I moved aside my bent legs to make more room for my straining erection. “Let them look. I’m sure I present a glorious sight from any vantage point.”
She snorted a laugh, and I decided that was the most beautiful sound I’d ever heard. For me at least, it had the effect of a searching song.
“Ask me where my hands would be right now if I could touch you,” I said.
She licked her lips, her pink tongue darting out, teasing and tantalizing.
“Where would they be, Kye?”
“On your breasts, of course. You have no idea, sweetheart, how often I’ve imagined your breasts in my hands, salivating about every detail of how they would feel. They’d be just a bit more than a handful, I believe. Soft under my palms. Firm when I squeeze them. With those perky little buds of your nipples trapped between my fingers.”
My voice grew hoarse as I spoke. Her breathing sped up. A blush colored her cheeks. Her eyelids dropped a little, and her lips parted. Fuck, I loved that expression on her.
Then I caught movement under her blanket.
“Show them to me,” I demanded.
She stilled, then shook her head.
“No. You’ll see the bruises, freak out, and kill the mood,” she said frankly. “Use your imagination. You’ve seen me naked enough times before.”
She was right. Just her mentioning the bruises on her body flipped my mood from lust to rage. I felt an overwhelming need to murder someone, when I should be thinking about giving her pleasure.
I tried to focus on what was most important at the moment. Revenge murders could wait at least until Maren was fully satisfied and well rested.
Gods, how I wished I could fuck her.
“Tell me then, my sweet butterfly, where are your hands right now?” I asked.
Her blush deepened. “On my breasts.”
“Play with your hard little nipples for me then. Pinch them between your fingers, roll them, pull on them like I would if I could.”
I watched the blanket move as she played with her body for me. I imagined her hands on her breasts, the pink nipples pinched between her fingers, a shudder of pleasure rushing her head to toe.
My cock jerked with aching pressure, but I ignored it, for if I touched myself, I feared I’d come in seconds. I wanted to prolong it, to stay with her in the fantasy we were building together.
Another movement under her blanket indicated her hand shifted downward.
“Uh-uh.” I lifted a finger to stop her. “Where are you touching now?”
“I...I want to, Kye. Please,” she whined, stretching in bed, then bending her knees, and spreading her legs open under the blanket.
If I were under that fucking blanket with her, it’d be so easy for me to sink inside her in this position, with her thighs cradling my hips. Desire shot through me like a lightning bolt. A ripple of magic ran under the skin of my cock, and I could no longer hold back. I fisted my cock with a hiss.
She whimpered, watching me stroke myself.
“Slide your finger around your opening,” I instructed, “but don’t touch the spot you want to touch the most.”
She breathed through her parted lips, her eyelids fluttering, her hand in the place I longed to touch more than anything in this entire world.
“Now dip your finger inside you,” I said. “Tell me how wet you are.”
With a bold glint in her eyes, she offered, “Why don’t I show it to you instead?”
My heart thudded with thrill. But instead of lifting the blanket, she pulled her hand out from under it, then held up two gloriously glistening fingers.
“Fuck...” I groaned. “I’d give the rest of my life for just a taste, Maren.”
