“And eager.” Amusement colors his words as his fingers find me wet and ready. “Already soaked.”
I moan against his palm, the sound muffled but still audible in the quiet cabin. His fingers explore me slowly, circling my entrance, gathering the evidence of my arousal before finding my swollen clit. The first direct touch makes me buck against him, pleasure shooting through my body like lightning.
“Easy.” He holds me firmly against the solid heat of his chest as his fingers continue their exquisite torment, circling the sensitive bundle of nerves but never quite giving me the pressure I crave. “I’ve got you.”
Finally, blessedly, one long finger dives inside me. I gasp against his hand, inner muscles clenching greedily around the intrusion that feels like heaven. He pumps slowly, letting me adjust, before adding a second finger.
I’m drowning in sensation, caught between his hand silencing my cries and his fingers claiming me, his erection insistently against my back, and feeling desired in a way I’ve never experienced before.
It makes my head spin.
“That’s it.” His voice holds a dark promise. “You like that?”
I can only nod frantically, grinding against his hand.
“How about this?” His fingers curl, finding a secret spot inside me that makes my vision blur and arch my back with a muffled cry. “Shh.”
But I’m making them anyway—desperate whimpers and gasps that vibrate against his palm. I should be embarrassed. Should be mortified that I’m falling apart like this, that I’m so desperate for his touch, I’m grinding against his hand like I’ve never been touched before.
Which, honestly? I haven’t. Not like this.
“Mmmh.” His voice vibrates through me. “You take my fingers so well.”
Heat floods my face as my body tightens around him. The praise shouldn’t work on me—I’m not that girl. Except apparently I am, because his words make everything more intense, more overwhelming.
He wrenches my head back with his hold on my mouth, scraping his teeth against my pulse point before closing his lips around it, sucking hard enough to leave a painfully delicious mark.
The pressure builds, coiling tighter in my core.
I’m close. So close I can taste it, feel it hovering just out of reach. I dig my nails into the muscle of his thighs as I chase the release he’s dangling in front of me like forbidden fruit.
“Please,” I try to say against his palm, the word coming out garbled. “More.”
He must understand because his thumb circles with just the right pressure while his fingers pump harder, faster. The wet sounds of his fingers moving inside me fill the small space, obscene and perfect.
“Come for me,” he commands, voice rough with his own need. “Be my good girl and come all over my fingers.”
My body obeys as if it were made to follow his orders.
His hand clamps down harder on my mouth as I shatter completely, my body convulsing around his fingers as waves of pleasure crash through me. White light explodes behind my eyelids. My thighs shake uncontrollably. He works me through it with devastating precision, murmuring encouragements that don’t register against my hair while I come apart in his arms.
When I finally stop trembling, I collapse boneless against him, head lolling into the crook of his neck.
He removes his hand from my mouth, letting me drag in desperate gulps of air, while his fingers still move lazily between my thighs, gentler now, drawing out aftershocks that make me twitch and whimper.
“Sensitive?” he asks, voice smug as I jerk against a particularly well-placed touch.
I’m too wrecked to form words. He withdraws his hand, and I immediately miss the feeling of fullness, scared he’ll leave. But he wraps the towel back around me with tender care before trapping us both with the blanket.
There were a few disappointing encounters that left me wondering what all the fuss was about. But this? This was different. Julien touched me as if he were memorizing every response, cataloging what makes me gasp, what makes me arch, what makes my thighs shake.
I twist slightly to look at him, embarrassment creeping in through the haze of satisfaction. His lips glisten with moisture—Did he…? The thought makes my core clench again.
He plants a soft kiss to my temple. “You okay?”
What do you say to someone after they’ve just shattered your world with their fingers?
“Thank you,” I whisper, then immediately want to die of mortification. Thank you? Really?
