Page 146 of In Somnis

I have two parallel problems, and I am a man who solves problems in order of urgency.

One, I am extraordinarily aroused, and she is sitting directly on the evidence of that fact, undeniably aware of the situation.

Two, she’s moving against me with the restless, frustrated quality of someone chasing something just out of reach, and I am unable and unwilling to ignore that. But I’m also not going to take her to bed on our first date, regardless of how persuasively her hips are arguing the case.

This is the biggest problem of the two, but there is time to solve it, and I intend to use it. I will give her something today.

“Do you trust me too?” I ask.

“Yes,” she answers between pants.

I shift her again with both hands at her hips, guiding her off my lap and back down so that only one of my thighs is between hers. She makes a confused little sound, and I lean in close to her ear.

“Here.” My hands on her hips apply the gentlest pressure, coaxing, a suggestion more than a demand. “Use me, darling. Let me help fix that ache.”

She shudders against me but starts to move. Tentative at first, then, as I keep the pressure at her hip, guiding the rhythm with more intention, she buries a whimper against my jaw.

I feel my cock strain so hard against my jeans it’s becoming genuinely difficult to hold a sentence together. I try it anyway for her sake.

“That’s it. Let me take care of it. Let me take care of you.”

These thighs. My free hand slides up the outside of one under her skirt, and I feel the soft give of her, and I think, not for the first time and certainly not for the last, that I have a serious problem. A beautiful, catastrophic problem in a cute skirt, grinding herself on my leg.

Her fingers curl into my shoulder.

Fuck.

“I want you to make the biggest mess on my thigh.” I press my lips to the side of her face, just below her ear. “I want you to leave a wet spot on my jeans, darling, I want⁠—”

She stops. All at once, she goes completely still, and ice shoots straight through me. I pull back immediately, both hands moving, one to her hair, the other resting at her shoulder, stroking slowly, trying to give her space without letting go entirely, but when my eyes find hers, I notice that she isn’t scared or pulling away.

No, she looks ashamed?

The ice in my veins turns even colder.

“Too much?” The words come out carefully, but I can hear the apology already building underneath them. “I’m so sorry, I don’t know what I… fuck, I got carried away, I shouldn’t have⁠—”

“I have PCOS.”

Well, that’s not what I expected. My clinical brain reaches for what it knows, which in this case isn’t much. Hormonal. Beyond that, I’m aware I am at the edges of my competency, and I make a mental note to not be at the edges of my competency for much longer.

“Okay,” I say carefully. “Do you want to talk about⁠—”

She shakes her head, then drops her gaze. “No, I just… God, this is so embarrassing.”

I grab her chin, bring her eyes to mine, before I press a brief kiss to her lips.

“Nothing is embarrassing between us.”

She looks at me, like she’s deciding whether to believe that.

Then she exhales.

“Because of my PCOS, I have… problems with getting wet. And reaching… I mean, it’s not always, but it’s…” She stops. “I have a hard time with orgasms.”

I am processing this information while my cock is straining so hard against the inside of my jeans that I’m mildly concerned for the structural integrity of the zipper, but I manage to keep my face very steady.

“So what you’re telling me is⁠—”