Chapter Thirty #2
He slid a finger inside her, and she made a choked sound in the back of her throat, grabbing his forearm to hold his hand there.
She didn’t want him to move just yet, she didn’t know if she could take it—she just wanted to feel him inside her body, wanted to know that he was touching her in the most intimate way possible.
Eventually she relaxed her grip, and he started working her with his finger before he added another, and then another. When he pushed against her clit with his thumb, she let out a low, keening sound that didn’t even sound like it came from her.
“I love stretching you out like this,” he said. “I could spend hours with my fingers inside you, just feeling how wet you are, how you tighten around me.”
Yes , she tried to say, but it came out more like a moan.
When he started fucking her with his fingers, she brought her knees up to her chest, wanting to give him the most access possible.
Her hands were on his biceps, his back, his shoulders, his throat, until he gave a strangled grunt that made her drop her hands, worried she’d hurt him somehow.
“No,” he said. “Do it again, and squeeze.”
She brought her hand up, feeling the ridge of his Adam’s apple under her thumb, pressing her fingers into the hollow at the base of his throat.
And then she wrapped her fingers around him and did exactly as he’d asked, applying enough pressure that she knew he’d feel it, not enough that it would risk cutting off his breath.
“Harder.”
She clenched her fingers around him, rewarded by the shudder that went through his body, the way his hand briefly paused in its ministrations inside her, as if he lost focus for a moment.
He had such excellent focus, and she loved to wreck it.
But it was almost like he wanted to punish her for that, because then he withdrew his hand entirely, leaving her feeling empty and wanting.
“ Fuck , Micah,” he said, rubbing those agonizingly slow circles over her clit again. “I can’t get enough of you.”
He’d moved now so he was farther away, out of her reach, but to where he’d have a perfect view of everything he was doing to her if only there was any light.
She was grateful for the darkness, grateful that he couldn’t see the way she was so open and vulnerable to him.
Even knowing he was so close made her legs tremble, to where she almost couldn’t hold them up anymore.
“Please,” she said. “Please fuck me. I can’t take it.”
He flipped her over, pulling her by the hips until she was flush against him.
The move was so unexpected that she still hadn’t fully recovered from it when she felt him push inside her.
She was already on the edge from everything he’d put her through up until that point, but he held her in place, like he knew that any movement would make her fall off the cliff.
He brushed her hair off her neck, leaning over to press a kiss there. “You can take it,” he said. “You will take it. You’ll come for me, won’t you?”
His fingers dug into her hips as he slammed her back against him, and then he was fucking her fast and hard just the way she’d wanted it. Eventually he reached down between her legs, pressing against her clit as he continued to rail her from behind.
“Come for me, honey,” he said. “Just let go.”
The way it was building inside her, it was almost painful, too much sensation, too much pressure, too much him , too much, too much.
When it finally ripped through her body, she couldn’t stop the guttural scream that was torn from her mouth at the same time, the way she could feel everything clench and spasm and release, leaving her boneless and weak as she felt John holding her up, his own body shuddering as he came inside her.
“Fuck,” he said.
And then she started to cry. She had no idea why—she was embarrassed by the suddenness of it, the force of it, the way there was no hiding it. She cried harder than she’d cried in years.
“Hey,” John said, wrapping his arm around her. “Hey. Oh god, Micah, I didn’t hurt you, did I?”
She shook her head, unable to say anything more, even though she wanted to assure him that he definitely hadn’t hurt her.
She knew this was a disproportionate response to sex—she didn’t even know exactly what it was a response to , if it was a by-product of having the best orgasm of her life, all those chemicals coursing through her body, or if there was more to it than that.
She reached up to grab his hand and gave it a squeeze.
He’d been stretched out over her back, and there was something comforting about the weight of him like that, holding her down.
But her knees were still tucked beneath her, and she had to shift to stretch out her legs, which felt wobbly and tingly and incapable of anything remotely close to walking.
He rolled off her until he was lying next to her, their bodies pressed together as he rubbed circles on her back.
“What is it?” he asked as she started to calm down, her tears mostly stopped, only the occasional sniffle to remind her of that wave of emotion. “Talk to me.”
She was still lying on her stomach, and she turned her head on the pillow, so she’d be able to look him in the eyes if it weren’t so dark that she couldn’t see.
She imagined that she’d see his love for her there, that maybe she could’ve always seen it, if she’d only thought to look.
He hadn’t hurt her, but she was worried she’d hurt him , because she’d never seemed to figure out how to do the romantic stuff.
She wanted to be better at it for him, wanted to be better at it with him, but she was scared that she didn’t know how.
“I’m good,” she said. “It’s all good. It’s just…”
She didn’t know how to finish that sentence, how to even put everything into words. She didn’t know if there were words. She was grateful when this time he did step in to try to give her some.
“A lot?”
“A fuckton of a lot,” she agreed, and she could feel his smile, knew that he caught her reference back to what he’d said after their first show on the cruise. His hand was resting on her back now, no longer moving, just a steady, warm reminder that he was there.
“I don’t want to break any of your rules,” he said. “Do you need me to carry you to the bathroom?”
She laughed, but it only reminded her of what a mess her face must be, tears still wet on her cheeks, her nose starting to run. “I can do it,” she said. “Just give me a second.”
He touched her temple, his fingers finding the hair that had stuck to her face in the dark, carefully combing it away until he could cup her cheek. There was such tenderness to the gesture she almost started crying all over again.
“Take your time,” he said.