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I gripped him. “I want you to jack off with my hand first,” I told him.

His breath stuttered in and out. “Okay, we can do that. But it’ll be better if you let me touch you first.”

My brow furrowed. “Okay. Why?”

“Let me show you.” He pulled himself free of my grip and before I could protest he was kneeling in front of me.

He opened my thighs and I let him, watching how he watched me, loving it.

He was looking at me with something akin to reverence. Aside from the delicate touch of his hands holding my legs open, he hadn’t touched me yet.

His thumbs moved slowly against the insides of my thighs.

My breathing changed.

He noticed.

Of course he did.

He bit his lip. “I want to touch you,” he breathed.

I swallowed. “Alright. How?”

His pleading eyes shot up to mine. “I don’t know where to start.” He took a bracing breath. “But because of what you asked for, I’ll start here.”

He reached a hand between my legs, taking a soft finger to my sex.

I jerked slightly at the first contact.

Not away. Closer.

He was feeling me, a very delicate touch as he traced my folds, discovering me.

He watched my face the entire time, learning every reaction, slowing whenever I tensed and continuing when I relaxed.

I shifted, breaths panting in and out.

His face was pained. “You’re wet,” he said, like that was torturing him.

I almost smiled. “You sound upset about it.”

Then his attention dropped again and the humor disappeared beneath something hungrier.

He explored carefully until my thighs were trembling around him.

When he pushed a finger just inside me, I gasped.

He withdrew immediately. His eyes lifted.

“Do you still want me to jack off with your hand?” he asked tightly.

I didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

He took a deep breath and his whole big body moved all at once.

It was so overwhelming that it took me a disorienting moment to realize what he was doing.

He brought himself against me without entering, using the slick heat of my cleft until his breathing went ragged.