I nod.“Yes."
"What?"
I can't form thoughts for a moment—I’m too overcome by the searing lightning that blasts through me at the delicate brush of his touch to my clit.I shift backward an inch or so.Slide my fingers along the waist of his jeans from the outside in, halting at the button.Flip it open.Hesitate, and then tug down the zipper."This," I whisper."I thought about making you come."I can't believe my own ears when the truth emerges, bold as you please, from nerves-numb lips."With my mouth."
"Ah fuck, Morgan.Jesus."He sounds…shocked faint.stunned.“I—I’dneverask—"
"You wouldn't have to ask," I interrupt.“Iwantto.”
He growls."God, Morgan."
I gasp breathlessly when he circles my clit again, this time pressing a little more firmly.I quake at his touch, and my hips move, grinding subtly into his touch."Noah, please."
"What, sweetheart?Anything."
I touch my forehead to his and open my eyes, gazing down, watching his thumb move under the scarlet lace."More."It's all I can manage.
"More?"A tender, slow kiss to my mouth.
He hooks a finger in the gusset and pulls the fabric to the side, baring my sex.I try to squirm at the exposure, but there's nowhere to go, no movement that can alleviate the ache or assuage my panicked nerves.
His mouth touches mine, open but not kissing, just touching."How about…this?"
A fingertip touches my clit and I jerk, gasp.But he's not done.He trails that fingertip over my seam, down, down, a fraction of an inch at a time.In, then.Parting my sex, intruding.
Oh…
Oh god.
My mouth drops open and my lips tremble at the touch, the intrusion, the thick presence of his finger inside me."Ohhhhh, god.Oh god…Noah."
“Okay?"
I nod.“Yeah.Yes.I…”
"What, honey?"
"Keep going.Please."
Slowly, so carefully, he slides his finger inside me.Pulls it out partway, slides back in.Again.I gasp, tip my hips toward him, begging silently for more.I forgot what it feels like to be touched like this.My brain is scrambled and my emotions are a hurricane and my pulse is mad and wild and frenetic.
"Oh god," I whisper, when he paints my clit with my own wetness."Ohgod."
Shock sizzles through me at this touch, making me flinch, hiss, gasp—he dips inside me again, paints my clit again.I press my forehead to his shoulder and tilt my hips toward him, panting shallowly, watching through slitted eyes as his long middle finger delves inside me…and then he rotates his hand palm-up, adds his ring finger, and now I feel full, stretched, aching around his fingers.
I relax my hips, tip them forward again and again…my body wants more.So much more.I roam his back, palms drifting in circles from shoulders to small…clutch his sides, and then hook my fingers inside the elastic of his boxers, need battling panic as I consider whether I dare touch him.
His fingers slide into me, curl to press against my inner walls, exploring my depths.withdraw slowly, gently, and again smearing my clit with my essence, and that sensation is so sharply, intensely erotic that I feel faint, panting raggedly, whimpering.My stomach wobbles and clenches, and I rock into his touch as he fills me with his fingers, withdraws, smears me with my wetness.Rhythmically, now.Plunge in, thrust once, twice, three times…slide out…circle my clit once, twice, three times.My body likes the predictable rhythm, responds to it by flooding my system with chemicals and hormones, turning my emotions into a jumble of joy and excitement and urgency and need and desire and hunger—for a blissful, beautiful moment, there are no whispers of criticism, no fear, no panic, no self-doubt, no self-judgement.
I'm filled with a maelstrom of feelings and I can't withstand the barrage of them; I can only cling to his neck and rest my forehead on his shoulder and watch as he touches me.
He is unhurried.
Each plunge of his fingers inside me is a slow slide into my slick heat, each withdrawal is a shuddering eternity.Each thrust is wet, squelching noisily—the battering, pulsing insistence of arousal drowns out the embarrassment I'd normally feel hearing that wet noise.
I gasp, spine hunching as I tuck my tailbone forward to push against his fingers."Noah!Ohhhh…oh god, oh god, oh god."
Just because I haven't had sex in almost two decades doesn't mean I'm a sexless nun with a dry, cobwebby vagina, okay?I have an active and vivid imagination, a distractingly healthy sex drive, and a very expensive vibrator; I give myself an orgasm at least three or four times a week.
