I lean forward and kiss his stomach. I kiss the line of muscle under his ribs and the one below his navel. His hand comes up and slides into my hair at the back of my head, gentle, holding me without pulling me anywhere. He groans low in his throat.
I slide my other hand down to the front of his jeans. He's hard against the denim, big enough that my palm can't cover the whole shape of him. His breath catches sharp.
"Callie."
I close my hand around what I can hold. He puts his hand over mine and presses me harder against him. "Fuck." He's breathing through his teeth now.
When I look up his eyes are on mine, his mouth parted. His face is naked. I'd swear nobody has put hands on him in a very long time.
His hand tightens in my hair just a little, then he eases me back down to the bed and gets on his side beside me. He puts a hand on my belly and slides it down, slow.
"You ever touched yourself thinking of me?"
"Yes."
"Recently?"
"Every night since you saw me in the robe."
"Then show me what you do."
I look at him.
"Show me where your hand goes. Show me what gets you off. I want to learn how you work before I take it over."
I'm not sure I can do it. But his eyes are on me, his hand is open on my belly, waiting. I trust him with this more completely than should be possible after a week. I take his hand and put it where I want it. He doesn't move it. He waits. I put my own hand over his and I show him, slow, with the circles I've taught myself.
He learns me fast. After a minute he lifts my hand off and takes over. He starts where I started him, light circles, then he gets more confident. Every touch is patient, curious, perfect. He listens to my body more than to my mouth.
"That?"
"Yes."
"That?"
"God. Yes."
"Tell me when you're close."
"I'm getting close."
"Don't fight it."
I don't fight it. He pushes one finger inside me. The rest of him is on my clit. I come around his finger with my back arching off the bed and a cry that would have carried through the whole house.
He doesn't take his hand away while I come down. He keeps me there with the press of his palm, lighter now, and watches my face the whole time.
"Beautiful," he says, quiet enough that I almost miss it. "Beautiful."
He kisses me. He kisses the corner of my mouth, my jaw, the spot under my ear I didn't know I could feel anything in. He works down my throat to my collarbone, to the curve of my breast, back up. Every part of me twice.
I want him in me before I burst. I tell him.
"Kane. Please. I want to feel you inside."
"In a minute, baby."
"Now."
