Jordan’s grip on my waist turns almost punishing before he eases it. “Careful.”
“I am being careful.”
“Are you?”
“Very.”
His jaw flexes.
I wrap my fingers around him, uncertain at first. He sucks in a breath through his teeth, and the sound gives me courage I have absolutely not earned.
“Show me,” I say.
His eyes burn into mine. “You want me to teach you how to touch my cock?”
My face goes nuclear.
“Yes.”
The word comes out barely there.
His hand covers mine, firm and warm. “Tighter.”
I obey.
His eyelids lower.
The sight of Jordan Richmond losing even that much control because of my hand makes something bright and reckless bloom in my chest.
“Like that?”
“Like that.”
He guides me slowly, his hand over mine, showing me the rhythm, the pressure, the way his breathing changes when I twist my wrist just right.
My nerves fade beneath fascination.
A strange, reckless kind of power blooms in my chest. Jordan Richmond wants me badly enough that I can feel it in my hand, and every rough breath he takes makes me braver.
I lean closer and press my mouth to his chest. His hand falters over mine.
“Don’t start something you’re not ready to finish,” he says.
“I thought you were teaching me.”
“I am trying to survive you.”
That sends a thrill through me.
I slide lower before I can talk myself out of it. His hand drops from mine and fists in the sheet as I kiss his stomach, then lower. I look up at him once.
His face is hard with restraint.
“Open your mouth,” he says, voice rough.
I do.
“Tongue flat.”
