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Another searing lick; another suck that makes my toes curl.
Can’t breathe. Can’t breathe.
“Oh my god.” My voice sounds like it’s coming from far away, and the wooden headboard creaks under my grip. “Oh my god, oh my god.”
Arthur trails down my belly, nudging my legs further apart. The bed frame groans as he settles between my thighs, and when he speaks, he sounds ruined.
“You’re wet for me already, Penny. These curls are soaked.” Blunt fingers trail through the thatch of dark hair, and I squirm, hips bucking as I chase his touch. “You really do want this, don’t you? You really want me.”
More than anything. “Please,” I beg. “Quickly.”
If he doesn’t touch me soon, I might spontaneously combust. Might die on the spot and become just one more Hennigin Hall ghost, roaming the crooked halls and wailing and banging on the pipes, knocking the paintings askew and chasing the gargoyles around the ceiling. It sounds pretty fun, but… this is way better.
“Oh.” I inhale sharply as Arthur presses one finger inside me. Just one, up to the second knuckle.
“Try not to tense up.”
Yeah, well, easier said than done, buddy. “I’m not used to it. It feels weird.”
“Even so.” That finger strokes me from the inside, gentle and coaxing, and pleasure washes through my limbs. My rigid muscles unknot, and my thighs fall open wider. Sinking back into the pillows with a sigh, I nod my head, because this feels good.
“Okay, yeah, I get it. Keep going.”
And I expect… more finger. Fingers plural? Instead, Arthur ducks down and wet heat envelopes my clit, his tongue flicking over the tight bud of nerves, and holy shit. I cry out, practically levitating off the bed.
“There you are.” Arthur licks and sucks and nibbles between my thighs, his finger pulsing gently in and out. The wet sounds that fill the room make my cheeks scorch hot. “Let me make you feel good, Penny.”
Oh, I’m letting him. Full steam ahead, mister.
“P-please!”
A velvet laugh. “Good girl.”
And I don’t know how long he spends down there, working my body into a lather. Don’t know how many times he wrings a rush of feeling out of me, my channel getting slicker with each new release.
All I know is that when Arthur finally kicks off the rest of his clothes and crawls back up my body, his whole mouth and jaw shiny and wet, I’m slumped on the mattress like a dead thing.
Can’t form words; can barely catch my breath. My whole body is alive, clamoring with sensation, and it’s like he’s fed a hundred volts into my overloaded system. I’m tingling and gooey.
“You can let go of the headboard now.”
I whimper. Arthur frowns and rolls off me, reaching up to free my stiff, misshapen claws, then massages my fingers flat again, rubbing feeling back into my palms. I watch him nurse me through my pleasured haze.
“This wasn’t part of my plan. Are you alright? Why did you cling on so tightly?”
Because he freaking ruined me, that’s why! But I’m too overcome to argue right now, so I file that away for later and loop my arms around his neck, dragging him back on top. My legs are like jelly, but I manage to hitch them around his hips like a trooper.
“Do it,” I say, and god, I sound drunk. Drunk on pleasure. Drunk on life. “Screw me, Arthur Carstairs. Show me what all the hullabaloo is about.”
“No pressure, then,” he says drily, reaching between us to line himself up. When the blunt head of him nudges my entrance, I gasp and writhe. “Stay still, you mad woman—”
He sinks inside me. We both groan, loud and long.
And he’s right. I’m stuffed full, crammed tight to my edges, but… it doesn’t hurt at all.
“So wet,” Arthur grits out, burying his face in my neck. His glasses jab me in the jaw, but I don’t mind. I want him to see how much I love this. “So tight. Jesus Christ. Penny, you feel… this feels…”
Yeah, it really does.
