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“Your skin is like silk,” he whispers, and his mouth casts open kisses along my neck.
“You’re so hard.” I run my hands up his torso, the grooves of his abs dipping and rising under my fingertips.
He tears his shirt off from behind his head, and I hungrily admire him.
“How on earth do you look like this?” My hands run down his sides and come to a large, jagged line on his skin. “What’s this?”
“Nothing.” He slides his hands down my body and his finger dips under the waistband of my pajama pants. “Scar from a fight.”
“Oh.” I run my hand over it again. I wonder if he ever got stitches for it.
All the questions erase from my mind when he rocks me back and slides his palm down farther, cupping my mound. I must make a noise because he chuckles, then he hooks one of his fingers and teases my clit. I say his name like a prayer to never stop. It’s been way too long.
“Take off your shirt. I want to see you,” he whispers, drawing back from kissing my collarbone.
With a deep breath, I take the hem of my shirt and pull it off. He stares without apology, then uses his free hand to bring me forward. He takes my nipple into his mouth, sucking and licking and twirling with his tongue. I rock against the heel of his hand, desperate for relief.
He allows it for a second until his hand slides farther down, and he pushes a finger inside me. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to feel how wet I could make you.”
“And?”
“You’re soaked.” He groans and pushes another finger inside. I rise off his hips for a second before growing accustomed to the stretch. “And tight. So fucking tight.”
I lean forward, my orgasm rushing too fast, so I slide my hips back and unbutton his jeans and slowly drag the zipper down over his bulge. I get up for a moment, and he helps me by wiggling to get his jeans down to his ankles. He’s hard, stretching his boxer briefs, and I glide my hand down his stomach, running my palm over his bulge before pulling down the waistband to rest under his balls.
I stare at his dick and look back up at him. He smirks as if he knows he’s big. Bigger than I’ve ever had, and my insides flex, desperate to know what it will feel like to have him inside me. I go back to straddling him and take the full weight of him in my hands, pumping slowly while my thumb spreads his precum around the tip.
“Kiss me,” I tell him, and he brings our lips together, sliding his tongue into my mouth. Then he pulls back a bit and rests his forehead on mine, watching me pump him up and down. He pushes his hand back between my legs. “Your hand feels so fucking good.”
“You too.”
“Good.”
He takes turns moving one finger, then two fingers in and out of me, his palm brushing hard against my clit. My body hums with pleasure, and I clench down because I’m not ready to come yet. I want to make this last. He thrusts both fingers in, and I bolt forward, my head resting in the crook of his neck, my breasts pressed against his firm chest.
He kisses my forehead and I inhale his scent, relishing in the feel of his strong arms. This connection is what a vibrator doesn’t do for you.
I tighten my grip on his dick, and a cry escapes him.
“Fuck, don’t stop. I’m so close.” The desperate quality of his voice ratchets my need even higher.
My hips grind onto his hand and his fingers don’t stop, arching to hit my G-spot. He has me right where I want to be, on the cusp of falling, but I want to get him there too, so I clench the walls of my pussy around his fingers.
“I can’t wait until it’s my dick inside you.”
I pump him faster, and he lifts his ass off the couch. Everything around us fades, and I kiss his neck.
“I can’t hold it any longer,” I say.
“Come apart for me,” he whispers and grows thicker in my hand, his hips rising in short bursts as though he’s fucking my hand. “Come on, baby, come all over my fingers. Soak ’em.”
And at his words, my orgasm rips through me, and I cry out into his throat, jerking in his lap. He stills for a moment and his dick twitches as cum squirts out and drips down my hand.
My head lies on his shoulder while we catch our breath. “Thank you.”
He chuckles. “Thank you.” I draw back and we both slide our hands out, sticky and wet. He takes his two fingers and sucks them clean. “Fuck. Next time my head will be between those thighs.”
All I can think in that moment is how I did it. I messed around and I didn’t cry. Didn’t think of Sawyer and thoroughly enjoyed myself. It feels like progress, like some part of the weight that has been pushing down on my shoulders since Sawyer’s death has lifted a little.
