"That's my girl," he groans, and I nearly combust.
His girl.
"Can I--" I hesitate, biting my lip. "Can I touch the tip?"
His eyes open, dark and intense. "Brush your thumb across the top. Gentle."
Tentatively, I swipe my thumb over the tip, feel the slickness, spread it around. Warmer than I expected. More slippery.
He shudders, his entire body jerking, hips bucking. "Oh god," he groans, head pressing back into the pillow. "Molly--"
I want to hear my name again like that, desperate and anguished. So I circling his crown with my thumb while I stroke the tip. His hand on my hip is bruising, the other twisted in the sheets, white knuckle.
"Jesus--fuck--Molly--" he pants. "Where did you learn to do that?"
"You just told me to," I answer, breathless.
He laughs, strained and rough.
"Blame my teacher," I whisper, every iota of my focus on him. On my hand, on his reactions. On the feel of him in my palm, the heat, the pulse. I don't notice his hand slide down from my knee at first, trailing up the inside of my thigh, not until his fingers slip between my legs, finding me wet and ready, sliding into the soaking split to stroke me through my panties.
"Oh--" I gasp, my rhythm faltering, hand stuttering on him.
This is cheating. This is definitely cheating.
He strokes my clit slowly, deliberately, exactly right, now that he knows what I like.
I grunt, my hand flexing around him.
He hisses through his teeth. "Don't stop."
"I can't--I can't think when you--"
He shifts his fingertip back and forth, back and forth. "Good. Don't think."
I try to focus, but my brain is sparking and flickering as I attempt and keep my hand moving.Two things at once, I can do two things at once. Multitasking.But he's touching me, fingers working my clit in those steady, maddening strokes. That rhythm he taught me on the kitchen table, the one that ruined me. My bent knee trembles on his thigh, but his free hand comesup to hold it steady, keeping me spread open. My hips move on their own, grinding his hand, seeking more, but with me on my side and him on his back, the angle limits how deep he can reach. And thank goodness--I'd be completely useless if he could really get at me.
"Grey--" it's half moan, half plea, breathy and desperate.
"Keep going," he commands, voice firm.
Multitask I can multitask I can--fuck fuck nope can't think.
It's too much, the feel of him in my hand, hot and hard and slick. His fingers on my clit, building that familiar pressure low in my belly. The sound of his breathing, ragged and harsh, mixing with mine. The smell of sex and sweat andhimin my lungs, sharp and heady and intoxicating.
Frustrated with his restricted access to my pussy, he tries to slip into the leg of my panties, but the angle is off, and he's unable to touch me like he wants, touch me like he wants. I can feel his irritation in the way his fingers fumble.
And so, god help me--I take them off.
I unwrap my leg from his thigh, hook my panties in my thumbs, lifting my hips. When he sees what I'm doing, he shoves them down my thighs, rolling onto his side to face me, his hands already on me as I kick them off. No idea where they go. Couldn't care less.
He's facing me, his hand buried between my thighs. I reach for him, realizing my left handedness is useful, both of our dominant hands free to do what they wish. He lets my pussy go to grip the back of my knee and hitch my thigh onto his, spreading me wide open, completely bare. I tense at the realization, my thighs instinctively shifting to close.
He notices immediately, his hand stilling. "You okay?"
I nod, unable to meet his eyes. "I just…you can see everything now."
He thumbs my chin, lifting it so I'll look at him. His eyes are soft, though dark with want. "Good." He shifts his thigh, opening me up. "I want to see everything."
