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The intensity between my legs grows tenfold when my fingers touch my clit that is burning with tension.
It’s my hand, but his covering it, applying pressure as I start rubbing myself.
“You are an interesting specimen, Katura,” he whispers, and his nose brushes my neck.
Stop talking, kiss it,I beg in my mind.
Fuck, I am dripping.
My hand moves faster. I wish it was his hand against my flesh. I am so wet that my panties are soaked, and so are my cotton shorts. And so arehisfingers now.
I am shameless, I know, and proud of it. Men always get what they want. Women somehow have a complex about being pleasured.
I don’t. I need it. It’s a physical need. I don’t get attached to the guys I fuck, nor do I have an unnecessary romantic illusion about hookups. I like to take. And there is nothing more I want from Archer right now than him getting me off.
The burning sensation between my legs is growing as I slide my hand from under Archer’s and cover his, guiding his fingers down and up my folds.
“You are soaked,” he whispers. “I like that.” The tip of his tongue licks my earlobe.
Fuck…
His fingers take control now. They feel way better than mine, somehow knowing exactly what I need and how much pressure to apply.
I want to moan—he feels so good. I am dizzy from want. The couple fucking in the distance doesn’t really matter anymore. This man does. His intimidating form. His energy that is overpowering and contagious.
And then I feel it—his lips puckering in a soft kiss against my shoulder, then another, then his tongue licking my skin.
I need to get off.
I need to fuck him.
The need between my legs is almost painful.
I gasp, rolling my hips as I rub myself into his hand.
“Needy wild thing, aren’t you?” he says, his body slowly grinding against mine as his fingers slide up and down between my legs.
His soft chuckle seeps into my ear, and that very instant I realize one thing—Archer Crone thinks he is God’s gift to women. Girls line around the corner to get in his bed or be around him. And I am one of many he decided to grace with his “generosity” that is grinding against me and probably waiting its turn.
I hate when powerful men act like you won’t survive on earth if they won’t give it to you.
I take a deep breath and focus my eyes on the couple.
Orgasm is a physical reaction, sometimes triggered by visuals. You apply enough pressure to nerve endings—a good vibrator—and you can come in seconds without ever being turned on.
It’s a shame I can’t do it any other way with Archer. His hand is doing great, sliding up and down my slit, but his words rub me the wrong way.
“Faster,” I order in a deliberately cold voice, rolling my hips to get the right pressure.
He bucks his hips harder at me—yeah, he wants me.
His fingers start swirling around my clit—good, like that.
Heat sears me from the inside, but I stay quiet.
I know he wants me and probably plans some action after his “helping hand.”
Not happening.
