tucked her chin to her chest, closing her eyes, gouging her fingers into his shoulders hard enough to leave marks, and rode his hand, pumping her hips where she sat, sliding on and off his finger.
He ran the flat of his tongue along her collarbone, kissed his way back to her throat, moved to the swell of her breast and pushed her dress aside. He found her nipple and sucked, penetrating her sex with a second finger, rolling the tip of her breast with his lips. She was close now.
He’d hit the right rhythm, found the right combination of pressure and motion, and he kept it up, stroking, rubbing, in and out and around. She tensed, grew wetter. Her breathing quickened, becoming labored and shallow and damp.
And then she cried out, tossing back her head as her orgasm consumed her. He watched the fierce sweep of emotions cross her face, felt her sex contract around him, found himself awash on an amazing high at being able to give this to her, share this with her. At pleasing her so completely.
She came down quickly, shaking, her hands sliding from his shoulders to his biceps, color rising to her cheeks as she dipped her head. “I can’t believe—”
“Believe.” He didn’t want her to feel self-conscious, or awkward at what she’d allowed him to see. He wanted her to bask in the lingering sensation, not embarrassment.
“But you didn’t. It’s not right—”
He smiled, leaned forward to nuzzle the skin beneath her ear. “If you want to do something about that, I won’t say no.”
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