Page 33

"Knees together," he says. "Hands where they were."

I put them back. The folded quilt is cool and nubby under my bare skin.

He takes his time looking. His gaze moves from my knees to my hands to my face and back down again.

The waiting is worse than any touch. I can hear my own breathing in the quiet room.

I'm already wet. I'm shifting on the quilt, and I can't make myself stop.

"Be still."

I make myself stop moving.

"Open your knees."

My breath catches. I open them slowly, until the lamplight falls between my thighs and there's nothing hidden from him.

"Wider."

I spread them wider.

His eyes drop between my legs and stay there, and his jaw goes tight. "Look at you," he says, rough. "Soaking wet, and I haven't touched you. That's from my voice."

It is. He knows it, and so do I.

"Right hand off your knee. Two fingers. Touch yourself."

I stare at him.

"You heard me." His voice doesn't change. "I want to watch you do it because I said so."

I slide my right hand down between my thighs, with the cuff of my sleeve hanging over my wrist. I'm so slick that my fingers glide right over my clit, and my hips jerk.

"Slow. Slower than that." He watches my hand. "Small circles. Don't go inside, and don't go fast."

I do exactly what he tells me. I trace small, slow circles with my fingertips, barely touching. It's torture, because I know what I need and he won't let me have it. My left hand clenches on my knee, and my eyes fall shut.

"Eyes."

I open them. He hasn't moved.

"There you are," he says. "Keep going."

He lets me go on until my thighs are shaking and my breath comes in short, hard pulls. I'm close, and he can see it.

"Stop. Hand on your knee."

I whimper, but I stop and put my hand back on my knee. My clit throbs, and my fingers leave a wet smear on my skin.

He leans forward and takes my right hand by the palm. He lifts it and puts my two wet fingers in his mouth, and he sucks them clean with his eyes on mine. His tongue is hot, and I feel every pull of his mouth between my legs.

He lets my fingers go. Then he takes my jaw in his hand and kisses me.

It's nothing like the kiss I took from him on the porch, when he stood with his hands hanging at his sides and let me do all of it. This time he takes my mouth. His lips are hot and firm, and he opens mine with his tongue and slides it in deep and slow. I taste myself on him, salty and sharp, and a hot pulse beats between my legs.

He tilts my head to the angle he wants and holds it there with his thumb along my jaw. He sucks my bottom lip into his mouth and drags his teeth over it, and I moan into his mouth. My nipples are hard and aching against the inside of my shirt.

When I lean forward to kiss him harder, his hand tightens on my jaw and holds me where I am.