Page 121 of Glitched Fates & Stolen Mates

Kit had used his fingers on me a handful of times now. The first time, he’d used just one, going so slowly I thought I might die from the gentleness of it. He’d kissed me through the whole thing, swallowing every gasp and whimper as his finger worked me open with infinite patience. When he’d found that spot inside me—that sweet cluster of nerves that made stars explode behind my eyelids—I’d cried out against his mouth, my body arching off the bed like I’d been electrocuted. He’d held me through it, whispering praise against my lips as I fell apart. The next time, he’d introduced a second finger with the same dedicated care, stretching me slowly until the burn dissolved into pure pleasure.

Cool lube slicked against me—far too much, because Kit never did anything by halves. The excess ran down my skin in cold rivulets, raising goosebumps in its wake.

His tongue had done its work. When that thick finger pressed against me, it glided inside in one brutal stroke. My mouth dropped open, a shattered sound spilling against his thigh as he immediately searched for—

Found it. First try. Fingertip grinding against my prostate with ruthless accuracy.

The scream that tore from me was barely human. Pleasure detonated through every nerve, white-hot and merciless, riding the knife’s edge between ecstasy and overload.

“That’s it,” Kit murmured. “Let me hear you.”

I’d quickly come to understand that Kit thrived on my reactions—the more sounds I made, the more ravenous he became. My gasps were his fuel, each gasp and moan stoking some primal need to worship me completely.

A second finger pressed at my entrance. I sucked in air, bracing for the stretch.

“Okay?”

I managed a nod against his thigh.

Stillness. Patient kisses pressed to my hip as my body adjusted. The burn gradually melted into something richer, more demanding. When I shifted experimentally, Kit understood—fingers sliding in and out with measured strokes before spreading me wider.

“Kit,” I gasped, hips betraying me, grinding back against him. “Please—”

“Please what?” Pure wickedness in his voice.

Words died in my throat. All I could do was arch higher, offering myself completely—body spelling out desperation around his fingers. Obscene didn’t begin to cover it: me spread wide above him like a sacrifice, impaled on his hand while his neglected cock pressed hot against my cheek.

Those fingers curved, found that spot again, and my cry echoed off the walls as pleasure tore through me, violent and consuming. Teetering on the precipice now, the thinnest thread between sanity and complete surrender.

“More.” The word scraped out of me without true meaning—more fingers, more pressure, more everything he’d give me.

Kit’s response was immediate. A third finger joined the others, stretching me so wide my mouth gaped in a soundless scream.

“Are you ready for me?” he asked softly.

The question alone sent molten fire racing through my veins.

“I think so,” I whispered.

Kit’s fingers slid out of me with a soft, wet sound that made me whimper at the loss. Before I could protest, his hands were gently pulling me up and around until I was facing him again. He pressed a tender kiss to my cheek, stroking my hair back from my forehead.

“How do you want this?” he asked softly, his thumb tracing along my jaw. “What position?”

Position? I had no list for this. Over the last few weeks, I’d tried to force myself numerous times to watch porn, but couldn’t make it past the first two seconds without slamming the laptop shut.

“Whatever you want,” I said, voice small.

Kit’s expression softened, and he leaned forward to press gentle kisses along my neck. “Let’s try this,” he murmured finally, guiding me to lie on my side facing away from him. He arranged the pillow carefully under my head. “This way I can hold you properly.”

The lube bottle clicked open. My stomach dropped into free fall, anticipation and terror warring inside me. Then, wet sounds as Kit slicked himself—my pulse thundering so loud it must be drowning out everything else in the room.

“Shh,” he breathed against my ear, arm circling my waist, dragging me back into his warmth. His palm traced lazy circles over my belly, my ribs. “Just breathe for me.”

Impossible. My lungs had forgotten their purpose. This was happening. Actually happening. Kit must have felt me spiralling because he went statue-still, just holding me until the frantic beating in my chest found something resembling rhythm.

When oxygen finally reached my brain again, his hand ghosted down to lift my top leg, opening me to him. That arm stayed locked around me—my lifeline in the storm.

“Remember,” he murmured against my ear, lips barely grazing skin. “Your only job is to relax and enjoy yourself. And tell me how it feels. That’s all.”