Page 88 of The Wild Card

“I know.” She’s gripping my shoulders now, holding on. “I told you—I’ve been thinking about this—”

“How long?”

“Weeks.” She gasps as I find the spot that makes her whimper, circling gently.

I’ve never been this hard in my life. But this isn’t about me—this is about her, about learning what she likes, about making her feel as good as she’s made me feel every moment since she crashed into my life.

“Need to touch you,” I murmur against her neck.

“Yes.” Her voice cracks.

I sink one finger into her, then two when she moans for more, and she clenches around me so tight I have to close my eyes and breathe through the surge of arousal.

“Good?” I manage.

“So good. You feel so good.” She’s rocking against my hand now, chasing the sensation. “Crew, I’m—I’m close—”

“Already?”

“Don’t sound so smug about it.” But she’s laughing, breathless. “You’re just—you’re hitting the right—oh—”

I curl my fingers, pressing against the spot that makes her whole body shudder, and keep my thumb moving in steady circles.

“That’s it,” I tell her, and my voice sounds foreign to my own ears. Low. Commanding.

“Crew—” She comes with a cry, her thighs clamping around my hand, her nails digging into my shoulders hard enough to leave marks. I work her through it, gentling my touch as the waves subside, watching her face the whole time.

She’s beautiful like this. Flushed and wrecked and mine.

Not mine. Not really. This is just physical. It’s all I’m good for anyway…

When she finally opens her eyes, she’s grinning.

“Good?”

“Crew.” She pulls me in for a kiss, soft and sweet. “That was… yeah. Good is an understatement.”

I’m still painfully hard beneath her, but I don’t move to do anything about it. This was for her. I don’t expect—

Her hands find my belt with more confidence than I’m prepared for and I go very still, jaw tight, watching her work it open.

“You don’t have to—”

“I know I don’t have to.” She pops the button, slides down the zipper. “I want to. Unless you don’t want me to?”

“I—” My brain short-circuits as her hand slides into my boxers and wraps around me. “Uh. I. Yeah. I want—”

“Words, Crew.” She’s smirking now, stroking me slowly. “Use your words.”

“Of course I want you to touch me.” It comes out strangled. “I want—fuck—”

She tightens her grip, and I lose the ability to form sentences.

“God, Crew.” She strokes me slowly, her eyes dropping to watch her hand move. “You’re… wow.”

“Wow?”

“This is—” She bites her lip, something almost giddy in her expression. “Very nice.”