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Conrad lifted one hand and covered her breast again, and she couldn’t seem to help but arch into his palm, making that sharp ache in her nipple better and worse at once.
The hand in her panties moved at the same time. He twisted his wrist so that the heel of his hand pressed down hard against her piercing and therefore her clit, pinched her nipple between his thumb and forefinger, and then he speared two fingers deep inside her.
All at once.
It was all a shock. An intrusion. A bright burst of too much sensation to bear—
He retreated. He lessened the pressure on her nipple.
Then he thrust in deep below. Pinched above.
And again, ground that heel hard against her clit.
And everything inside of her seemed to spin, in a dizzying, breathless, pulsing loop—then collide.
It was as if there was a train bearing down on her, something huge and awful and wonderful and terrifying—
Rory was arching off the wall, or she was shaking apart, or she was convulsing, maybe. Her hands were supposed to be on the wall, but she could feel his shoulders beneath her fingers, and she was lifting, trying to outrun it, trying to stop the growing swell of it—
“Don’t fight it.” His voice was a dark invitation. A command. “Come, Rory. Now.”
One more deep, lush thrust of his fingers. Stretching her, invading her, claiming her, while his palm ground down on her clit, and that lancing bite where he pinched her nipple—
It walloped her, then.
And she was lost.
Her eyes went blind, and maybe she was sobbing.
She’d had orgasms before, but this—
But Rory couldn’t analyze it. She was too busy falling apart, somewhere between that hard hand still thrusting in her pussy and the other one on her breast. And if she could have, she would have given thanks for the wall behind her, too.
Because she was limp and she was a livewire. She waslost.
She shook and she shook. And the world disappeared. And everything was the howling roar inside her that went on and on and on.
Years could have passed.
She could hardly handle it, not sure where one endless, glorious convulsion began or ended.
Until vaguely, somehow, the shaking lessened. And she became aware that her face was tipped forward and she was surrounded by his scent again.
It took her a lifetime or two to realize that Conrad was holding her and her face was buried in his chest. She was breathing, so loud and so heavily she was surprised her lungs didn’t pop.
She thought he moved, though she couldn’t be sure until she felt his hands, surprisingly gentle as they shifted her back and propped her up against that wall again. She had to grip onto the bricks again, her head lolling forward as if she couldn’t hold it up of her own volition.
And for a long while, she tried to breathe. She tried to make sense of all the eddies and swirls of sensation that still moved around inside her. Her clit felt swollen, and she was so wet she was tempted to imagine there was something wrong with her—
But there couldn’t be. Not when she felt like this.
As if everything had changed.
As if nothing would be the same.
As if this whole time she’d been staggering around talking boldly and confidently about color in black-and-white spaces, only to discover that she’d never known color at all. She’d never even glimpsed it.
She felt another wallop, but this time, it was emotional.
