“You’re perfect like this,” he declares softly. “Spread your legs for me, baby.”
The authority in his voice melts away the last of my nerves. Suddenly, I want nothing more than to please him. I look up from beneath my lashes, lean back slightly, and let my legs fall open.
He steps between them and slides his hands up my thighs—one anchoring me, the other tracing slow, lazy circles against my skin.
Then, tender but firm: “Touch yourself for me.”
I do as he says, spreading my legs wider and letting my hand slip straight to where I’m already soaked. When my fingers graze my swollen clit, a moan spills from my lips.
Nathaniel watches like I’m the only thing that’s ever held his attention, jaw tight, breath uneven. His posture is taut and the effect that this scene has on him is evident from the bulge that’s fighting against the fabric of his pants.
“You’re doing so well,” he says eventually, though his eyes never leave my pussy. “Take your time, baby. This is all for you, I’m just lucky enough to witness it.”
I nod, lips parting on an exhale as my fingers start to move in slow, careful circles. I allow myself to ease into a rhythm, hips tilting toward the sensation. Nathaniel doesn’t stop kneading my thighs and muttering praises under his breath:That’s it, baby, you’re doing so well. Keep going, my beautiful girl. I’m so lucky I get to be here with you.
With his encouragement, I find that perfect pace and pressure to send my body spiraling upward in no time at all. My head tips back and I close my eyes on instinct, drowning in the sensation.
“Eyes on me.”
The words catch like a hook, pulling me back to him.
I blink and drag my gaze up to meet his. He’s closer now—so close I can feel the warmth of his breath at my jaw, the tension rolling off him in waves. His expression is fraught with lust and restraint.
“Stay with me,” he murmurs. “Let me see you like this.”
My fingers speed up. The pleasure crests—sharper now, insistent. His grip tightens around my thighs, as if he’s trying to stop himself from coming apart.
“Let go, baby,” he murmurs. “I’m here, I’ve got you.”
The orgasm crashes through me—hot, aching, unstoppable. I cry out, and he’s right there, as he promised, pressing kisses to my throat.
“Goddess,” he rasps against my skin, voice reverent, almost pained. “No one could ever come close to you.”
Goddess.
He first called me that weeks ago, in the lecture hall—his hand beneath my skirt, his mouth at my ear, while I fought to keep still.
Now, the term strikes deep within me, rousing a version of myself that I never knew existed—one that relishes being the subject of someone’s complete and unshakable devotion.
I’m still trembling, my limbs slack as the throb of release fades to a dull ache. The pleasure crested and broke over me like a wave, but as it recedes, it leaves behind a tenderness too raw to soothe on its own.
I reach for his waistband, my fingers hooking into the soft cotton of his sweats as I try to pull him closer, greedy for the heat of him pressed against me. I want the weight of his body pinning me to the counter. I want to feel him sink into me until I forget my name and remember only his. But he catches my wrist before I can drag him closer.
My breath hitches, my body flaring with fresh need. The desperation hits me fast and sharp, curling up my spine, spilling into my throat. I let out a noise that’s half whimper, half plea.
“Nate… Please.” It sounds needy, but I make no attempt to hide it. I want him to know how desperate I am for him.
But he doesn’t relent.
He leans in, forehead brushing mine.
“Use the right words,” he murmurs, his thumb tracing lazy circles against the inside of my wrist. “You want me? Say it, Olivia.”
My lips part, but no sound comes. The words are there—shaking loose in my chest, scraping against my throat—only to fall away before I can give voice to them. All I can register is him holding me in place when every nerve in me screams to close the distance, to climb into his heat and lose myself there.
His restraint wraps around me like a second skin—unbearable and intoxicating all at once. It heightens the ache I’m trying to subdue, turning it into something more potent than mere desire… Something perilously close toneed.
I want his skin against mine, the press of his weight, his breath tangling with my own. I want to be filled, stretched, consumed—bound to him in a way that leaves no part of me untouched.
