The word doesn't come.
Because I don't want him to stop.
Don't want this to end.
Don't want to go back to the frustration of trying and failing to give myself what only he can provide.
"That's what I thought."
He slides one finger inside me, slow and careful.
I cry out.
The sensation is foreign, invasive, too much—a fullness I've never felt before.
"Relax," he says, his voice soothing despite what he's doing. "Let your body adjust. You're so tight. So perfect. Just breathe through it."
He moves slowly, carefully, letting me get used to the intrusion.
Then adds another finger, stretching me, making me gasp at the burn and the pressure and the overwhelming sensation of being filled.
"You're doing so well," he murmurs. "Taking my fingers so perfectly. When you're ready, when you finally beg me to fuck you, it's going to feel even better than this. You're going to be so full of me you won't be able to think about anything else."
The image makes heat flood through me.
Makes me clench around his fingers involuntarily.
"You like that idea," he observes. "Your body does, anyway. Likes the thought of me inside you. Filling you. Making you mine in every possible way."
His thumb finds that spot.
The one the vibrator touched.
The one with eight thousand nerve endings designed solely for pleasure.
Circles it while his fingers move inside me, creating a dual sensation that makes my brain short-circuit.
I can't think.
Can't breathe.
Can't do anything except feel.
"That's it," he encourages. "Let go. Give me what's mine. Come for me, Eden."
The pressure builds faster than before.
More intense.
The combination of his fingers inside me and his thumb on my clit creating sensations I couldn't recreate alone.
Proving his point without words.
I'm going to?—
I can't?—
It's too much?—
