Chapter 18
SHADE
Millie’s nearly vibrating with nerves.
She went from taking the lead and stepping into her cabin first to standing frozen in front of her bedroom door with a spine so straight I could probably crack it in half if I poked hard enough. I’m trying not to get a big head, but fuck, she doesn’t make it easy.
Every shiver, blush, and freeze up makes it harder for me to keep from giving in to what I’ve wanted since I first saw her at Peakside.
It’s easier to pretend I don’t want to fuck her four ways to Sunday when we’re at the studio or when she’s giving her attention to something else. But when it’s on me?
I dip my eyes down her back to where her skirt brushes the backs of her upper thigh. She’s rubbing them together, her tight-clad feet pressing into the floor. My fingers strain and stretch before I busy them with gripping the top of the door frame. I wet my lips and press myself flush against her.
“Duck out now, or go to the bed, Millie.”
“Which lesson is this?” she asks softly, timidly.
“Which do you think?”
Her swallow is more audible than the words she whispers.
“Louder. I’m here for you. Tell me what you think we’re going to do.”
“You’re going to watch me . . . touch myself.”
I bring my hand to the side of her neck and use a finger to guide her hair behind her shoulder. Her collarbone pebbles with goosebumps that trail beneath her top. It’s too easy to follow their path beneath the silky fabric until I touch a thin strap at her shoulder.
“I’m going to watch, but I’m going to help too. You should be able to make yourself come, princess. Fuck knows not every man you meet will know how to get you there. It’s up to you to ease that ache whenever it gets too bad,” I murmur, feeling that same goddamn discomfort between my legs.
“You think you’ll be able to help? What if—”
I remove my fingers from her bra strap and smooth them down her arm instead, circling her wrist.
“I’ll be able to help. Never met a woman I couldn’t get screaming, Millie.” With her wrist in my grasp, I move it to her stomach, pressing her palm to the waistband of her skirt. “You’ll need to be vocal with me. Tell me what feels good and what doesn’t.”
She jerks her head in a nod and draws a sharp breath between her lips. I cover my fingers over each of hers and slowly glide two beneath the band and to where a second one rests an inch lower. It’s thinner, softer.
“What are you thinking?”
“I—I’m—It’s good.”
“What’s good?”
“This. What you’re doing,” she rambles breathlessly.
“What do you want to do next? Are we staying in the doorway?”
“No.”
“No . . .”
She slides her fingers from beneath mine to between them, linking them. “The bed.”
“Lay on it, Milie. On your back.”
I pull my hand away and tap her ass. She sneaks a quick look at me, showing her pretty blue eyes as they widen before she’s stumbling forward. The bed can’t be bigger than a double, but it’ll work for this. For now.
Millie crawls onto the mattress, pressing one knee onto it at a time.
I watch in silence as she lies on her back and stares at the ceiling.
Her throat jumps while her chest rises with slow breaths.
The shirt she’s wearing droops at the shoulders in this position, exposing the thin straps of her bra.
I work to keep my own breaths the same speed as hers when she curls her toes at the end of the bed and places her hands flat on the mattress.
With her head popped on the pillows, she should have no choice but to stare at me when I move to the end of the bed, but she keeps her eyes on the ceiling. The way her body moves with a shiver doesn’t escape me, and I hate that I can’t tell if it’s from excitement or the constant chill in here.
“Why is it so cold in here?” I ask, keeping my voice low.
“There’s no thermostat. And I don’t know how to light a fire.”
Concern races through me as I grip the door frame. “Don’t move, Millie. Wait for me just like that.”
“Okay,” she whispers without argument.
I turn around stiffly, bothered by more than just the chill. It’s too cold in here, and I should have done something about it the first time I noticed. The older cabins don’t have heat, and I doubt anyone has shown her how to start a fire before.
Grinding my teeth, I ignore the throb in my cock and stop in front of the fireplace.
There are chopped logs beside it, and I get to work.
There’s everything you need to start a fire in a basket on top of the fireplace, but fuck, Shelly could have spent a few minutes at least giving Millie a quick rundown.
The moment the fire sparks, I feed it into a large flame and shut the heavy door, leaving it open just enough for the heat to disperse faster. I linger for a minute, waiting to see if it’s going to die out before going back to the bedroom.
When I reach the doorway again, my chest constricts at the sight of her still in the same spot, unmoving. Her eyes are on the ceiling as she breathes quickly.
