Page 79 of Every Time We Touch

She struts toward the bed, clearly very much enjoying this, and slides back under the covers with me.

“Is that new or are you just happy to see me?” I grimace at my lame joke the moment it leaves my mouth.

“Brand-new and raring to go.” Her gaze softens. “If you want to.”

“I very much do.”

For some reason, so far, I’ve always been the one strapping it on. Mainly because Jen can’t get enough of it—and I can’t get enough of doing it—and that’s how things naturally go. Perhaps it’s also a personality thing, and maybe it’s something we should talk about—another item on the long list of things to process—but now’s most certainly not the time for that. Because, from the get-go, we’ve excelled far more at other things than talking. Probably because we knew that if we did really start talking about how things started between us, we might have talked ourselves out of it. And that’s the last thing we wanted to do—even though some people, like Lauren, firmly believe we should have. But Lauren’s for later. This is now—and now is utterly delightful.

“Come here,” I say.

Jen slides toward me and I reach for her, my hands finding the warmth of her skin, the toy nudging against my thigh.

I run my fingers up her back, feeling the change in her breathing as I do. “You look extremely pleased with yourself.”

“I am extremely pleased with myself.” She kisses my cheek, then the corner of my mouth. “I’ve been thinking about this for a while.”

“Have you?” A smile spreads on my lips.

“Since about two in the morning. While you were sleeping and I was supposed to be doing a cash flow projection.”

I laugh—until her mouth finds mine properly. There’s nothing tentative about the way Jen kisses me. There never has been. My fingers dig into her back.

“Tell me what you want,” Jen murmurs against my lips.

“You know what I want,” I reply.

“I want to hear you say it.” She leans back just enough to look at me—her blue eyes darker than I’ve seen them. “Indulge me.”

“I want you inside me,” I whisper, my own words already igniting the pulse in my clit to an intolerable level.

Jen holds my gaze as she slides down my body—slowly, like we have nowhere else to be, like there’s no family brunch looming, no Lauren to face, no world outside this bedroom. Her lips trace a path down my sternum, along my breasts, pausing just below my belly button.

She glances up at me from where she’s settled between my thighs, her chin resting against my skin, her expression infuriatingly serene for someone who is doing this on purpose. She presses a kiss to my inner thigh. Then the other.

Her tongue finds me and then she licks me. I twirl my fingers in her hair. My hips veer toward her. Her mouth on me is wet and hot and already very close to taking me apart. But Jen knows how to pace herself.

Then, she slides two fingers inside me while her tongue keeps moving along my clit and the combination of it pulls a sound from me I’m fairly sure the neighbors can hear. My thighs close around her shoulders. The pressure builds—quick and sweet and almost too much—and just when I’m sure she’s going to take me all the way there, she eases back. Her fingers pause. Her mouth lifts.

My clit pulses with outrage and desire in equal measure.

Jen sits up and reaches for the lube on the nightstand. I watch her slick the toy with purposeful strokes, each one stripping more composure from me.

She gazes at me with that expression—tender and full of unbridled desire all at once—that I’ll never get used to.

“Okay?” she asks.

My throat tight with lust, I can only nod.

She drags the tip of the toy through my wetness and my hips lift toward her.

“Oh, Jen.” Her name is a warning and a plea at the same time.

“I know,” she says, but does it again, slower this time, the broad head of the toy sliding between my wet, eager lips without giving me what I’m so desperate for. My fingers curl into the sheets.

“Please,” I beg.

She nudges the tip against my entrance, just enough to make my breath snag, and holds it there. My whole body strains toward her.