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I uncap the whiskey bottle and tip it into my mouth, the liquid cool and smooth on my tongue. I hold it there, then lean over her and grip her jaw, letting it pour from my mouth into hers.
She swallows it, a heated flush spreading from her face and throat down to the beautifully delicate area beneath her collarbone.
“You’re turned on.”
“Can you blame me?” she asks, her breath quickening.
Her arousal heightens my own, but the way she’s allowing me to fix this for her, to care for her and ease her pain, is even more satisfying right now than the idea of fucking her.
“What else did you learn about helping to ease cramps?” she asks, dropping one of her hands to rest over her stomach again.
Her skin has absorbed most of the oil.
It looks even softer than usual, rich and sensuous as she glides her fingers over it.
“Orgasms,” I tell her, lifting her hand off her body and placing it on the mattress next to her hip instead.
I enjoy watching her touch herself, but I enjoy being the one to decide how she receives her pleasure even more.
“I’ve never tried orgasms,” she says a little breathlessly, leaving her hand where I’ve put it and holding my gaze as she spreads her legs. “Not for cramps.”
“Good.”
The idea that I’ll be the first to bring her this kind of relief, just as she’s been my first for certain experiences, is more satisfying than I can properly express.
I slip my fingers under the silken scrap of material hiding her pussy from me, watching her face carefully as I drag them through her folds. They’re slick with her arousal, and there’s a coppery tang to the scent of it that I’m not used to. But I don’t encounter any blood, and it’s clear that she enjoys my touch.
Even now.
Even like this. Without any pain.
I circle her clit, my fingers lubricated by her own body, and a gorgeous shudder ripples through her.
“You like this.”
“Yes.”
“You’re going to come from this.”
“Yes.”
Her fingers dig into the bedspread, her back arching as her hips undulate in response to my attention, but other than that, she holds herself still. She lets me give this to her. She submits to my control.
I rub her clit faster, harder. Feel it swell under my fingers as her breath quickens and her nipples harden, untouched, into twin pebbled nubs.
“Please.” The word bursts out of her on an explosive breath, dripping with need, and I reward her by pinching her swollen button between my fingers, granting her a sharp, sudden burst of the pain that I know will send her right over the edge.
It does, the orgasm rolling through her body right before my eyes.
It’s addictive, so I give her another one. And then another, pushing her until she’s panting for me. Whimpering and begging as she writhes under my touch, her initial obedient stillness overridden by the intensity of her body’s response.
She’s incredible. I can’t get enough. I’ve never been so focused on another person whom I wasn’t in the act of killing before, and drawing her pleasure out of her consumes me until I lose track of my original purpose and exist only to hear her moans, to map the flush of arousal as it colors her skin, to feel her tremble under my touch and to taste her urgent, panting pleas as I push her to come, over and over.
I don’t remember laying on the bed next to her. I’m not sure when I pulled the panties that had become soaked with her pleasure off and tossed them aside. I have no idea how I ever existed without the feel of her mouth on mine, without her hands clutching my shoulders, tugging on my hair, clawing at my back.
I know I never want to exist that way again.
“One more, wildcat,” I demand, one hand buried between her legs and the other tangled in those long, jewel-toned waves of her hair. “Come for me.”
