Another lick, another swipe, faster this time, his attention tight on my clit, where I concentrated every bit of my focus, too.
When his finger entered me, I wasn’t ready. At all.
I made a high, startled sound and he stilled. “This okay?”
“Yeah.” I giggled, full of nerves and excitement and the unexpectedness of this entire encounter. “Yeah, sorry. Surprised me.”
“Good surprise or bad?”
“Good,” I breathed. “Definitely good.”
He pressed the finger in deeper and I went still.
“This looks amazing. My finger in your tiny pussy. You’re so pink here, like a flower. Can’t imagine how you’ll take my cock.” I tightened convulsively around his finger and he went still. “You like it? When I say shit like that?”
All I could do was nod.
“When I talk about how it’s gonna feel when I wedge myself into you—fuck, can I even fit?” His finger slid out and my hips shifted up as if to hold him in. “Better get you ready, right? Or maybe we won’t fuck.” He paused. “That’s all right, too. If you don’t want to. But I’ll think about it. I’ll spend weeks, years, fantasizing how it would feel to have you stretched out around me.” After a beat of silence, he said, “You want to watch this?”
Oh. That hadn’t even occurred to me. Now that he’d proposed it, I needed to see the place where we connected.
“Grab that.” He reached back and threw me a cushion, which I jammed behind my head. Once he was in place and I was settled, he met my eyes, bent, brow creased with concentration, and with his mouth on me, lifted his gaze to mine again. His stare pinned my upper body in place as surely as his thick arms restrained the rest of me.
The sensations were different with him watching me. Sharper, as piercing as his eyes. Ensnared in that look, each stroke, each lick, each wet kiss cut deeper. Past layers of embarrassment, self-consciousness, and awkward humor, he went straight to that place again—it was wild and open and wanting.
I craved him in me, deep and hard—invading, like the Viking he resembled. I wanted this shared look, but closer. So close I wouldn’t have to see his eyes.
And then it was back, his finger, sliding in, another joining it, pulling me roughly apart. I let out a sound, shut my eyes, and escaped. He didn’t thrust, the way guys had before, but stroked me inside, tenderly, slowly, inexorably. He knew what he was doing and he took his time.
Why rush?I pictured him saying. This man who’d chosen to live on nature’s timeline, instead of in the mad rush preferred by modern man.
A deep thrust, a twist, another finger pushed inside, almost painful in that way that felt so good.
I groaned, desperate for that other thing, imagining this wasn’t his finger, but that erection I’d felt against me.
He deepened the penetration, quickened the pace on my clit, reached up with his other hand, skimmed my belly, kneaded it once, and went higher to twist my nipple—hard.
I came, my body unexpectedly seizing, tightening around his fingers, bumping his face. My hand appeared from out of nowhere and squeezed his as if to share some of this unbearably twisted tension.
He didn’t move, just waited, watching. And, oh, those eyes sent my body up again—insides fluttering on something that was as raw and uncomfortable as embarrassment. Or shame.
I reddened a bit more and bit down on the sounds I wanted to make, the truth suddenly obvious: I’d just been more unabashedly, openly sexual with this man than I’d ever been in my life. I’d shown him more of my raw, aching innards than anyone else had seen.
And I’d known him for just one day.
24
Micah
Things fractured when she came, reason took off in one direction and that wild thing hunkered low and deep in my belly took over.
Mine, it said, pushing me up the sofa, knees planted between hers, stiff arms framing her chest, while I bent to take her mouth.
Mine, it whispered as I yanked off my shirt, then reached down to unbutton and unzip myself, shoving down my shorts to release the pressure and get just a feel of her against me.
Mine, it screamed when her hand grasped my throbbing cock and gave it a tentative stroke, then another, bolder one. I met her third one with a thrust of my hips.
When she lifted her hips and slid it against that soft, welcoming place I now knew like the back of my hand, it would have been so easy to slide inside. Her wetness coated me, marking my dick as surely as she’d marked my face.
