Page 83 of One Adult, Please

"Is there?"

"Staring is rude. Appreciating is a compliment." I reach for him, hook my fingers in his waistband, and pull him closer. "I'm complimenting you, Joel. With my eyes. Aggressively."

He steps between my knees. His hands come down on either side of my head, bracing against the bench back, caging me in. "Your turn," he says.

My pants are easier than his belt. I shimmy out of them without dignity.

He lowers himself onto the bench, onto me, and the first press of his body against mine makes me gasp. His cock presses against me through two thin layers of fabric. I rock up against it instinctively.

His mouth finds my neck. His lips and teeth and tongue working a path from my jaw to my collarbone. One hand slides up my ribcage, fingers spread wide, covering as much skin as possible. The other slides down, over my hip, gripping hard enough that I'll probably have fingerprint bruises tomorrow.

He finds the clasp of my bra. The angle is awkward but he manages it one-handed.

I have a brief hysterical thought about how many bras Joel has removed in his life that he's this competent at the mechanics.

"Impressive," I breathe.

"I fix things. Clasps are simple machines."

"Did you just compare my bra to a machine?"

"Lever and fulcrum system. Very basic."

I'm laughing and then I'm not laughing because he's pulling the fabric away. Then his lips close around my nipple and every thought I've ever had exits my skull through my ears.

"Oh," I say. Eloquent. Devastating. "Oh, that's... yes. That."

He works me with his mouth, alternating between soft and not-soft. His hand finds my other breast, thumb brushing circles until I'm arching up off the bench, pressing into his touch. The wet heat of his mouth. The slightly rough texture of his palm. The way his hips rock against mine in a rhythm that's probably unconscious and definitely driving me insane.

"Joel." I'm tugging at his hair. "Joel, I need..."

"What do you need?"

"More. I need more."

His hand leaves my breast. Slides down my stomach. Over my navel. Along the edge of my underwear. And then under, fingers slipping beneath the elastic.

"God," he says. "Grace."

"I know. I'm aware. It's been a situation for a while now, and if you could address the situation that would be…"

He presses two fingers inside me and my sentence dies mid-word.

My thighs clamp around his hand. I moan, loud. His fingers curl in a way that suggests he knows exactly what he's looking for and he's going to find it.

"Like this?" he asks, and his voice is calm while my entire nervous system lights up like a switchboard.

"Yes. Yes, like that. Just like that, don't stop, don't you dare stop."

He adds a third finger, stretching me, filling me, and his thumb finds my clit and starts a slow circle. I grip his shoulders hard enough to leave marks. I'm close, already, embarrassingly fast.

"Joel, I'm going to come."

"Not yet."

His hand slows. His thumb eases off. I make a sound of pure frustration and he swallows it with a kiss, his mouth hot and insistent against mine.

"I want to be inside you when you come," he says against my lips. "I want to feel it."