Page 80 of Keepsakes and Kismet

I pause. “Are we ‘talking it out,’ Pey? Is that what this is?”

She bites her lower lip. “Um, what do you mean?”

I don’t want there to be anything hazy between us. Things left unspoken just lead to misunderstandings. The last time we were honest with each other with what we both wanted, it ended in a kiss. This time, if we tell each other the truth, maybe it could be more.

I prop myself up on my elbow. “I mean, are you asking because you want me to make you come right now?”

The silence stretches, and I’m about to take it back—tell her not to answer—but then her head moves in a barely perceptible nod.

Which isn’t enough for the amount of trust she’s placing in me if we do this.

I place my finger under her chin, lifting her face toward mine. “Say it, honey. I need to hear you say it.”

Her eyes go heavy lidded. “Yes. I want you to make me come now.”

No hesitation this time.

I draw in a long breath, trying to steady myself. “If we do this, you have to talk to me, okay? You have to tell me what you like, what you don’t like. It’s been a long time for me, and I need you to speak up if you want me to stop, or if you want me to do something different, or…” I trail off. “Or if something feels really good. I want to hear that, too.”

“Okay.” She bites her lower lip. “I don’t want to take my clothes off, not here, but… but, I want you to touch me. Underneath.”

“Fuck. Yes. Fuck,” I mutter, attempting to pull myself together.

Closing my eyes for just a moment, I think about how I’ll prepare her. How I’ll prepare myself.

I roll my lips together, settling my gaze back on her. “I’ll start on your sides, just stroking you underneath your hoodie. Across your stomach, up your ribs, just so you can get used to my hands on you.” My voice is pure gravel as I ask, “What’re you wearing underneath your hoodie?”

“A bralette. It’s like a see through bra. There’s, um, not much to it.”

I wipe a hand down my face. The thought of her… I’m nearly in physical pain as I lean closer. “I’ll graze my fingers across your bra, then tug the front down and touch you. Brush my fingers across your nipples, maybe rub with some pressure, if you like that, and…”

She licks her lower lip, and the air sizzles between us. I try to focus on anything else other than the knot of pleasure already forming in my stomach.

“I’ll touch you… I’ll keep touching them, until—I’m sorry, Pey, but I don’t think I know when I’d stop. It’ll depend on how you’re feeling, if you like it. Does that sound good?”

Another nod.

“Words, honey.”

“Keep going, Callum.”

I swallow. “Then, I’ll move my hand between your legs and stroke you on the outside of your leggings. Up and down, gently at first, but then firmer, so I can really feel you. I’ll reach inside your leggings, underneath your panties, and push one, maybe two, fingers inside you. Get them wet before I start rubbing your clit. Lightly, in circles, then I’ll add some pressure. I’ll listen to you, give you exactly what you want—however long it takes—until you come for me.”

She’s panting now, and I’m fixated on the noise. Her small, staggered breaths. I think I could come just from the way her chest rises and falls.

“I want all of that.” She grabs at my hand, tugging it toward the bottom of her hoodie.

“Wait a second. We only talked about what we’ll do to make you come, but can I still touch you after? If you want. Just laying together or something.”

“Yes, Callum.”

Somewhere, the movie is playing, the stars are shining, and the wind is blowing. But here, under the canopy, in the back of my truck, nothing else exists other than us. Other than this.

I turn down the brightness of the lantern and suck in a deep breath. My hand starts to explore, slowly, tentatively, underneath her hoodie, trailing my fingers up her sides. There’s something so intimate about feeling her skin beneath my fingertips while completely holding her gaze. I catalog every emotion, filing away the lust that flashes in her eyes when I run my hands over her lower stomach. The way her eyelids flutter closed when I drag my fingers up her ribcage. How her head lolls back, as if she’s losing her sense of gravity, when I brush my thumb across her breast.

Her back arches toward me as she pulls in a long breath. “I… I…”

“What feels good, Pey? Tell me.”