“It was implied.”
“Was it?”
James quirks his lips. “I refuse to believe it’s because there was a lack of interest. Look at you, Fliss. And besides, are we really arguing right now?”
More compliments from James. Or at least I think they are. Maybe he’s right about the scaring part though. Between work stress and life stress, I’ve been frightening men away this whole time. Maybe what I need right now is someone who is definitely not afraid of me to step straight through that invisible armour I’ve made for myself.
I take a deep breath as James kisses me again. This time slowly, deliberately, tugging at my bottom lip in the way I do but with more care. He cups my cheek and neck delicately as if he’s cradling glass.
Slowly but surely, the fire that ebbed, as I started to worry, builds again.
Extracting my hand from his chest, he slides his fingers with mine, leaning up enough to kiss my knuckles, sending shots of fire straight to my core. The core that’s now pulsing as if it’s got its own heartbeat. I never knew knuckles could be sensitive like this. When he pops one of my fingers in his mouth, I feel it in my brain and my toes. Since when was this a thing? He takes another, his tongue rolling across them.
After releasing my hand, he carefully, slowly drops his hand lower. I close my eyes because, yes, I’m up for this, but, no, I can’t have him looking at me with those intense eyes, because holy shit, Gloatman is about to be touching me.Touching me, touching me. And I’m totally up for it.
When he’s almost there, he changes direction. It’s brutal. Completely the sort of underhanded thing he would do. I whimper as he reaches down as far as he can on my left leg, circling the area he knows I want soothed but never actually giving me what I want. Whenever I think he’s getting close, he moves away again. He strokes my belly button which makes me hop from my pelvis. His hand skirts the side of my waist, and back down before finally curving over the spot I need him to be touchingso, sobad.
Then he snatches it away again. I gasp.
“You’re teasing me,” I moan as James laughs in this devilishly dark way that makes my ears tingle. He leans in close, his tongue and lips and teeth playing with sensitive spots behind my ears and down my neck until I’m squirming again. He finds my hand, purposefully holding it still over my stomach as he does so.
Then, because I’m desperate for something and really don’t know what else to do, I twist my face in search of him. His lips find mine, colliding in passion. I find myself rocking my wanton hips into his body, trying with all my strength to move our hands lower.
“You want this now?” he whispers.
“Please.”
He releases the lock on his elbow and moves our hands lower until he’s tracing my clit with his fingers, under the thin material of my knickers. Then, as I begin to hum, closing my eyes tight again, he places my hand there, his pressed over the top of mine. “Show me,” he says.
At first, I’m not sure he’s serious. I wait for him to take control again but he’s busy now, kissing my neck, playing with the spots of pleasure I didn’t even know existed. Steadily, I begin to circle myself in the way I usually do. The pressure builds gradually, James’ fingers are quick to follow the movement. He groans as if me going along with his suggestion is as good as having outright sex.
I moan out loud too, totally uncontrolled, as a wave of pleasure rolls over me.
But we’re not there yet. James is nibbling along my collarbone. His breathing is choppy, as if he too is experiencing my building eruption.
Slowly, his hand moves over mine. He lifts it again, taking it away from where I want it. He kisses my knuckles before placing it back on my chest. “I’ll take it from here,” he says. “You can trust me.”
And, oh god, I really shouldn’t trust Gloatman but here we are. I let him take over, his fingers roaming lower until he’s in the same spot, moving gently over it in exactly the same way I did. But, oh.
He’s so, so,somuch better than me. Or is it just because it’s not me? His fingers are warm as they move anti-clockwise. Occasionally, he dips lower, using my own moisture as natural lube. It’s so bloody intimate. It’s so wrong that it’s James. But it feels so very right.
I bite my lip to prevent too many sounds from exiting my lips; my breathing is slower now and yet, louder, as if I’m running a race. “That’s it,” he says into my ear, sending shivers racking through me.
It’s getting closer.
The pressure is rising now. It’s building like there’s a pool or a dam holding back a tidal wave.
I moan again.
He nibbles on my earlobe.
He’s circling a little quicker now, waiting patiently for me to come undone. But I need something more. I need him to get meaner.
“More,” I say.
“More what?” he asks. No panic in his voice. No offence taken that I’m asking for something. “I need you to tell me.”
“Be meaner with it.”
