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My eyes track the line of her dress where it rests against her legs, the way the fabric pulls slightly tighter across her chest than it used to, the soft new fullness in her that only someone who has had his hands on her this many times would notice. She’s beautiful in a way that still hits me harder than it should.

“You look dangerous in this light,” I tell her, voice low. “Like you already know exactly what I’m about to do to you.”

I rest my hand on her thigh, above the fabric. My palm is warm. I stroke upward once, slow, feeling the muscle shift under my touch. She draws a quieter breath. I do it again, higher this time, fingers spreading as they travel.

“I’ve been thinking about this all night,” I murmur. “About getting my hand under this dress and finding out how wet you already are for me.”

My hand slides higher beneath the hem, moving slowly enough that she feels every inch of the path I take along the soft skin of her inner thigh. Soft, uneven pants start leaving her mouth. I watch her face the entire time, drinking in the flush climbing her cheeks and the way her lips part.

“You’re already breathing like you need it,” I tell her.

“I do,” she answers, voice low and rough. “Stop teasing and touch me properly.”

I reach the edge of her underwear and brush over the fabric once, feeling how warm and damp she already is.

A small sound leaves her throat when I press more firmly, rubbing slow circles through the thin material until I find the exact place where she is soaked.

“Fuck, you’re so wet, Harper,” I say. “You’ve been sitting here wanting my fingers this whole time.”

Her eyes dare me. “Then give them to me.”

I push the material aside and slide two fingers through her folds, gathering the slickness there before I drag them up to her clit and circle it with deliberate pressure. Her hips twitch. I ease one finger inside her, then a second, curling them against the front wall while my thumb keeps working her clit in tight circles. The wet sound of it fills the quiet space between the crackle of the fire.

She reaches up while I finger her and pulls the top of her dress down, freeing both breasts. The soft new fullness of them sits heavy in the firelight. I lean in without being asked and close my mouth around one nipple, sucking hard while my fingers keep stroking inside her. A longer moan breaks out of her, and her hand finds the back of my head, holding me there.

“Yes,” she breathes. “Just like that. Don’t stop.”

I switch to the other breast, teeth grazing the peak while I curl my fingers deeper inside her. She is panting harder now, the sounds open and needy, her hips rolling to meet every stroke of my hand. I lift my head from her breast and take her mouth in a slow, deep kiss, swallowing the next moan she gives me. My fingers keep working her the entire time, steady and relentless, thumb circling her clit while I stroke that same sensitive place inside her.

She breaks the kiss just enough to speak against my lips. “Harder. I need it harder.”

I give her just that, curling my fingers with more pressure and rubbing her clit in tighter circles. Her hand tightens in my hair. I go back to her breast, sucking the nipple deep into my mouth while my fingers keep their rhythm. The wet sound of what I’m doing to her fills the space between us. She is getting louder, the moans less controlled, her thighs starting to tremble around my wrist.

“You feel how wet you are for me?” I ask against her skin. “You’re soaking my hand. I could do this for hours and still not get enough of the way you sound.”

“Artem—” Her voice breaks on my name. “I’m so close. Don’t stop.”

“I won’t. You’re going to come for me, but not yet. Not until I say.”

I ease the pressure on her clit just enough to keep her on the edge, still stroking inside her with the same deep curl. She makes a frustrated, needy sound and tries to push her hips harder against my hand. I kiss her again, slower this time, tasting every broken breath she gives me. When I finally press my thumb back against her clit with firm, deliberate circles and suck hard at her breast at the same time, her whole body goes taut.

A higher, sharper cry leaves her as she comes around my fingers, pulsing hard, thighs trembling on either side of my wrist. I work her through every wave, slower now, drawing it out until she is shaking and trying to close her legs around my hand, still kissing her through the last of it.

I ease my fingers out carefully. They are shiny with her. I lift them between us so she can see, then bring them to my mouth and taste her without looking away from her face.

“You taste so fucking good,” I tell her.

She’s still catching her breath when her hands move to my belt. I lean back enough to give her room and watch as she works the buckle open and frees me. My cock is already heavy and hard in her hand. She strokes once, then leans down and takes the head into her mouth. The first wet heat of it pulls a rough moan out of me.

“Fuck,” I breathe. “That’s it. Take more of me.”

She does, sinking lower, her tongue working along the underside while one hand stays wrapped around the base. Wet sounds fill the space between the crackle of the fire. I keep one hand lightly in her hair, not forcing, just holding on as the pleasure builds. The sight of her on the couch with her dress pulled down, breasts bare and still marked from my mouth, lips stretched around my cock, is almost enough to undo the control I have left.

“Deeper,” I ask, voice rough. “I want to feel that throat. You’re so good at this.”

She takes me deeper, the wet heat and the steady rhythm of her mouth pulling another low moan from my chest. Her free hand cups my balls and squeezes gently while she works me, and the dual sensation makes my hips twitch despite myself.

“Just like that,” I tell her. “Don’t stop. Fuck, your mouth feels perfect.”