Chapter Fourteen #5
But then she heard it—his breath catching.
Like he knew she was going ahead, and it actually did something to him.
And just as she was thinking how impossible that was, she shifted onto her back.
She let them part just a little more, hardly anything, really.
But when she did, her leg touched the solid side of his body.
And that was definitely an intake of breath.
Like this was all very straightforward to him.
Yet at the same time, just ever so slightly shocking.
Ever so slightly impossible seeming, in the same sort of way it was for her.
Though she knew that sense of it being so was starting to slide away.
Everything was getting all syrupy and sunk deep into desire, in a way she couldn’t remember feeling since she was a teenager.
Before you learnt to curb yourself, she thought.
Then just let her hand slide back between her legs. Slowly, slowly, like he’d said. Simply allowing herself to try out this new and completely bared sensation. This whole sense of her spread pussy, exposed to her exploring, slightly eager fingers.
And they got more so once she had.
She brushed over the outer edges of that slick, hot seam, and got a bloom of sensation so intense it seemed almost a crime to not chase it. To not stroke softly around and around the place she wanted to touch most. That molten core, now aching in such an agonizing way she almost went ahead.
Only the thought of what it would sound like stopped her.
Though she didn’t know why. He didn’t seem to mind at all.
“Jesus, that pussy is so fucking wet. Barely touching yourself, and I can hear it. I can hear you stroking through all that slickness, all soft and slow. That feel good? Tell me if it does. Lemme hear you say it,” he said, like some sort of demonic reversal of all the experiences she’d ever had before.
With other men it had always been passionate disgust.
Here, what she got was plainspoken. It was simple, somehow.
But god, it was lewd. And almost relentlessly encouraging in a way that should have been impossible for him. She wasn’t even sure how he was managing it. She wanted to ask: Is this real? Or is it just like the food thing, the singing thing.
Practice, at being someone else.
Someone who wants me to be happy.
But somehow that wasn’t what came out. It couldn’t be, really.
Buying into it was now too delicious to do anything but.
“Oh my god, it did,” she moaned, and actually felt some sort of reaction run through him.
A shudder, it felt like. A groan of desire brewing in his body that he couldn’t quite let out.
Though it was in his voice when he spoke.
Like he was giving in to it all, too.
“So stroke yourself again. Get closer this time,” he said.
Then she just had to give him a little push. Just to see how much he was.
“Say what you want me to get closer to. Be specific.”
“Because you think I won’t?”
“It seems likely. More likely than you doing it.”
“Your clit. I want you to almost touch your clit.”
“Jesus, Miller,” she gasped out, voice now more moan of desire than anything else.
Near unintelligible, and so desperate it should have embarrassed her right out of touching herself at all.
But it didn’t. She did exactly what he had said without breaking a sweat.
Two fingers over that swollen little bud, stroking soft and feverish, the pleasure from it so sudden and so intense that she simply had to keep going.
And that was before he carried on.
Relentless, his own voice almost breathless now.
“I can do better if you want me to.”
“You can’t. You won’t.”
“Say the word, and I will.”
Okay, stop now, she told herself.
But that wasn’t what came out.
“Yeah, I do. Yes,” she panted, and god, the way he obliged.
“Finger your cunt for me, then. Fuck yourself until you’re close,” he said—Caleb Miller, a man who didn’t even like to swear.
He said cunt, her mind gasped, but her body didn’t react with the same sort of shock.
It didn’t act all scandalized. It arched right into her now frantic fingers.
She practically rubbed herself against her hand.
And holy fuck, the sounds that were coming out of her now.
They were high and breathy and almost constant.
A long litany of little moans and gasps.
Oh, she actually let out. Oh, oh, oh, over and over and so loud it seemed to fill the small space.
It felt louder than a shout. And god, the sound of her trying to do what he had asked.
The slick click of her stroking herself there, trying to work her fingers in, half unsure and awkward about it, but doing enough that he would definitely hear.
He’s going to realize now that this is insane, she thought.
And instead he got a hint of that frustration and shifted.
Turned his head toward her, it felt like.
“Want me to do it for you?” he said, because apparently he had lost it, he had clearly just lost his mind.
This was beyond anything he should have been able to do.
Playing a game, sure. Encouraging her, fine.
Touching her himself?
With his own hands?
“You wouldn’t. You wouldn’t,” she said, and he just answered so casually.
“Only if you don’t want me to. Tell me you do and I will.”
“I can’t—ohhhh god, I can’t, I don’t even know what to say.”
“Whatever filthy thing you’d like to.”
“Like touch me.”
