Chapter 4 #2
“And here?” His other hand slid down, over my belly, and pressed his palm flat against the front of my jeans. Right where I was hot and swollen and aching. A whimper escaped me. I rocked into the pressure, a shameless, seeking motion. “Pressure,” I breathed. “Heat. I’m… I’m wet.”
The vulgar word hung in the air, shocking me even as I said it. A dark smile touched his lips, the first I’d seen since the water came. “Yes, you are. That’s your body telling you the truth. That’s the sensation you cling to.”
He applied more pressure, rubbing his palm in a slow, firm circle.
The denim was a maddening barrier, the seam rubbing exactly where I needed it.
Pleasure coiled tight in my belly, a spring winding tighter and tighter.
My fingers, which had been limp at my sides, dug into his shoulders, clutching the solid wool of his jacket.
“Virgil,” I panted, my control fraying at the edges.
“Focus,” he growled, his own breath starting to come faster.
He shifted beneath me, his erection grinding against my thigh.
“The ache. The need. That’s your compass. Let it guide you.”
He moved his hand from my mouth, his fingers tangling in my hair instead, fisting gently but firmly.
He tilted my head back, exposing my throat.
His lips brushed the frantic pulse there, and I shuddered violently.
“The house feels what you feel,” he said against my skin, his voice a vibration I felt in my bones.
“You give it terror, it gives you a flood. You give it this…” He bit down, not hard enough to break skin, but enough to make me moan, my back arching.
“…it gives you a different kind of tide.”
His hand on my jeans unbuttoned them. The sound of the zipper lowering was obscenely loud.
Cool air hit my damp panties, followed an instant later by the heat of his hand covering me completely.
He palmed me through the silk, his fingers finding the exact shape of my folds, and pressed.
My vision whited out for a second. A choked scream tore from my throat.
I was shaking again, but this was a different earthquake.
This was the ground giving way beneath me for an entirely new reason.
“This is control,” Virgil said, his voice thick with a desire that mirrored my own.
He pushed the silk aside, and two fingers slid through my slickness, finding my entrance.
He didn’t push in. He just circled, coated himself in her, the intimacy of it making my toes curl.
“Choosing your sensation. Choosing your anchor. Me.”
The last word was a claim. It shattered the last of my resistance.
I was past thought, past fear, riding a wave of pure, desperate need that he had conjured from my deepest self.
“Please,” I begged, the word ragged and broken.
I didn’t know what I was asking for. Him.
Inside me. More. Everything. He understood.
His fingers pressed inward, just the tips, a slow, devastating invasion.
My inner muscles clenched around him, trying to pull him deeper.
A rough, satisfied sound escaped him. “Look at me, Anna.” His voice was a dark command.
Tears blurred my vision, but I forced my eyes to his.
His face was a mask of fierce concentration, his jaw tight.
He was holding himself back, a leash on his own hunger, all for this lesson.
For me. He curled his fingers inside me, brushing a spot that made my entire body jerk.
A sob of pure pleasure broke from my lips.
“That’s it,” he breathed, his own control visibly straining.
“That’s your anchor. Now come for me. Drown in it. ”
His thumb found my clit, rubbing in tight, perfect circles.
His fingers worked inside me, stretching, filling.
The dual assault was too much. The coil snapped.
The release tore through me, violent and blinding.
I screamed, my body convulsing around his hand, my nails biting into his shoulders.
The room didn’t flood with water. It flooded with light, with a golden, pulsing warmth that seemed to radiate from my own skin, from the point where we were joined.
The velvet drank it in, glowing softly for a single, impossible second before fading back to shadow.
I collapsed against him, boneless, my face buried in the curve of his neck.
I was trembling, spent, my breath coming in ragged sobs against his skin.
He held me through it, his arms like steel bands around me, his hand still gently cupping me, his fingers slowly, gently, still moving inside me, prolonging the aftershocks.
For a long time, there was only the sound of our breathing, and the frantic beat of my heart slowing against his.
Finally, his voice, softer now, murmured into my hair. “Lesson learned.”
It wasn’t a question. And lying there, wrecked and sated in his arms, the ghost of the cold lake utterly forgotten, I knew he was right.