“I can do better if you want me to.”
“You can’t. You won’t.”
“Say the word, and I will.”
Okay, stop now, she told herself.
But that wasn’t what came out.
“Yeah, I do. Yes,” she panted, and god, thewayhe obliged.
“Finger your cunt for me, then. Fuck yourself until you’re close,” he said—Caleb Miller, a man who didn’t even like toswear. He saidcunt, her mind gasped, but her body didn’t react with the same sort of shock. It didn’t act all scandalized. It arched right into her now frantic fingers. She practically rubbed herself against her hand. And holy fuck, the sounds that were coming out of her now.
They were high and breathy and almost constant. A long litany of little moans and gasps.Oh, she actually let out.Oh, oh, oh,over and over and so loud it seemed to fill the small space. It felt louder than a shout. And god, the sound of her trying to do what he had asked. The slick click of her stroking herself there, trying to work her fingers in, half unsure and awkward about it, but doing enough that he would definitely hear.
He’s going to realize now that this is insane, she thought.
And instead he got a hint of that frustration and shifted. Turned his head toward her, it felt like. “Want me to do it for you?” he said, because apparently he had lost it, he had clearly just lost his mind. This was beyond anything he should have been able to do. Playing a game, sure. Encouraging her, fine.
Touching her himself?
With his own hands?
“You wouldn’t. You wouldn’t,” she said, and he just answered so casually.
“Only if you don’t want me to. Tell me you do and I will.”
“I can’t—ohhhhgod, I can’t, I don’t even know what to say.”
“Whatever filthy thing you’d like to.”
“Like touch me.”
“More than that.”
“Put your hand between my legs.”
“You can do better, I know you can.”
“Oh god, Miller, just fuck me. Fuck my slick cunt,” she finally blurted out.
But she honestly didn’t expect him to actually doit. It seemed completely impossible that he’d even said the words, never mind would do the physical act. She was still reeling from his tongue clicking around the wordclit—it just didn’t seem like a reasonable thing to believe in.
So it made sense that she moaned just hearing the zipper on her sleeping bag go. And that she did it again when she felt him over her. The heat of his body, the heavy, shadowy shape of him. Then, oh god, then—that was his hand on her thigh. Caleb Miller was touching her thigh.
And not even on the outside.
Right in there, right on the place between, where the skin was soft and almost painfully sensitive. Every callus, every line, every sense of how careful he was being with that big grip—it all sent a spark directly through her already too-sensitized clit.
Though really it was none of this that sent her round the twist.
It was the sound he made as he slid slowly up and encountered exactly how slick she was, long before he should. There, on the inside of her thighs, all the mess she’d made over his dirty words and heated encouragement.
And it didn’t make him chide her.
It made his breath stutter in his throat. Not quite a moan, but close enough that she answered him in kind. She let out a long, slow sigh of pleasure—and another when he rubbed her there. Like he was enjoying the feel of it, all over her. And then, just for good measure, he squeezed her there. He made a sound of satisfaction.
“Guess that answers the question of whether you’re gonna take what I’ve got,” he muttered, and honestly she had no idea what he meant. After all, it wasn’t as if he was going to use whatever he had between his legs. He was just going to ease a finger in, it was nothing.
