Page 18

“Unzip your shorts,” he says.

I do, and he works them down my legs. Underneath is a matching pair of cotton panties. I wasn’t expecting this, so I wasn’t exactly prepared. He doesn’t seem to care; instead, he starts kissing the side of my knee, down my calf, to my ankle.

Oh no—he’s really fucking good at this, isn’t he?

He slides his hands up, curling them around the waistband. Then, he turns those eyes on me, and there isn’t a shred of resistance in my core.

“You sure you’re okay with us fucking?” he asks.

“Yes,” I manage. “Just this once.”

He hesitates. Something passes over his face, then disappears. “Yeah, just one and done.”

I nod, panting. He pulls them down and spreads my knees, gaze dropping.

“Fuck,” he says.

For a man of few words, I’ll take that as a compliment. He pulls me to the edge of the table, and his head dips. I gasp when his tongue slides over my pussy, finding my clit. Instead of going at it, he circles it slowly, in a way that makes my eyes roll. In a fit of daring, I run my hand through his hair. It’s soft, with a little curl. My fingers grip, holding him there.

I don’t need to. He’s focused.

The room spins. Not for one minute did I think I would be here when I crossed the yard to the gatehouse. Was he thinking about this all day while we were out? I found his eyes on me at least a half dozen times. Right now, I don’t care about anything. I’ve never had my body respond to anyone like this, and I need to feel every bit of it, even if it’s only this one time.

Pleasure sparks.

I’m heading towards the pinpoint in the darkness.

I’m a train on the tracks, with only one place to go: right into his arms.

His other hand grips me, digging into the soft part of my thigh. It moves around to the inside and hovers right above my pussy.

“You mind if I use my fingers?”

It’s charming, how much he asks. I nod, biting my lip, watching as he spits on his fingers and slides two over my pussy. My eyes flutter shut. Darkness swims, and through it, those two fingers part me and push gently inside.

“God, you feel so fucking good,” he says quietly.

I open my lids, the ceiling swimming before them. “How good?” I murmur.

He licks my clit. “Soft, tight,” he says. “So fucking wet.”

He fucks me with those two fingers, slowly and firmly, at the perfect pace, pads brushing the spot I sometimes try to hit with my vibrator late at night. Tingles of pleasure move in my hips and stir warmth in my lower belly. The pleasure that started when he had his tongue on me returns. He keeps stroking, watching his fingers pump slowly in and out of me.

Who even am I?

Apparently, I’m brave enough to let Coen Taylor put his fingers in my pussy.

He dips his head again, and I moan, gripping his hair. This time, he doesn’t stop until the pleasure rises to the surface. Right at the end, I get shy and try to hold off. Being naked, letting him touch me, feels less intimate than coming in front of him. But between his fingers and his tongue, I can’t hold it back.

“Oh, God,” I rush.

My body snaps back, hips rising. My orgasm ripples through me in hard pumps of pleasure that leave me gasping. He doesn’t move away until I have to drag him back by the hair. When he does, he’s breathing hard as he gets to his feet.

“Goddamn,” I whisper.

Beneath his jeans, I can see the rise of his erection, straining. Even though I just came, a hunger rises in me. My fingers move of their own accord and grab his belt, unfastening the buckle. He stops me, fingers loose over mine.

“You sure?” he says softly.