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He begins to stroke my ankles and calves, and I enjoy it very much, relaxing into his caress. Without him asking, I tug the blanket higher, revealing my thighs.
He nudges my legs apart and settles between them, hands stroking the inside of my thighs. “Your legs are exactly as I imagined them. They’re perfect.”
“They aren’t.”
“To me, they are.”
His fingers slip under the edge of the duvet as he regards me. And then, without warning, he sets a hand at my center, and his fingertips touch my most sensitive spot. I gasp. Before I can say anything, he begins to rub, his touch light and precise and right where I need it.
“Faster,” I hear myself beg.
His nimble fingers accelerate but working one-handed and blind hampers things somewhat.
“Harder,” I grate.
“I need to see you.”
When I hesitate, he adds quickly. “Not all of you, just your pussy.”
I swallow hard. “OK.”
He pushes the blanket up to my tummy. The thick duvet is all bunched up over my chest now. I can’t see what he’s doing, even when I lift my head off the pillow. But maybe it’s better this way.
A wave of heat floods me as he opens me up and stares at the most intimate part of me.Good thing I can’t see what’s happening down there.I shut my eyes for a moment, but reopen them at once, realizing that I long to watch him watch me. The sight of him between my legs, his hungry eyes latched to me… it turns me on!
How is that possible?
Readjusting his position, he lowers his head so that it looms over the apex of my thighs. I should be feeling uncomfortable right now. Worse than uncomfortable—I should hate every moment of this ordeal. My heart should be full of resentment for Louis and disgust with myself. That’s how it’s always been for me.
But bizarrely, I feel nothing but thrilled anticipation.
Louis gives my clit a tentative lick. My breath catches in my throat from the hot, sultry impulse that shoots through me from that tiny contact. My gulp of air gives him pause. He looks up, a little concerned, no doubt trying to ascertain that everything’s still fine.
To reassure him it is, I spread my thighs wider.
His tongue begins to move fast and strong. I love its competence, its confidence. He readjusts his grip so that he can hold my folds out of the way. As he licks and suckles, his cheeks press against the sensitive skin of my inner thighs. His stubble grazes it, and I love it, too.
My hands fly to his head. I rake them through his thick hair, relishing its texture and the brush of it between my fingers. I grasp it and tug gently when the sensations in my core overwhelm me. And when I want more, I tighten my grip and apply pressure. Within minutes, an orgasm begins to swell in me. When his tongue slips inside, I come undone.
A short time later, Louis sits up in front of me. His arousal is raging beneath his pajama pants. My gaze travels from that tantalizing prominence to the glisten on his upper lip, a reminder of the way he just pleasured me.
His eyes rake me up and down. “Shall we unwrap the rest of you?”
It should be easy, I tell myself, after what we did. But it is not.
He jumps off the bed. “I have an idea. Don’t move!”
At that, he ducks into the bathroom, while I’m left wondering what kind of idea it can be.
He returns with two scented candles and a box of matches. “I’m going to switch everything off and light one of these things. And then the second one, if you agree. Are you fine with that?”
“Yes.”
He turns off all the lights and strikes a match. A small flame bathes the far side of the room in gentle yellow candlelight. He moves so that his body is between me and the candle, shielding me from most of the revealing illumination.
“Are you ready?” Louis asks, his voice low and tender.
Instead of answering, I yank the blanket off me. It’s done. It was terrifying, but I did it. My eyes are open. I’m not cowering or huddling in on myself or feeling the urge to flee.
