Her lovers didn’t pry into such matters. So long as she jogged her hips and moaned a bit, they were happy. Likely, if she pretended to climax, this gentleman would leave her in peace over this suddenly invasive, embarrassing matter. But she didn’t feel like pretending for this gentleman and she couldn’t exactly pinpoint why. That alone made her frightened of him.
“It is very late, we should sleep.” She made her tone as firm as was possible with his hand resting so softly, so casually against her most intimate part.
He grazed her mons with his fingertips. Fire flickered upwards through her belly. Her arousal flared into full life once more. Of their own accord, her hips arched. “Is it that you’re a little scared for someone else to be in control of your pleasure?”
He found and brushed her nub. Where her other lovers had either not touched or pressed too hard, too soon, he applied just the right amount of pressure. As though she were touching herself.
A gasp forced its way up her throat and she bit her lip to suppress it. Increased wetness flowed over her inner folds.
“Don’t be scared. Trust me.” He continued teasing her bud and her hips began to dance to and fro—she couldn’t stop the motion and it made it harder to keep her legs closed. Her mouth went dry and her heart pounded, for she was scared. Truly scared. Every instinct of self-preservation she possessed screamed that this was too risky.
She didn’t really know him. Letting people inside was precarious at best.
This was an unnecessary experience.
Pretend, let him go to sleep, and then you can frig yourself to your heart’s content.
David increased the pressure of his strokes, using a circular motion, all the while still holding her gaze. Dangerously intimate.
“Breathe, relax.”
In one quick burst, she released the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding and with the release of her breath came the sudden release of tension in the lowest pit of her belly. Swift, violent spasms convulsed her cunt. Pleasure crashed upon her, sweet, intense and brief.
She lay gasping.
God.
It had happened.
There was no taking it back now. What had been shared with him could never be unshared now. What would the ramifications of that be? She was too overcome at the moment to consider them.
She waited for the relief, the relaxation to wash over her. But her tension seemed to be building up again. She became aware that he was stroking her, gliding over her triangle of hair.
“Open for me.” His voice was like sumptuous, sensual velvet.
No mortal woman could have resisted him. Jeanne parted her legs. Apparently she was mortal after all.
He delved deeper, his fingers sliding on her wetness. Entering her. Thrusting in and out. Teasing her. Lingering. No man had ever done that, not with his fingers. Usually once she was wet, they pressed their own needs upon her.
She arched and pressed the soles of her feet to the featherbed.
With his thumb, he found her nub again and brushed it. It grew erect; and sharp urgency surged deep in her stomach, followed by the sweetest anticipation. Each brush repeated the sensation.
“David…David…” She writhed and thrashed.
He thrust his finger into her, pressing firmly on the forward wall of her channel. Need stabbed through her deepest core. She pressed her feet harder to the bed, arching up. Crying out.
He put another finger into her and then began thrusting while pressing. Her wetness became audible. She had never known she was capable of putting out such a liberal libation. Her own scent lay heavy in the air. She was moaning, the sound echoing in her ears loud enough to hear above her pounding heartbeat. She thrashed, writhed all the more. She pleaded and begged. Her whole body was shaking. It was frightening but it was happening, again. It was as though she were dying, losing herself. Her breathing became harder and shorter. Then she could no longer breathe at all. Her inner muscles contracted drew tight then released and contracted, over and over, upon the firm resistance of his invading fingers. Pleasure, white hot, jagged shards of pleasure, exploded within her.
Her body sagged in its wake. Dimly, she was aware of his cheek against hers. The prickle of his heavy stubble.
“Jeanne.” His voice sounded weak, breathless. His embrace went slack.
She panted too hard to speak and in any case, she had nothing to say. At least nothing out loud. Inside, she was a mass of pure, frantic, haywire heartbeats. Panic clawed at her. Energized her all over again.
She leapt from the bed then stood there on legs shaking from the vigor of what had just occurred.
Dear God. She’d thought herself so experienced with men. So intimately acquainted with them and their ways. Well, yes, she had been. But none of them had been intimately acquainted with her. Not before this moment.