The thought fills me with something hot and bright. Pride, maybe. Power.He wants me.Grey--gorgeous, grumpy, perfect Grey--wantsme.
I pull away just enough to look up at him. His eyes are shadowed, his pupils wide, lips wet and flushed. And then the corner of his lips rises with that devastating smirk.
"Remember what I said about the peach?" His voice is rough, his hand trailing down my spine lazily, back up, fingers tracing.
My stomach flips. "Yes," I whisper.
"Tell me."
Is he serious? I search his face. The smirk is still there, but his eyes are intent. He is. He actually wants me to recite a lesson with his hand on my naked back and his cock pressed against my thigh.
I'm about to vibrate out of my skin.
My brain is mush. "Um…you said…you have to be careful with a peach."
"Mm-hmm. What else?"
Up and down his hand slides, soothing and maddening and distracting. I want to scream.
I fumble around in my brain for anything peach related. Get distracted by the memory of his lips wet with peach juice, the way his tongue swept over his thumb. I shake my head to clear it. "Rhythm? Finding the right pace"
"Good girl. What else?"
I stifle a moan. I'm going to die. He's going to kill me with good girls and clever fingers, and they'll find me dead on my kitchen table before he even touches me.
"Um…" I fumble through my brain for information. “It’s…it's a climb, not a race."
"That's right." He thumbs my bottom lip, watching the motion. "And the sweetest part?"
"Is worth the wait."
Thank god he kisses me, because I cannot answer more questions. It's slow and deep, heavy with intent. His tongue slides against mine, and I taste the faint sweetness of peach still lingering. And when he pulls back, his eyes are serious. Dark. Hungry.
"I'm gonna touch you now, Molly."
I nod stupidly. Maybe a little bit frantically. Definitely desperately.
"And I'm gonna tell you what I'm doing."
"Okay."
"And you're gonna tell me what feels good. Okay?"
"Okay."
"Use your words, baby. If something doesn't feel right, you say so."
Thebabymakes me clench. Actually clench, with muscles I didn't know I could control contracting around nothing.
"I promise."
"Good."
His hand slides from my back to my stomach. Rests there, warm and heavy against my skin. The heat of his palm is like a brand.
"It's going to be more intense than you expect," he says quietly, eyes locked on mine. "Because it's not you doing it. You won't know what's coming next."
I nod. I don't think I can speak. My throat is clamped shut, my mouth dry.