“Look at me,” I urge, trying to keep my excitement dimmed.
She stares at me, and her chest deflates before inflating immediately. “Did you light a fire?”
“I did, and before I leave, I’m showing you how to do it yourself so you don’t freeze to death.”
“Thank you.” The words are heavy, too heavy for this moment.
“Hitch your skirt up to your hips and ditch the tights, Millie,” I command, pushing forward.
Colour floods her cheeks. Her eyes stay locked on mine as she brings her hands to the flowing hem of her skirt and flips it up. I move through the room to the small armchair in the corner. Pulling it to the end of the bed, I sit and shove my hands into my pockets.
Millie hesitates once her fingers disappear beneath the waistband of her skirt, touching the same place we were together. I nod, giving her silent encouragement to keep going.
With a flare of her nostrils, she works her tights down to her thighs before reaching in front of her to pull them the rest of the way off. I chomp down on my tongue and grow harder in my jeans when I spy her panties.
Honestly, I’d have preferred men’s briefs over the baby blue silk in front of me. There’s nothing innocent about these, and I’m having a hard time getting my brain to stop glitching the longer I stare at the small, damp circle over the centre of them.
“Are you okay?” she asks, her voice tight.
The beige tights fall to the floor in a ball. I unclench my fist and press down roughly on the tip of my cock through my jeans when it twitches toward my hand. I’m too goddamn hard, and I’ve never been the guy to bust early, but for the first time in my life, I’m scared I could.
I nod and pull my hands from my pockets. “When you’re alone, what do you do first?”
She spreads her legs wider, her knees bent, while tucking a hand down into her panties. I watch it press against the silk as she brings her touch to the part of her that I know is already slick.
“Good girl. Tell me how that feels,” I murmur.
Her eyes flare, the black ring around that beautiful blue contracting. “It’s nice.”
“Nice? That’s it?”
She nods twice, her hand moving slowly. “Should it feel different?”
I can’t tell if she’s being serious, and that bothers me. Unable to stay seated, I step toward the bed and blow out a loose breath.
“You tell me, Millie. It’s your pussy, not mine.”
Her whimper shoots through me like a fucking bullet on fire. I grit my jaw and strain to keep myself in place.
“I know you’re wet, so get your finger slick and bring it to your clit. It’s fucking aching by now, isn’t it?”
“It is,” she says, her voice breaking at the end.
“Roll it beneath the pad of your finger. Slowly.”
Her hips jerk with the movement of her hand before falling into the bed, pressing into it. Millie’s eyelids fall halfway and then open wider than before.
Every movement of her hand beneath her panties excites me further, and before I know it, my knees are digging into the wooden frame at the edge of the bed. The bite of pain doesn’t register past the arousal making my blood sing.
“What do you need, Millie?”
She’s moving too quickly, chasing the same feeling that’s pulsing through me. It’s clunky, desperate in a way that exposes the reasons behind her every failed orgasm.
I lift one knee to the mattress and lean forward just enough to reach her ankle. With a gentle pull, I bring her leg down straight and stroke the soft, bare skin of her calf.
Her mouth gapes in surprise but then fills with a moan. I tighten my hold on her leg and breathe through my nose. She twitches in my hold, and the movement in her panties speeds up. Our eyes continue to hold, and I risk reaching between her legs to press down on her hand.
It stills, and her brows furrow. The clash of emotions in her gaze has me shaking my head, trying to silence her thoughts.
“Can I touch you?” I ask.
“Touch me . . .” she echoes, asking a question without coming outright with it.
“Over your panties. Let me show you, princess.”
Her muscles relax as she breathes out. “Yes.”
I crawl up the bed and kneel between her spread legs. Keeping her face in my vision instead of where my hand’s moving, I wait for her to slip her fingers free of the silk and then press mine to her centre. She clamps her lips shut and tips her head back, avoiding looking at me.
That’s fine. She doesn’t need to look at me while I do this, as long as she listens and feels. I’m doing more than enough staring for the both of us.
I move two fingers up and down her panties, passing the wet patch and pressing the silk against her swollen skin while I explore, searching for what I need.
Her reaction is more than enough confirmation that I’ve found her clit.
She can’t hide her cry beneath clamped lips this time.
Not when I press my thumb harder and start to massage the spot she was focused on a beat ago.