I kissed her again, deep and thorough, while my hand slid between her thighs.
Wet.
She’s so wet.
The clinical part of my brain noted the physiological response. Increased blood flow to the genital region, vaginal lubrication indicating arousal, while the rest of me just felt a surge of pure masculine satisfaction.
I did this. I made her this wet.
I stroked her gently, explored her folds with careful fingers, found the small bundle of nerves at the apex and circled it with precise pressure. She gasped, her hips jerking against my hand.
“Is this okay?” I asked against her mouth.
“Yes—God—yes!”
I increased the pressure slightly, adjusted the angle based on her response, and applied the same methodical approach I used in surgery: observe, assess, adjust.
Her breathing became ragged. Her hands clutched my shoulders, and when I slid one finger inside her, she made a sound that went straight to my cock.
Tight. She’s so tight.
I added a second finger, felt her stretch around me, felt her inner walls flutter and clench.
“Julien—I’m going to—I think I’m—”
“Let go,” I murmured against her neck. “I’ve got you.”
She came with a cry, her body arching off the bed, her muscles clenching around my fingers, her face flushed and beautiful and completely unguarded.
Perfect. She is perfect.
I worked her through it, gentled my touch as she came down, kissed her softly while she caught her breath.
“That was...” She laughed breathlessly. “That was amazing.”
“Good.”
“I didn’t know it could feel like that.”
Something in her tone made me pause.
Didn’t know it could feel like that.
Not “Didn’t know it could feel that good with you.”
Just...didn’t know. I pulled back slightly and looked at her face.
“Athena.”
“Mmmm?”
“You have... done this before, right?”
She blinked up at me, her expression open and guileless.
“Done what?”
“Sex. Have you had sex before?”
