“Where?” he asks, his hands moving over my breast and cupping it. “Here? Is that where you want me?”
His thumb caresses my hardened nipple, and I make an involuntary noise over the sensation that dampens my panties. Boys have touched me in the past. Above the clothes, mostly. But they never made me feel likethis.
Another thoughtful noise comes from him as I wrap my fingers around his wrist and move his hand down my body. “H-here,” I tell him, leaving his hand at the elastic of my leggings and not an inch further despite where Ireallywant him.
Thomas knows that. “Interesting,” he says, hooking a finger into the elastic and brushing his knuckle back and forth along my abdomen. “This is where you want it?”
He’s teasing me, knowing that it isn’t.
“If you want me to help you forget the pain,” he says slowly, his eyes locking with mine, “you need to tell me exactly what you want. More importantly, what youdon’twant.”
Kourtney always used to say it was important to have a partner who was open in communication and checked in, especially during sex. I’ve never experienced that before and didn’t think it would be hard to voice what I wanted.
Mostly because…I don’t know.
I don’t know what makes me feel good or what doesn’t. I don’t know what will get me off. What won’t. What I’m craving.
I shut myself away from the world for years, focusing only on how to be independent. How to be okay with being alone. As lonely as it gets, I know that time by myself has been vital. It means knowing I can survive without somebody stepping in to help.
I’ve never let boys go farther than this. I always believed sex would complicate things—throw me off track. I couldn’t focus on whether somebody liked me or not, or worry if someone found out too much about me. I don’t want their sympathy, pity, or judgment.
Shutting down was easier. It’s been the only way I operate. Until Thomas.
“I want,” I begin in a quiet voice, wrapping my hands around his wrist again, “for you to touch me here.”
I move his hand down to cup me between my thighs, where undeniable heat and wetness greet him.
His eyes flash with lust, and that crooked grin grows as he applies more pressure. “Is that all you want?”
He’s going to keep making me say it.
My nostrils flare. “I told you. I want more.”
“More what?” he goads innocently, watching me. “More of this?”
I gasp when he runs a finger over my clothed center, pressing the pad of his thumb against my achy clit.
“Do you want me to get you off like I did before?” he questions, circling his thumb over me with the perfect amount of pressure. “Or do you want me to sink my fingers into your pussy this time? Would you let me put my mouth on your cunt to taste what I do to you?”
Yes, yes, yes. All of it.The answer is screamed inside my head, but not voiced aloud, because my brain short-circuits as pleasure sends shockwaves down my legs.
As if he knows that, he immediately stops, and a whiny protest comes out of me before I can squash it.
“I want it all,” I all but growl at him, the frustration of being so close to something so blissful and having it yanked away grating on me. “I want your fingers and your mouth and your—” The word is lodged in my throat, the truth so close to being revealed but still holding on to my vocal cords like once it’s spoken, there’s no going back.
Thomas’s eyes scan my face, the lust like a fire being fueled by gasoline. “You want my what, Winter? Be a good girl and say it.”
No going back.
No going back.
No going back.
“I want your cock inside me,” I admit hoarsely, feeling the fire from my core rise up and heat my body like the fire within him is spreading to me. “I want to feel it inside of me. Happy?”
His smile doesn’t waver as he works me over my leggings with his skilled fingers. “Very much so. In fact, I think I’ll reward you.”
Reward—
