Total pages in book: 167
Estimated words: 164838 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 824(@200wpm)___ 659(@250wpm)___ 549(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 164838 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 824(@200wpm)___ 659(@250wpm)___ 549(@300wpm)
His shoulder dropped as he lowered his hand from my lower belly and gathered up the fabric by my hip. Neither of us spoke as he hitched the hem up my shins, my knees, my thighs…
When most of it puddled on my stomach, he traced his fingers along the paper-thin skin of my lower belly.
I hissed and jerked, the sensitivity too hot, too sinful, too much.
“You sure you want me to do this?” His voice sounded like a beast, thick and croaky.
I didn’t trust myself to be able to talk without giving away just how sure I was. A flush of hot wetness had me cringing. What if my need turned him off? What if I wasn’t supposed to be this turned on by the local neighbourhood stalker?
He’ll judge me—
I stopped that thought immediately.
He’d never judged me. Not once. That was why I’d gotten this far. Why he’d successfully allowed me to take back the smallest part of myself.
“We don’t have to,” he murmured, his fingers stroking fire over my exposed hip. “But if you want to, you have to tell me. Otherwise, this ends and I leave.”
Trembling, I went to cup his cheek, but he reared back, his eyes wide.
“You can’t take my mask off. That rule hasn’t changed.”
Lowering my arm, I nodded. “I wasn’t going to. I just wanted to touch you.”
“This isn’t about me.” His fingers sketched a little closer. “This is about you. Say the word and I’ll do my best to give you an orgasm. I’m a little rusty and not saying I’m very skilled with my fingers, but…” His voice shaded with a tease. “You did say you like a man who takes instruction.”
I flushed.
Lowering his masked mouth to my ear, he whispered, “So am I doing this? Yes or no, Lori.”
I shivered at the nickname. At the separation it gave me between Sailor Rose, abuse survivor, and this new me rising from the ashes.
Licking my suddenly dry lips, I nodded. “Yes.”
He didn’t make me ask again.
His fingers navigated right to my clit.
My spine arched right off the bed as his hand cupped me, hot and steady, letting me get used to his possession.
“You can either teach me what you like, or you can retreat inward and focus on healing. Either way, I’m here.” His voice hitched as his middle finger stroked my entrance. He didn’t comment on my slickness or say anything to embarrass me. He merely held my stare, swallowed a growl, and torturously, slowly inserted that finger inside me.
I arched off the bed again. My blood heated, my bones trembled. No one had ever looked at me so intently all while touching me so intimately.
With just one finger, he blew me apart.
Unable to hold his stare while he systemically shattered my body into pieces, I closed my eyes and focused on his touch.
He didn’t rush.
He savoured.
His heavy, harsh breathing sent goosebumps darting over me as he pressed his thumb against my clit and just held it there. I moaned as he hooked his finger inside me, pressing against that inner spot, making me clench.
I waited for him to speak.
I hated that I didn’t really want him to. I didn’t want to have to cringe with self-consciousness. I didn’t want to fight to focus on his touch. I wanted him to remain with me but distant—here but far enough away that I could be swept away and hopefully find a way to come for myself, not for him.
Without a word—almost as if he’d heard my silent request—he feathered a second finger inside me. A soft cry escaped me as his thumb finally moved on my clit, just the barest rub, firm with pressure. He didn’t tickle or bruise, he somehow knew the perfect press.
The longer he touched me, the less effort it took to concentrate. With every hook and flutter of his fingers, my mind turned darker and softer, and all that mattered was a release.
My hands clutched at the blankets as he shifted closer and pressed his erection against my hip, letting me feel I wasn’t the only one burning. With a soft growl, he withdrew his fingers before pushing them back inside me.
Not rough, not cruel…worshipping and claiming and absolutely delicious.
And still, he didn’t speak.
I lost track of time as he set a rhythm with his fingers, slow and languid to start, his thumb keeping constant pressure on my clit. He built me up and up. I felt heavier and heavier. Hotter and hotter.
And when I reached for his arm and felt his muscles contract and the steady thrusting motion of his wrist, I lost it.
My legs fell wider. My teeth clamped onto my bottom lip.
I wanted.
More and more and more.
I forgot why this was so hard for me. Why being touched had become so terrifying. All that mattered was the searing fire he cultivated inside me, slowly adding more and more fuel until my body clutched around his touch, and I cried out as his wrist angled deeper.