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Now he moves away from my button and his fingers, two of them, descend and thrust gently into my womanhood…my vagina. I know there are other words; I have heard them all before, but I do not want them in my head. I am fighting enough shame as it is. The sounds I am making are wanton, loud and shameless, even though my mind keeps trying to tell me to be quiet. I cannot. I have no control over my body now. I am a puppet, and Hunter’s fingers within me are controlling me.
I crack my eyes open and glance down to watch him, seeing his hand, his middle and ring fingers pushing into my privates. He is inside me to the knuckle now. Watch it happen. Let it happen. Enjoy it. His palm faces my body, and now his fingers curl upward, explore my inner walls. My breath is coming short stutters, gasps, whimpers. His curling fingers brush me in a certain spot, high on the inside, and the lightning bolts shiver hotter than ever, send me into a writhing, helpless spasm, and he does not relent, but presses his thumb to my clitoris and moves it in swift circles, barely brushing me.
Pressure wells up inside me, and my hips are moving on their own, rocking up into his hand as he moves his thumb against me and his fingers inside me. The pressure is rising, rising, turning into fire, into earthquakes within me. I do not know what is happening. Fear is a cold wave in my heart, threatening to douse the fires raging in me.
I feel like a tea kettle about to boil over. His every touch makes me writhe and whimper. His head rests on my chest, on my shirt, and his breath washes hot against my neck. He, too, seems overwhelmed, barely holding on to his sanity or his control.
I touch his chin so he looks at me. The vulnerability I see in his eyes is what does me in. I am on a ledge, about to fall over into madness. I want to see his eyes, so I may retain some semblance of my self through it all.
My god, she’s so beautiful. She’s barely holding on. I can see how afraid she is of what lies beyond that edge. She’s so close, about to come, but she won’t let herself. She’s gazing at me, fear in her eyes, desire in her eyes, confusion, need, worry, shame.
Shame. She’s ashamed of this. I saw her blush when I first touched her. She is so wet, her desire a pungent aroma that has me so hard I could come if she’d only brush her thigh against my cock. Just the smell of her pu**y is enough to make me lose control. I can’t take her eyes on me any longer. I let my head thump down against her chest. The thin cotton of her shirt is strained by the swell of her br**sts, each mound pulled aside by gravity. Her ni**les are beads poking the cotton, tempting my tongue.
Not yet. She’s not ready for that yet.
My fingers slide inside her channel, and her body is writhing against me. I touch her clit with my thumb and I feel her nearly lose it right then, but she doesn’t. She’s afraid. How do I make her forget her fear?
I kiss her. God, she tastes so good. Her lips drive me crazy, the way she nibbles at my lower lip, the way her tongue traces my teeth…I want to kiss her forever, but I can’t. Her clit is a hard little bump, intensely sensitive. If I so much as brush her clit, she whimpers. Her G-spot is a roughened, ribbed patch of skin, and she moans when I rub it with my fingers, her hips bucking against my hand.
I’m so hard, so f**king hard. I’m about to come in my pants just touching her, just hearing her moan for me. Thank f**k she isn’t trying to touch me, because I wouldn’t have enough self-control to stop her. I desperately want to feel her slim little fingers wrap around my cock, stroke me and touch me.
No. No. This is about her, not me.
She moves beneath me, sliding down so her knees rise up, her heels bumping against her ass, thighs spread wide as I drive her wild with my fingers. Sliding down made her shirt bunch up even more, and now the bottom swell of one breast is visible.
Fucking goddamn it. I can’t take it, can’t help it. I’ve wanted to kiss her br**sts from the very first moment she accidentally flashed me while changing. I’ve seen them again since, but I’ve always forced my gaze away. To look was to want. Now I have my fingers in her pu**y and her juices slathered on my hand, and all I want is to touch her br**sts. Need to.
I give in, nudge the hem up with my nose so her breast is bared completely. My god…so perfect. A taut, round globe of silky sweet skin with wide, dark areolas and tall, rigid ni**les begging for my mouth.
I swallow hard, working my tongue to produce saliva. My mouth is dry, my throat clenched up. I’m nervous, oddly. It’s not as if I’ve never done this. Not by a long shot. But this, with Rania…it’s different, somehow.
I glance at her eyes, and she’s watching me again through hooded lids. I slow my fingers inside her, and her hips lessen the wildness of their bucking. Her mouth is open, and her eyes betray her weltering emotions.
“Please,” she whispers.
I don’t know what she’s asking. Stop? More? Make her come? I don’t know. I don’t want to hurt her or scare her. I want her to experience this. The fear in her eyes tells me she’s never felt this before, and I’m not surprised. Sex for her must be an impersonal thing, a transaction. I can’t image anyone has ever taken the time or expended the effort to give her pleasure. This must be confusing and frightening for her, especially if she thinks I’m going to use her like she’s accustomed to being used. I can’t tell her I won’t. I don’t have the words, and I do want to. I want to be inside her. She’s so close to coming, and I want—need, so f**king bad—to move over her and push into her and feel her tight around me.
She is tight, too. I didn’t expect that, considering. Guilt and shame at the thought burn into me, but it’s true. I didn’t expect her to be tight, but she is.
“Please,” she whispers again, and touches my face so I look at her.
She arches her back and rocks her hips. She wants more.
She stares into my eyes, and then peels her shirt off so she’s naked from the waist up, glorious br**sts bare to my touch, bare to my mouth. I let myself look this time, take in the expanse of skin and mounds of flesh.
Her breath is coming in shallow pants, and I can feel the tension in her muscles. Baring herself like this is taking effort, courage. I want to touch her br**sts. I wish I could kneel above her so I have both hands free to touch her all over, but my wounds won’t let me, and I don’t think she’d react well to having me above her like that.
I take my fingers out of her, and she moans in protest. Her cheeks flame with shame as I lift my fingers to my nose to inhale her aromatic scent. I think she’s ashamed of the musk of desire from her juices. I put my fingers to my mouth and taste her essence, meeting her eyes all the while. Her eyes widen in pure shock and disbelief, perhaps even something like disgust. I can’t help a little laugh from escaping at the expression on her face. I swipe into her slit again, gather essence on my fingers, and lick it off again, just to prove the point. Her brow wrinkles, and she shakes her head.
I slide my palm across her ribs, and her expression smoothes out into pleasure as I cup the heavy weight of one breast in my hand. She watches me as I lower my face to her skin, kiss her flesh between her br**sts, kneading it. I rub my palm across her nipple, and she gasps. When I roll it between my fingers, she bites her lip to keep from moaning out loud. I wish I could tell her how much I love the noises she makes for me. I can’t, don’t try. Words would fail me. Her beauty has captured me, imprisoned my capacity for language. All I can do is pay homage to the temple of her body.
I pinch her nipple again, delighting at the gasp that tears from her, and then I take her nipple into my mouth and suckle, and I feel joy rocket through me when she moans so loud it’s almost a scream.
I find myself wondering how mad with ecstasy I could make her if I went down on her. God, she would respond so beautifully. I can almost feel her thighs clenching my face as she writhes against my mouth. I can almost feel her fingers tugging my hair and hear her voice raised in pleasure.
I don’t know if she’s re