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And had he felt it?
She had her answer within a split second.
The finger withdrew.
He left as quietly as he’d come.
She heard the swoosh of the door. And then it shut again.
She let go.
A huge shudder wracked her entire frame, her chest heaving with pants as though she’d run a marathon, her hands shaking as she threw the covers away from herself, her entire body lit from within with a blaze she couldn’t control.
She felt ravaged. On the inside. On the outside.
And he’d not even touched her.
Digging her head back into the pillow behind her, her nipples aching in the cool air, she took her breasts in her small hands and squeezed them, gasping as her nipples pebbled harder against her palm, shooting sparks down to the tips of her toes.
He’d never touched her breasts. But for that stolen moment, she imagined his hands - those big, rough hands, strong against her soft flesh, skilled against her nipples. She imagined the callouses on those fingers rub against her nipples when he tugged them, imagined his hands completely engulfing her sinuously, imagined him squeezing her breasts together as she did the same with her hands, her lips parting as little breaths left her.
Feeling liquid, limber, her muscles coiled on the threshold of an inferno ready so consume her, she let her trembling fingers travel down to between her thighs.
And she was soaked.
In a way, she’d never, ever been.
Completely, utterly soaking wet.
A little moan left her lips and she turned her face into the pillow beside her, so on the edge, she knew it wouldn’t take much to send her careening into that abyss of ecstasy.
She slipped a finger inside her, easily. Pushed another in.
The hunger in her walls gnawed at her, spinning out of control. She remembered how he felt inside her - big, heavy, powerful. She remembered how he speared her walls - with focus, ferocity, and fire that set her aflame. She remembered how every stroke hit that spot inside her, how every thrust made her spine curve, how every slap of flesh against flesh drenched her even more.
Panting, she rubbed her clit with her thumb, just once.
And exploded.
Gloriously.
Her back arching as she bit into the pillow to muffle her cries. Her entire body coming off the bed for a split second as fire raced through her veins and coiled in her core, blasting in the most dazzling of explosions, blinding her for a second.
It was rapture.
It was ecstasy.
It was delirium.
She fell back into the mattress, even more exhausted, limp, no strength in her body to move a single muscle, slight shivers running up and down her frame in the aftermath.
God, how had this even happened? He’d not even touched her, not made a sound, and yet she’d been dripping wet.
It frightened her. It thrilled her. It enlivened her.
He enlivened her.
Slowly calming herself down, her body much laxer, much more susceptible to sleep, with the tension in her body released, she flipped and pulled the blankets over her again, her eyes going one last time to the window to look at the rain.
