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Maybe he didn’t mind.
“I want to go down on you so fucking bad.” His shoulders shook from the tension of holding back. “But not here. Not like this.”
She would’ve asked what was wrong with right where they were—minus Denver’s near proximity on the other side of her privacy curtain—but his thumb had found her clit and was stroking softly, butterfly touches she had to chase. Her hips rocked and she leaned forward, scooting to the edge of the sofa, brushing her fingers through his long, wet hair while he caressed her in long, slow sweeps. His thumb was callused, and the extra ridges added more sensation. She dropped her head back, still holding on to him, sure she might just splinter apart if she let go.
“Don’t be scared,” he said, and she wanted to laugh.
Scared of him? No. Not possible.
Scared of not feeling like this again in her life? Fucking terrified.
“I’m not scared. I’m just..” She flexed her hips, lacking the vocabulary to tell him.
“I’ve got you.”
She knew he did. She’d never been in better hands in her life.
Literally.
“Lean back a little. Stretch so you don’t let go of me. Just one hand.”
She did as he asked, then he tugged the boxers the rest of the way down, pulling her foot out of one side. The foot that he then braced on his shoulder.
“Have you done this before?” He traced her lower lips with a single fingertip. “Put your fingers all the way inside?”
She swallowed. “I’ve put in one a few times.”
“Mine are bigger than yours. So we’ll stay with one for now too.” He pressed her thighs open, but not obscenely, and braced one hand on her lower belly while he rubbed her clit. With the other hand, he stroked her entrance, building her anticipation. She tried not to gyrate against the cushions, but she couldn’t help it.
“Please.”
“You never have to beg me.” In the low light, his green eyes glowed. “Ever.”
His finger inched inside her, so carefully she wanted to scream. Even with just the one, he stretched her. He was right. His was definitely bigger than hers. But with his slow invasion, she wanted more stretch. More to fill up that ache inside her she wasn’t certain had existed before tonight.
Before him.
He gave her a moment to acclimate and then that solitary finger was on the move, pumping in and out. His other hand flattened against her lower belly, holding her still when she wanted to squirm. The pressure on her clit never let up and his other finger was sliding deeper with every pass.
“God, so tight. You need this, don’t you?”
She whimpered and brought her knuckle up to her mouth. Right now, she couldn’t say she felt good. It was too intense. As if she was hurtling toward something and she couldn’t enjoy the trip because she needed to be there right now, this second. She couldn’t wait any longer.
The pad of his finger skimmed some spot inside her and she bucked off the couch, her teeth ripping into her knuckle.
“I need to hear you,” he rasped, and she let her hand fall away from her mouth. She couldn’t deny him anything.
Her lungs quaked with every shaky breath she took.
Something huge was building inside her, and his hand on her belly was the only thing keeping her centered. That and the bunch and flex of his shoulder muscles were her focus.
And God, his eyes. His pupils had blown wide as he watched her come apart, just unravel like yarn.
All for him. For herself. She was finding herself on this bus, on this couch sat on by so many nameless, faceless others.
She arched and he twisted his finger, rubbing her just right in time with her clit so that all that tension broke, just shattered like a light bulb that showered her in sparks. Everything grew brighter before her vision went dark. She cried out, her hips bucking toward his hand. The pulsing went on forever, deep, endless ripples of pleasure that stole her cries and her words and her breath.
Everything but the ability to stare dazedly at this wondrous man on his knees before her, his lips parted as he tried to drag in his own air.
