Page 36 of Bones and Ashes

I lift her by the elbows, steady her 'til her knees stop shakin', and walk her backwards to the foot of her big four-poster bed. It's one of them fancy beds I’ve never seen outside of magazines, all carved wood and thick posts and a bench at the bottom that's probably older than both of us combined.

"Bend over."

She does. No question, no hesitation. Just turns, plants her palms flat on the footboard, and folds herself forward, dress still hangin' half off her shoulders. The hem falls long down the back of her thighs.

I push it up.

All the way up, over her hips, and bunch it at her waist. She's got those little white panties on — lace, same scalloped edge as the bra — and I slide 'em down slow, past her ass, down her thighs, leave 'em gathered around her knees.

Christ.

I stand there a second and just look. Run my hand over the curve of her, palm flat across one cheek, then the other. Squeeze. Spread her open with my thumbs just enough to see how wet she already is. She makes a sound — a small one, half a whine — and I feel her knees wanna press together, but the panties won't let her.

I drag one finger down the length of her pussy, slow. Circle her clit once. Come back up.

"Look at you."

Another finger. Slide it in her easy because she's soaked, and I feel her clench around me the second I'm in. I curl. Work her slow. In, out, in, out, findin' that spot inside her that makes her hips jump.

"You gonna come for me, baby?"

She shakes her head. Bites her bottom lip. Holds on.

Oh. Okay.

Alright.

I add a second finger. Pick up the pace. Grind my knuckles against her clit every pass and watch her thighs start to tremble, watch her fingers go white on the footboard. She's breathin' through her teeth now, sharp little pulls of air, and her whole body's shakin' but she won't give it up.

Stubborn fuckin' woman.

"You think you can hold out on me?"

She nods. Barely.

I smile. She can't see it but I smile anyway.

I go harder. Faster. Three fingers now, stretchin' her, the wet sound of it obscene in the quiet room, and I rub her clit in tight circles with my thumb and I don't stop, don't slow, don't let up even when her legs start to give out.

"Legion—"

"Come on, baby. Let it go."

"No—"

"Now."

And she breaks. Her whole body shudders forward against the footboard, her mouth falls open, and the moan that comes out of her ain't quiet, ain't polite, ain't nothin' like the woman who was sippin' lemonade on a porch two hours ago. It's long and low and mine, and she's grindin' back on my hand while it rolls through her, ridin' it out with her forehead pressed to the wood.

I work her through it. Slow my fingers down. Let her come down easy.

Then I pull out, wipe my hand on my thigh, and line myself up.

I spread her with my thumbs — gentle now, she's so wet it's runnin' down her leg — and I ease into her an inch at a time, watchin' her take me, watchin' her pussy stretch around me, watchin' her spine arch when I hit deep.

I bottom out and hold there a second. Just breathe. Just feel her around me, every inch of her, that tight warm grip that ain't ever felt like anythin' else.

Then I move.