He stilled just enough to look at her profile, his mouth still close to her skin.
“I’m guessing this is okay,” he murmured.
His hand slid lower, slow enough for her to stop him if she wanted to, and curved over her ass, fingers squeezing experimentally.
“Yes,” she breathed, nodding quickly.
She knew exactly where this was heading. And she was more than ready.
His touch grew bolder, fingers skimming her skin with curious intent rather than practiced confidence. There was something almost fascinating about that; his exploration wasn’t rushed. It was thoughtful. Attentive.
“This,” he murmured, voice lower now, “is uncharted territory for me.”
Fingers slipped between her butt cheeks. “Is this?”
She shook her head faintly, pulse racing. “No…but it can be.”
A dark chuckle vibrated against her skin. “We’ll get back to that.”
His fingers drifted forward, sliding softly, testing boundaries. He paused when he reached the delicate seam between her thighs, “Oh,” he murmured thoughtfully. “This feels somewhat the same.”
Her breath caught sharply as he traced the line with careful curiosity.
“I think if I do this…” His fingers shifted slightly, dipping past her pussy lips, “…I’ll get to?—”
“Yes,” she gasped, hips instinctively tilting until she felt him at her hole. “That’s right.”
Another low, satisfied laugh.
She was glad that they were in the spring because then he would’ve felt how aroused she was and proof that she wanted so much more.
He adjusted again, exploring further, and the sound that escaped her this time was closer to a whimper than she intended.
“And this?” he asked softly, fingertips finding the small, sensitive point that made her whole body tense.
“Oh—” She arched back against him as he pressed gently, experimentally. “That is purely for pleasure.”
She felt him testing the pressure again, and her breath stuttered, her fingers gripping his arm.
“I like this,” he said, voice edged with heat and fascination.
“Me too,” she managed, hardly recognizing her own voice.
The night around them felt impossibly quiet, the stars overhead sharp and distant while everything between them narrowed to warmth, touch, and the steady rhythm of shared discovery.
There was nothing practiced about what he was doing, no rehearsed rhythm or smug certainty. And yet somehow, somehow, he found it. He paid attention. Every shift of her breathing. Every tightening of her fingers around his arm. Every soft, involuntary sound she made when he adjusted his touch just slightly. It wasn’t skill honed over time. It was instinct sharpened by focus.
And it worked.
“Oh—” Her voice broke, surprise flooding her as much as pleasure. “How are you?—”
He hummed softly against her neck. “You make it very clear,” he murmured. “Your body answers.”
That only made it worse, in the best possible way.
She was close. So close. And that hardly ever happened.
Usually, it took comfort. Familiarity. Knowing someone’s rhythm, trusting their pace. She wasn’t the kind of woman who unraveled easily in someone’s arms, especially not someone she’d just met.
