"Impatient," he murmurs, and I can hear the smile in his voice.
"Joseph, please—"
Then he slides one finger inside me, and I bite down on my lip to keep from crying out.
He moves slowly at first, pumping in and out, his thumb finding my clit and circling in a rhythm that makes my breath come in short gasps.
"Fuck," he breathes, his voice rough with wonder. "You're so wet."
I can't form words. I can only move with him, my hips rocking against his hand as he pumps his finger in and out, slow at first, then faster.
Just when I think I can't take anymore, he adds a second finger, stretching me, filling me, and I moan into his shoulder.
"That's it," he murmurs, his voice dark and encouraging, vibrating through his chest. "Let me hear you."
I'm beyond embarrassed, beyond self-conscious. I'm just feeling his fingers inside me, and the pleasure building and building until I'm trembling against him. My hands clutch at his shoulders, my nails digging into his skin through his shirt, and I hear him hiss in response.
But I want more.
I pull back slightly, my hand still wrapped around him, stroking in time with his fingers inside me, and I look up at his face in the darkness. His jaw is tight, his eyes half-closed, and he looks like he's barely holding on. "I want to taste you."
He goes still, his breath catching, his fingers pausing inside me. "Demi—"
"Please."
For a moment, he just stares at me, and I can see the conflict in his face, want warring with restraint.
Then something shifts, and he nods slowly, pulling his fingers from me. I immediately miss the fullness, but the anticipation of what's coming makes up for it.
I shift under the blankets, moving down his body until I'm between his legs. I pull his boxers down, freeing him, and even in the dim light I can see how hard he is, how much he wants this.
He's thick and long, the tip already glistening, and my mouth literally waters at the sight.
I lean forward and take him in my mouth, wrapping my lips around the head and swirling my tongue. The taste of salt and musk makes me moan around him, and I feel him jerk in response.
He makes a sound and his hand comes down to tangle in my hair, not pushing, just holding, like he needs to ground himself.
I start slow, taking him as deep as I can, my tongue sliding along the underside, tracing the thick vein that runs the length of him, tasting salt and skin and want.
Then I pull back, letting him slide from my lips with a wet sound, and spit on him, watching the saliva drip down his length before I take him deeper, faster, until he's groaning my name.
"Jesus, Demi—fuck—"
His hand tightens in my hair, guiding me now, and I let him, loving the way he loses control, the way his hips start to move, the way he hits the back of my throat and I take it, take all of him.
I hollow my cheeks, sucking hard, and use my hand to stroke what I can't fit in my mouth. His breathing is even more ragged now, harsh pants and low moans that make me feel powerful and desired.
"Spit on it again," he rasps, his voice strained and commanding, sending a thrill through me.
I do, pulling back and letting a long string of saliva drip onto him, watching it coat his length.
Then I take him in my mouth again, sucking hard, my tongue working the sensitive underside, feeling him throb against my tongue. His thighs tense under my hands, and I can feel him getting close.
"Stop," he says suddenly, his voice rough and urgent. "Stop, or I'm gonna come."
I pull back slowly, reluctantly, breathing hard, and look up at him.
His eyes are dark, wild, pupils blown wide, and he's staring at me like I'm the only thing in the world that matters.
