"The bra too," he said, and it wasn't a request.
I unhooked it and let it fall to join my dress on the floor. Completely naked now, I fought the urge to cover myself. I'd been naked in front of men before, but never like this, never so intentionally on display, never with someone watching me with such focused intensity.
Rafe's eyes traveled slowly down my body, taking in every inch with a thoroughness that left me burning. "Beautiful," he murmured, the word sounding like it had been torn from him. "Sit on the couch."
I moved to the couch, the rich fabric soft against my bare skin as I perched on the edge. Rafe followed, but instead of sitting beside me, he sank to his knees on the floor in front of me and gently pushed my legs apart to make space for himself. The position put his face level with my pussy, and I couldn't suppress a sharp intake of breath at the realization.
When he placed his hands on my knees, I expected him to touch me, to take over. Instead, he lifted my legs and draped them over his shoulders, opening me completely to his gaze.
"Touch yourself," he commanded again, his breath hot against my inner thigh. "Show me how you pleasure yourself when you're thinking of me."
My face burned at the reminder of my drunken confession, but the embarrassment was quickly overwhelmed by the need pulsing between my legs. I brought my hand down to where I was already wet and swollen, my fingers finding the familiar rhythm that usually brought me relief when I was alone.
Rafe watched, his eyes fixed on the movement of my fingers with rapt attention. The couple in the mirror continued their own dance of pleasure, but they might as well have been invisible. All that mattered was Rafe's gaze on me, the approval and hunger I saw there.
"Is this what you do when you're alone?" he asked, his voice a low rumble. "Do you think about me when you touch yourself like this?"
"Yes," I admitted, beyond shame now. "I think about your hands. Your mouth."
"What do you imagine me doing to you?" His fingers tightened on my legs, the only sign that that he was affected by what was happening affected him.
"I imagine you tasting me," I whispered, circling my clit faster as heat built low in my belly. "Fucking me."
He groaned. "Keep going. I want to see you come apart for me."
I was close already, wound tight from hours of unfulfilled desire, from the erotic tableau beyond the mirror, from the intensity of Rafe's gaze. My hips began to move of their own accord, pressing up into my touch as the pressure built.
"That's it," Rafe murmured, his thumbs making small circles on my inner thighs. "You're so fucking beautiful like this, Cecelia. So wet for me. So desperate."
His words pushed me closer to the edge. "Rafe," I gasped, feeling the familiar tightening that preceded release.
"Are you close?" he asked, though he must have known from the frantic movements of my fingers. "Tell me how it feels."
"Good," I managed, unable to form more complex thoughts as pleasure coiled tighter and tighter. "So good. I'm going to come."
"Do it," he commanded, his eyes never leaving my hand as it worked between my legs. "Come for me."
As if my body was hardwired to respond to his voice, I shattered as waves of pleasure crashing over me. My back arched, pushing my body closer to his face as I rode out the orgasm.
Before I could recover, before I could even catch my breath, Rafe gripped my hips and yanked me forward until my pussy aligned with his mouth. The first swipe of his tongue against my sensitive flesh had me jerking in his grip as a strangled sound escaped my throat.
"Rafe," I gasped, half in protest, half in desperate need for more. "I just—"
"I know," he said against my skin, the vibration of his words sending fresh shivers through me. "Now I get to taste you. To feel you come against my mouth."
He devoured me like a man starving, his tongue exploring every sensitive spot with devastating precision. When he sealed his lips around my clit and sucked gently, I nearly came off the couch and my hands flew to his hair to anchor myself as pleasure built impossibly fast.
"I can't," I whimpered, overwhelmed by the sensations after already coming once. "It's too much."
He pulled back just enough to look up at me. "You can," he insisted, easily sliding two fingers into me. "And you will. Again. For me."
His mouth returned to my clit, tongue flicking in time with the thrust of his fingers, and I was lost. The second orgasm hit harder than the first, tearing a scream from my throat that I was too far gone to muffle. My body clamped down around his fingers as waves of pleasure washed over me and left me trembling and gasping for air.
When I finally came back to myself, Rafe was placing gentle kisses on my inner thighs, his fingers still working in a slow rhythm. He looked up, eyes dark with desire, lips curved in a satisfied smile that made my heart stutter.
"That," he said, slowly withdrawing his fingers, "was even better than I imagined."
I slumped back against the couch, boneless and utterly spent. Behind the glass, the couple had changed positions, but I could barely focus on them. All I could see was Rafe, still fully clothed, rising from his knees to sit beside me on the couch. His erection was obvious beneath his pants, but he made no move to seek his own release.
