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“You’re getting impatient,” he murmurs, hands stroking at my upper thighs, before grasping them, kneading the flesh. “I want you to show me, Claire, show me how you like to be touched. What I’ve been missing all these months.”

I can feel myself getting wetter at his words. No one has ever asked me that. Or at least no guy has had the confidence to let me get myself off in front of them. I swallow hard and then inch my hand down the space between us, pausing just over my underwear.

“I can’t see.” He leans back before pulling my underwear to the side.

Oh my god.

I think I’m going to combust from this alone. He’s not even done anything, and I feel more turned on than I have in years. His hands grip my thighs hard as I glide the index finger of my right hand through my wetness, spreading it around before starting to rub my clit.

“Fuck, Claire, I wish you could see what you look like right now,” he tells me, his eyes still glued on my hand.

I rub myself harder, spurred on by his words. I find the pace I like, and he keeps watching me. Pleasure coils low in my stomach, far faster than I expect. It normally takes me longer, but with his gaze locked on me, and the raw hunger in his face, my pulse thrums like it’s trying to climb out of my skin.

“Please touch me,” I beg him. “I need… I need—”

I don’t know what I need. My brain is short circuiting. But I want him. I move my finger faster, pressing harder, but it’s not quite enough, and I know he can sense that.

“Keep your hand there,” he tells me, reaching between us, and sliding first one finger inside me and then another, curling them and moving them in time with me. They pump in and out, twisting and pressing and then I can feel my breath stuttering and my stomach clenching.

“Fuck,” I manage to get out, and then I’m coming and it’s so intense that the arm propping me up nearly gives way. I’m saved from a possible head injury against a cupboard by Tom tucking his spare hand behind my head.

A minute later I realise that I’m sweaty, panting onto his shoulder, and he still has his jeans on. He strokes my back and presses a kiss into my hairline as I try to catch my breath.

“That was incredible.” I sit up, attempting to disentangle myself and push my hair out of my eyes.

“Oh that was just the start,” he grins, and I let out a half-laugh as he grabs me and pulls me off the counter towards him. I squeak and wrap my legs around his waist as he carries me down the hallway.

When we reach his room, Tom kicks the door shut before putting me onto my feet. Seeing the distinct wobble of my legs he scoops me back up, takes another few paces and then drops me onto the bed. I collapse across the duvet, laughing.

“You’ve got moves, old man,” I tell him as he pulls off his jeans.

“You’re going to pay for that, Buttercup.”

He walks towards the bed and kneels next to me, before reaching around to unclasp my bra. My nipples are puckered and his eyes darken, taking me in. He palms one breast and then leans in to lick the other.

Fuck.

I make another garbled sound. He draws back and stands beside the bed, pulling me to the edge of the mattress before kneeling on the floor between my thighs and sliding down my underwear, throwing them to the corner of the room. Then he licks a long line up my pussy and flattens his tongue on my clit.

“What were you saying?” he teases, squeezing my thighs possessively. “Something about being old?”

I have no idea what I was about to say. My brain can only focus on the sensation of his touch, and his tongue, nothing else.

“Tell me what you want, Buttercup,” he says. “Hard like this… or soft like this,” and each comment is punctuated by another flick of his tongue, one spearing into me, one gentle.

“Hard,” I manage to get out eventually, and I feel him smiling into my inner thigh before he gives me exactly what I asked for. I bury my hands in his hair and surrender to the sensation. My thighs are shaking and he moves his tongue back to my clit and adds his finger, curling it inside me again.

Senses overwhelmed, I push at his shoulders.

“I want you,” I pant. “Where are the condoms?”

I need his skin against mine again, to feel his fingers pressing into my skin. But I want us to come together this time.

“Top drawer.”

As I stretch across to the bedside table he reaches up to palm my breast and I stifle another moan. “Stop distracting me.” I root around in the drawer until my hands snag on a foil packet.

I sit back up and peel his underwear off, watching as his dick springs free. He groans as I run a finger along his length and I smirk. Suddenly I’m the one with the power, and I love it. I rip open the packet and he grabs the condom from me.