Page 74 of Sterling Stone

Is this a hot flash? Or desire?

When Stone flexes his hand over my belly, my core pulses, and I have my answer.

I cover the back of his hand with mine, holding over him a second, before slowly pressing his palm lower and lower.

I shuffle my legs, causing the robe to open more and my nightshirt to rise up my thighs.

Stone doesn’t resist my lead. He lets me guide his hand until he’s almost where I need him. His palm just covers the slight mound, blocked by the bunching up of my shirt and my boy-cut underwear, when he startles me.

In a move as fast as a superhero, he withdraws his hand and covers mine, flipping our positions, and forcing my fingers lower.

“Is this what you need, baby?” he whispers, his breath warm against my nape.

I hum, arching my back and forcing my backside against him, where the thickness of the robe’s material does nothing to disguise the wedge in his boxer briefs.

“Stone,” I whimper, wanting his hands on me but settling for my own, as he gently forces my hand between my thighs.

Burying my face in the pillow, I own our position. He’s pressing on the back of my hand while my fingers graze the sensitive nub beneath the thin layer of my damp underwear.

“Do what you need, Taxi.” He hums against the side of my neck, running his nose just below my ear. “Don’t hold back.”

With his hand like a cuff on my wrist, he pins my fingers between my thighs, and I swipe over my clit again. The brush causes me to flinch, and my backside bumps against his thickness.

“Stone,” I whisper, needing him in a way I cannot describe and yet touching myself with him not even an inch behind me. While I want his fingers, this feels like so much more.

He releases my wrist and cups the inside of my thigh hard, tugging my legs apart and forcing my leg over the side of his thigh. Wide and exposed, my fingers have a mind of their own. I strum and pluck, and moan into the pillow, arching my back like a naughty kitty cat.

Stone’s hand returns to the back of mine, fingers extended but not touching where I want him most. His entire body is a shadow of mine. He guides my fingers, adding pressure to the backs of them, but doesn’t slip from his position of puppet master, pulling at my strings, winding me tighter.

I hum again, the sound an elongated moan, broken up by choked syllables. Flexing the noise, like I’m stretching out my body, rubbing against his.

“Is this what you want, baby?” His voice vibrates against my neck. “Want me between those sweet thighs?”

Holy shit. If he talks dirty to me, this will be over in seconds.

As my hips roll back, Stone rocks forward, grinding his hefty cock deeper against me. The pressure of his fingers against the back of mine is harder. The tips of my fingers stroke deeper. Our bodies dance in a way that makes me wish there were no layers between us.

When Stone runs that bristly mustache against my tender flesh, I tip my head as best I can, so he’ll continue to tickle me. The rasp is a delicious sensation.

The push and pull between us continues.

“Want those thighs slicked?” he murmurs to my throat. “Want me deep, baby?”

He pauses as I groan at the thought.

“Let me?” he questions.

“Yes, please.”

Then Stone is brushing aside my fingers, swiping my panties to the side, and sliding into me with one thick digit.

“Fuck,” I cry out as I shatter, arching my back and moaning at the sensation.

Slickness covers my thighs as I melt around the thickness of his finger. He adds a second one, and I whimper again at the fullness, the pleasure, the relief.

The leg over his thigh clenches, holding onto him, keeping him close to me as I ride his fingers, swimming in the tide of release. I fear drowning, but know this man will rescue me.

I’m here for you. And he has been in so many ways.