CHAPTER 22 BOWER #2
I can still feel it, the tip of his finger has found itself past the waistband of my loose shorts. Static, resting, but it’s there. I’m not dreaming this, I’m not—
Swipe.
Oh.
My.
Fucking.
God.
My clit immediately starts throbbing, my nipples harden, and suddenly I’m sweating everywhere.
This should not be happening. I should stop him.
I should flee and move to the other side of the couch.
I should put an end to this madness, and yet, I wait on bated breath for the next swipe, the next…
something, anything, but as the seconds tick by and he does absolutely nothing, I resign myself to the fact that maybe it was just a spasm of his finger, or perhaps that’s just as far as he’d go, which is probably for the best.
Wait, I know it’s for the best.
I turn back to my book and reread what I’ve already read because I need to get back into the scene.
She’s naked.
Her tits.
He wants them.
Right, okay, she moves closer to him, her hands falling to his thighs as she spreads his legs open, making room for her body. She wets her lips, her eyes on his straining cock, stretching up toward her, waiting for her mouth—
Swipe.
A gasp almost falls past my lips, but I hold it back as his hand moves an inch farther, now a few centimeters above my pubic bone, just close enough to make me fucking mad with need. Because now all my brain can think about is that he’s almost there.
So close.
With a thrust of my hips, he might actually caress me.
My eyes squeeze shut as I contemplate what to do, my clit still throbbing, my mind playing games as I feel like he’s moving again…is he?
His finger twitches again. This time it feels closer, so much closer.
No, I’m thinking things.
He wouldn’t go there, would he?
Maybe he’s technically already there.
Either way, I need to just—
His hand lowers, now right above my slit, his finger toying with me there, brushing up against it, but never truly grazing, turning me on to the point of no return. I can feel how wet I’m getting, how much I want this, need this.
I want him to pleasure me, his fingers to glide along my slick, wet…
His fingers press a millimeter farther, right at the edge.
And uncontrolled by me, my legs fall open, giving him access if he wants to go any farther.
Which I wait for.
And wait.
And wait, until I find that he’s not going to do anything. He brushes his fingers over my pussy, but never in. He grazes and teases and edges, but when it comes to actual pleasure, he won’t make that move.
Maybe that’s something I’m just going to have to live with.
Maybe that’s all this is, him trying to see how far he can push me.
How far he can torture me.
Swipe.
My lips press together, my heart racing now, just as his finger slowly—and I mean slowly—slides along my slit, all the way down, and then all the way back up.
Motherfucker.
It’s all just surface level, but it’s enough to make me forget all reasoning as my legs fall even wider apart, giving him all the access he needs as my breathing hitches.
And then he does it again, slides his finger along my slit, barely grazing my clit before he pauses, and then to my surprise, presses his whole palm against my pussy.
I can’t breathe.
I absolutely can’t fucking breathe as he holds still, doesn’t move, just cups me, to the point that I swear if he paid attention, he could feel me throbbing against him.
Can he feel how wet I am?
Can he see how hard my nipples are?
Does he see the pleasure and pain he’s giving me all at the same time?
I can’t even look up to see if he’s noticing what he’s doing to me. If he sees the war raging inside of me, even though it’s a pretty heavy one-sided war right now, the bad choices taking the win at the moment.
His finger slides along my slit again, but this time, he presses down, the pad of his pointer finger lightly dancing over my clit before he repeats the move, up and down, up and down.
“Fuck,” I groan, unable to hold back as his featherlike touches start to make me mad with desire.
So mad that I drop my book and slide my hand down his forearm, to the top of his hand that’s touching me. With my finger on top of his, I push him farther, sliding him all the way down, and all the way back up.
“Yes,” I whisper as I release and he repeats the technique, not just focusing on one spot of pleasure, but giving me full range, all the way to the back and to the front. Inside and out.
Gliding, sliding, thumping, his technique is unlike anything I’ve felt before and it’s probably why it’s making it feel like he’s pulling every last ounce of control from me, like he’s gathering every nerve, muscle, and bone and twisting it in the best way possible, to the greatest feeling that makes everything feel numb even though the pleasure is so intense.
“Fuck…yes,” I say as my hips thrust up into his hand. “Make me come.”
I can’t even think about the fact that I just said that to Bennett.
Not even a little.
Because my mind is racing, racing for pleasure. Racing for a man I shouldn’t be with.
Racing with the idea that this is what it’s supposed to feel like.
Attraction.
Temptation.
Desire.
It’s supposed to make you lose your mind, to forget all outside perspective and just feel.
And that’s exactly what he’s doing.
“Fuck…Bennett,” I say as he dips his fingers inside of me, two of them, grazing my inner walls before he pulls out, tapping along my clit with short precise strokes.
My gasp is caught on my lips as he slips two fingers inside me again and curls up, only to pull out and vibrate his fingers against my clit.
It pulls at me.
Tugs.
Wars against my ability to hold strong.
But I can’t. It’s twisting and pulling, and fuck…I’m going to come.
My brain starts to muddle into darkness. My focus is right between my legs as he builds me up and up and up until…
“Fuck!” I yell as I crest, my orgasm yanking me from reality and right into a space where only white-hot pleasure exists.
And I ride it.
I ride that feeling, humping his hand over and over again until there’s nothing left to give.
“Oh…my…God,” I whisper as my legs clamp around his hand for a moment, my body trying to calm down from the shock.
After what feels like minutes of me throbbing against his palm, Bennett slowly removes his hand, and as I glance up toward him, looking for any sort of answer, he brings his fingers up to his mouth, staring down at me as he sucks them, lapping up every last drop of arousal.
And it’s the hottest thing I think I’ve ever seen.
“Fucking perfect,” is all he says as he snaps his book shut and then gently lifts me up before he stands from the couch.
He’s leaving again?
He must see the confusion in my eyes, because he smirks down at me, and then once again brings his fingers to his mouth, where he sucks them for a second longer before he says, “Tastes like fucking joy.”
Then with a wink, he heads toward the door and I don’t know what possesses me, but I hop off the couch and head toward him, blurting out, “You’re just going to leave?”
“Have to get to the stadium but going to need to take care of some business beforehand.” He glances down at his lap, where his cock is pressing so incredibly hard against his jeans that my mouth waters. “Catch you later, beautiful.”
And then with that, he’s gone.