“It’s wonderful with lips and tongue and teethandfingers, butwhen I think of you at night, this is all I do,” Rosalie whispers, proud when Catherine gasps, her eyes opening to stare into Rosalie’s. “Have you ever touched yourself thinking about me?”
Catherine’s lips part on a pant as Rosalie changes the angle, remembering exactly which way made Catherine’s hips buck—just like that—on the settee.
“Have you?”
“Yes,” Catherine breathes out.
