I frowned. “Isn’t sex and intimacy the same thing?”
Wordlessly, his hand dropped from my chin and squeezed my breast. I gasped at the sudden heat sprinting down my body.
“What do you feel?”
“Um.” I bit my bottom lip, my eyes searching his, the answer escaping me. When I opened my mouth to speak, he placed a finger on my lips, his other hand squeezing my breast again.
“Take your time, don’t rush. Tell me what you feel.” He moved his finger away.
“Aroused.”
He removed his hand from my breast. “Close your eyes.”
I did as he asked, my breathing escalated with anticipation. He cupped my other breast. This time his touch was softer, gentle. His thumb caressed my nipple, and I couldn’t stop the shudder. Something wet touched the hardened nipple through the material of the dress before I felt warm air blow over it. I gasped, trying to understand the sensations spearing my body, yet unable to ignore the rush of wetness between my legs or the intense ache to be touched there.
“Now, tell me how you feel,” he whispered, his thumb changing pressure over my nipple, pressing down. I groaned, squeezing my pussy muscles. “Answer, love.”
“Like I’m wanted? Desired?” Indecision laced my words.
He didn’t clarify but said, “open your eyes.” I did. “Right now, what do you need from me?”
I whimpered as he rolled his tongue over my nipple, drawing it into his mouth, softly sucking. Yet looking down at him, watching what he was doing to me, made me wetter. “To touch me.”
He looked up, his eyes matching the arousal I felt. “Where do you want me to touch you?”
“My pussy,” I said shyly.
He drew back. “Good girl.”
The praise carried a baritone of heat hammering through my body with a raspy aftershock provoking a throb in places I didn’t think possible. My thighs clamped together, welcoming the effect. Xavier’s eyes, soft yet matching the delicate adoration, dropped to watch the movement.
“Are you wet, Ella?”
My cheeks ignited, embarrassment draping over my skin in a crimson blanket. “Yes.” I bit my bottom lip, dropping my eyes to his fingers, a slow dance the length of my thigh. The air in my lungs spiraled out in a quick exhale, leaving me almost breathless, his charm cloaking me.
“Pull up your dress.”
My eyes widened. “Here?” I glanced around.
“Do it.” Undisguised authority filled those two little words. I did as he asked, revealing my shaved pussy protected between my thighs pressed tightly together. “Spread your legs,” he ordered, widening his to give me space.
Embarrassed, he’d see the wetness coating my thighs, heat marred my body, turning it scarlet. Slowly, I parted my legs and heard his sharp inhale.
“You’re dripping,” he hissed as though it affected him too. “Beautiful.”
Pinpricks of heat stung my cheeks.
“Slip your hand between your thighs and stroke your pussy lips.” He leaned back in his seat, his eyes on my fingers about to touch my heated flesh. I moaned. “Gently. I want to feel your body tremble as you do,” he rasped, his thighs pressing on my parted legs. I hesitated, unsure if I could. “Go on,” he soothed. “I want you to.”
Those words, tender and somehow sweet, spurred my need. I slid my hand down, my fingers finding the plump flesh of my pussy lips, soaked and supple, my whimper just as soft.
“Use two fingers,” he urged, his palm resting on one of my thighs. The contact burned my flesh.
Swallowing hard, I did as he instructed, rolling two fingers through my slit, trying to bite back the moan sitting on the tip of my tongue. I whimpered instead, confusion pausing my fingers.
“Slide them up and down, love. You’re so damn beautiful to watch,” he groaned, cementing the notion he wanted this too.
Closing my eyes, I glided them up and down, my body arching of its own accord, pushing my pussy up, creating more pressure with my fingers.
