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I do as he says, resting my hands on the counter behind me, watching as he slides the palms of his hands up and down the tops of my thighs. My T-shirt has bunched up until the hem of it is resting right above the top of my hot pink, lacy boy shorts.
My eyes move away from his hands to his face, and I watch him as he stares down at his hands, which are slowly inching up my thighs, stopping right at the edge of my lacy underwear. He slides the very tips of his fingers just under the lace, barely touching me as his skims them down over the curves of my thighs and between my legs, then back up.
I swallow thickly and my tongue darts out to wet my lips while he continues torturing me until I want to scream at him to shove his fingers all the way in there and just touch me where I need it already. I can feel myself getting wet, and I should probably be embarrassed that he can see it, considering his eyes are still glued to what he’s doing and my legs are spread wide open. But I don’t care. I don’t care because of who’s doing it to me. This man is frustrating and confusing and he’s probably keeping secrets from me that I should be concerned about, but everything he’s shown me about the kind of person he is proves to me that regardless of what he said, he would never hurt me. He is a gentle giant who has turned this whole “experience” thing into so much more.
“Give me your hand,” he suddenly says, his eyes meeting mine.
I give him a confused look but do what he says, putting all of my weight onto my left hand and holding my right out towards him.
He wraps his hand around mine, pulling it down and pressing it against the lace between my thighs.
“What are you doing?” I whisper nervously.
“The first thing you need to learn is what turns you on. What you like that feels good. You need to be comfortable with your own body and your own sexuality and not just to use it to make money dancing. You need it for you. So you can be comfortable with it, and you can enjoy it,” he explains, adding pressure to the top of my hand until it’s resting flat against myself.
I lick my lips nervously again. Sure, I’ve touched myself before. But I was alone, under the covers, with all the lights turned off. I’ve never done something like this with someone watching me.
“Should I be taking notes?” I squeak, when he guides my hand up until it’s resting against my stomach.
He gently wraps his hand around my wrist, then pushes it back down until it slides under the lace, my fingers gliding through my wetness.
“Touch yourself. Do whatever feels good.”
Both of his hands come back to rest on my hips, and he dips his head down to the side of my neck. As soon as his lips touch my skin right under my ear, a jolt of electricity shoots right down between my legs, where my fingers are currently resting.
His teeth gently nip that sensitive skin of my neck, and my hips jerk forward. I can’t stand it anymore. I need some relief from the fire that has been blazing inside of me since he pulled my pants off. I tentatively start moving my fingers as he continues to gently lick and suck on the side of my neck.
I touch myself right where I need it, circling two of my fingers, just like I’ve done when I’m alone, but it’s so much better than any of those times. It’s more erotic because I can feel Vincent’s warm breath puffing against the side of my neck. It’s more sensual because I can feel the heat from his body and feel the tight grasp of his hands on my hips.
He kisses his way up my neck and over my jaw until his lips are hovering against my ear.
“Push them inside,” he whispers.
A shiver races down my spine and I immediately comply, letting out a soft moan when I do what he says.
He presses his forehead against mine and looks down between my legs, and instead of being embarrassed that he’s watching me touch myself, it turns me on even more. I start moving my fingers, pushing them in deeper, and using my thumb to bring me more pleasure.
“Fuck,” he growls. “You’re so goddamn sexy right now.”
His words make me whimper, and my fingers start moving faster, my hips rocking up to meet my hand. I stare at his face as he continues to watch me, the hunger in his eyes almost more stimulating than my own touch.
I’m so swollen and sensitive that each swipe of my thumb forces me to moan louder and louder, until I’m panting and gasping, muttering Vincent’s name and watching his jaw clench with each jerky movement of my hand between my legs.
