Page 31 of Sand in My Boots

“It was almost Came 2.0.”

His comment makes me giddy. Both with the words and how he says it so nonchalantly. “Let me take care of it for you.”

I barely move, but he pushes my shoulders back to the bed. “Not yet. I owe you one more.”

Relenting, I tell him, “You could try. Not sure you’re up for the challenge unless you . . . you know.” I flick my gaze down to his erection. Standing at full mast, it greets me.

He puts a hand to his chest. “I’m offended you think so little of me, Jude.” His head moves side to side, insulted by my comment.

“I said what I said.” Maybe if I rile him up enough, he’ll give in. He can pull out. I assume he’d have a bit of warning to pull out. Right?

Not based on past experiences, my mind recaps.

He acts again, without warning. This time, his fingers enter me, the intrusion surprising yet not unwelcome.

My body relaxes deeper into the bed as his fingers work me over. After a minute or so—can’t be certain of exactly how long—he rasps, “Will this do?”

And yep, it will.

Because whatever he’s doing—however many fingers he’s got in there—is magical. But I won’t let him know that for certain.

“For now.” My breathy tone gives me away. I wanted to sound indifferent, but it comes out more of wanting. Of longing. Of being somewhat satisfied.

Way to keep it a secret, Juliana.

The bastard is smug. “Thought so.” Then he does this thing, a twisting of his wrist, which pretty much guarantees a second orgasm.

“Fuck,” I drawl, tension gathering in the pit of my stomach. And so freaking quickly, too. This is going to go right to his head, right to his ego, proving what he wanted all along. All because my body’s betraying me. Acting like this is so freaking amazing. The best finger-fucking I’ve ever had.

Because it is.

“Don’t stop. Please. Not anytime soon.” I’m practically begging at this point. As much as my body needs release, his hand inside me feels extremely good. And I don’t want to give in or give up this feeling.

“Let go. Come for me. Again.”

And damn it, my body lets go of trying to hold on. To hold out a little longer, but he’s still working me over so good. Too good.

I fall over the precipice I’d been staring down for a few minutes, tumbling into oblivion, riding it out, milking it for all it’s worth. It’s worth a lot. When I finally hit the bottom and he removes his fingers, my body is completely boneless and spent.

From his fucking fingers.

“I . . . um, wow. Just wow, Cameron.” The words are hard to admit, but I like to give credit where it’s due. I’d be remiss if I didn’t give him credit. Even if it inflates his ego.

Trying to catch my breath, I lie on the bed, starfish style, my legs and arms lying heavy on the mattress.

“Wait until it’s my cock, Juli. You won’t be able to move.”

My mouth opens, but no words come out to refute his claim. Because he’s probably not wrong.

In the recesses of my mind, something niggles. The notion that he needs to be taken care of. There’s no way he’s not hurting more than before we started. No way.

I need a few more minutes to relax, to come down off this high of back-to-back orgasms.

“Hurting yet?” I can’t help but ask.

“If I say no, I’d be lying,” comes his voice close to my ear. I smile at his admission.

My breath comes in heavy pants. It’s going to take a while to recover from his sorcery. I can’t make my body move. As much as I owe him a blow job or hand job at the least, I physically can’t move. Not even to open my eyes.