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“Michael,” she whined, bending her legs restlessly. “Don’t say it.”
He paused. Her words said no, but her body . . . Her chest heaved on ragged breaths, and she was clenched tight around his fingers.
“I think you like it when I talk dirty to you,” he whispered.
She shook her head frantically. “It’s embarrassing.”
“Your pussy doesn’t think so. You’re milking my fingers, Stella.”
She clenched even harder in response and arched her hips against his hand, driving him deeper.
“It’s y-your fingers. I love when you touch me.” She shut her eyes and ran her cheek over the sheets.
With his free hand, he caught her clit between his fingers and stroked, slow and sure. She pressed the back of her hand to her mouth and tightened around him. But not as violently as before.
His Stella liked to be spoken to. A lot.
That was fine. Michael liked to talk.
“I think it’s the words,” he said as he continued to stroke her with both of his hands. “It’s a shame you can’t see what you look like right now. My fingers are all the way inside your pussy, and you’re drenching my palm. Does it feel good?”
She bowed her back and bunched the sheets in her hands as she called out his name.
Her nipples caught his attention, and his tongue curled in his mouth as he remembered her taste and texture. “Do those candy nipples ache?”
She nodded, bumped her hips against him, and slid her hands up her belly to her tits. A frustrated sound tore from her throat as she pinched at the tips. She dropped her hands to her sides. “It only feels good when you do it.”
Because Stella’s mind needed to be seduced as much as her body, and apparently, her genius brain really liked Michael. He was just her practice boyfriend, but she responded to him like she’d never responded to anyone else.
He put them both out of torture and sucked a decadent nipple into his mouth. “You’re made of candy, Stella. Sweet, sweet, sweet.”
She rocked against his hands with increasing speed.
“Are you going to come for me so soon? I haven’t even licked your pussy yet.”
A whimpering sound escaped her lips, and her expression went pained. She locked down so hard he thought that was it, but after a breathless moment, her muscles eased.
“Maybe I should try out other words,” he whispered as he trailed his lips down her belly.
Tiny muscles fluttered around his fingers, and he knew she was close. She sank her teeth into her bottom lip as she threw her head back, inhaling sharply.
He touched his tongue to her clit before asking, “Is it your . . . box?”
“No.”
“Your . . . Lady V?”
She smiled into the blankets. “No.”
“Beautiful vagina.”
Her smile widened, and she shook her head.
He licked her again, sucked on her with the faintest pressure, and she arched against his mouth. Still, she hovered on the brink, exactly where he wanted her.
“I know.” He kissed her inner thigh. “It’s your . . .” He accented each word with a kiss upon her damp skin. “Wet. Hot. Sweet potato.”
She burst out laughing, and the sound worked into him and around him, fanning embers of happiness into full flame. He loved the sound of her laughter. He loved her smile. He loved—
