Page 58 of Go, Rogue

“For me?”

“Yes, Andrew. For you.”

She moans then, while his hand flies up and down himself.

“Do you know what it will feel like when you’re close?”

“Maybe,” she says, and he can hear the change in her voice and the timber of the noises she’s making. He’s never heard anything so beautiful in his entire life.

“Imagine your fingers are mine,” he says, his hand flying over his cock now, his cadence hard and driving. “How it would feel to have my hand there, my fingers gently massaging your quim.”

She whimpers at that, and then her fingers begin to move faster, small circular motions over her most sensitive parts.

Fuck. He’s losing control and he doesn’t bloody care.

He lets his hand go at the pace it wants to now, faster and harder up and down his shaft, the feeling electrifying his cock and his balls and the deep pit of his stomach. His gaze moves from her fingers to her blue eyes and locks there.

“Imagine,” he says, “that I take one finger and I glide it up into ye. Ye’re wet, are ye no’? Slick and hot and ready for me. Christ.” He groans again and his voice hitches, his breathing labored. He strokes himself harder and squeezes the tip of his shaft.

“Ye Gods, Menace. I can imagine the feel of ye wrapped aroun’ me. My cock buried deep inside yer quim.”

She closes her eyes and slides a finger back inside herself while the other still circles her little center of pleasure. They fall quiet but for the whispers of hand against skin, their groans of shared desire.

And then she lets out a sharp, “Oh,” and he knows she’s there and he can let himself go.

“Look at me,” he says and her eyes lock back onto him while his hand moves faster and faster until he feels the lightning move up from the base of his spine and burst through him.

“Jaysus goddamned Christ! I cannae!”

The cum explodes out of him in long, milky strings. He watches her throw her head back and groan into her own orgasm, and a second wave of pleasure washes over him at the sight of her. He comes and he comes and he comes and Jesus wept, he’s never ever experienced anything like it.

“Holy mother of God,” he murmurs before he reaches for her and pulls her close, pressing her into his chest.

He might never be the same again. A Scots pine forever felled indeed.