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“You’re already wet,” he murmurs against my mouth.
“You’re naked and touching me.”
“That explanation lacks detail.”
“You enjoy unnecessary praise.”
“I enjoy hearing exactly what I do to you.”
His thumb circles my clit while two fingers move lower. I tense when he presses gently against the soreness between my thighs.
Ryan stops.
“Don’t stop.”
“You tightened.”
“Because I can still feel last night.”
His eyes darken. “You say that like you want me to apologize.”
“I want you to do it again.”
A rough sound leaves him.
He reaches toward the nightstand and opens the drawer. The bottle of lubricant he removes makes me laugh.
“You came prepared.”
“I’m twenty-seven, not seventeen.”
“You nearly destroyed your kitchen because I took off my sweater.”
“My judgment suffered a temporary collapse.”
“Temporary?”
Ryan spreads the lubricant across his fingers. “Keep talking.”
The first slick touch slides through me without dragging against the tenderness last night left behind. He opens me slowly, one finger followed by another while his thumb keeps a steady rhythm above them.
Pleasure builds without urgency.
Ryan watches my face through every stroke.
“I missed this,” he says.
“You had this twice last night.”
“I missed having time.”
The answer reaches somewhere deeper than desire.
His fingers curl inside me.
My hips lift from the mattress.
“That,” he says quietly. “I spent months remembering that.”