“More than that.”
“Put your hand between my legs.”
“You can do better, I know you can.”
“Oh god, Miller, just fuck me. Fuck my slick cunt,” she finally blurted out.
But she honestly didn’t expect him to actually do it. It seemed completely impossible that he’d even said the words, never mind would do the physical act. She was still reeling from his tongue clicking around the word clit—it just didn’t seem like a reasonable thing to believe in.
So it made sense that she moaned just hearing the zipper on her sleeping bag go. And that she did it again when she felt him over her. The heat of his body, the heavy, shadowy shape of him. Then, oh god, then—that was his hand on her thigh. Caleb Miller was touching her thigh.
And not even on the outside.
Right in there, right on the place between, where the skin was soft and almost painfully sensitive. Every callus, every line, every sense of how careful he was being with that big grip—it all sent a spark directly through her already too-sensitized clit.
Though really it was none of this that sent her round the twist.
It was the sound he made as he slid slowly up and encountered exactly how slick she was, long before he should. There, on the inside of her thighs, all the mess she’d made over his dirty words and heated encouragement.
And it didn’t make him chide her.
It made his breath stutter in his throat.
Not quite a moan, but close enough that she answered him in kind.
She let out a long, slow sigh of pleasure—and another when he rubbed her there.
Like he was enjoying the feel of it, all over her.
And then, just for good measure, he squeezed her there. He made a sound of satisfaction.
“Guess that answers the question of whether you’re gonna take what I’ve got,” he muttered, and honestly she had no idea what he meant. After all, it wasn’t as if he was going to use whatever he had between his legs. He was just going to ease a finger in, it was nothing.
Then she felt him.
She felt him stroke her, softly, first over the curve of her sex.
Then slowly, slowly easing into that slick seam.
And even that was enough to tell her what she should have already known.
His fingers were thick. They were thick and they were solid, to the point where it felt like being rudely spread. The sensation actually made her gasp.
But not in fear or horror.
“Ohhhh fuck, that feels so good,” she found herself blurting out.
And she couldn’t stop herself rubbing faster over her clit. The need to come was now so intense it was impossible not to, and even more so when he worked his way to her slick little hole. Rubbed it that way, too, until she came very close to bucking into his hand.
Then he murmured the words “Oh, so ripe and ready,” and she did.
Her hips lifted of their own accord, and when that happened so did the thing he had intended. One maddening finger, gliding in. All the way in, right up to the last knuckle, so fast and thick it made her cry out. It made her buck against him, at first accidentally.
But then less so.
And he knew it.
“Yeah, fuck my hand. Take what you need,” he said, and she did.
She did. She rutted against that exquisite contact until the pleasure just seemed to build low down in her belly.
Until she almost didn’t want to stroke her clit anymore, at all.
She wanted to chase whatever this was. She wanted to feel him filling her, working her, saying to her, “Oh yeah, you’re gonna do it for me? ”
Though it shocked her, when she realized she was.
I’ve never, I can’t, she almost said. But instead it came out as a stunned kind of understanding that she was. “Oh my god, I’m gonna come, I’m gonna come,” she gasped as the pleasure started to break. Voice nearly panicked, body hardly able to process the intensity of whatever this was.
But he seemed to process it just fine.
“Yeah, I know, baby. Nice and hard, too, huh,” he said, as if it were fine and normal.
Ordinary, even. Commonplace. Instead of the weirdest sex thing to ever happen to her.
She could feel her pussy tightening around his now really working fingers.
And each time it did, this heavy sensation just seemed to get hold of her.
It swelled outward, through her clit, through her belly.
Made spirals that had her wanting to grasp his hand and make him stop.
And especially when she realized something else.
“I’m going to make a mess, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she moaned, thinking of Derek, of Christian, of the boy from the agency she used to work at telling her it wasn’t natural for a girl to come that way. And then it happened.
She came all over his hand in a slick spill.
More than once, too. Every pulse of her orgasm made it worse, made it messier.
And yet all the way through, he didn’t say one single word of protest. He said a sweet name instead.
“Baby,” he said. “Oh baby, yeah, that’s it.
That’s it, oh, that’s fucking hot. That’s so fucking good.
That sweet little pussy creaming for me. ”
And what then?
She didn’t know. All she could really process was that this was easily the most intense sexual experience of her life.
In fact, she almost told him so. She almost fucking thanked him, in fact.
She came within an inch of it, and only stopped because he got there first. “Well,” he said, into the heated, sex-thick air.
Then when she held her breath, expecting some confession of his own greed, some question as to whether she could do the same for him, he finished the thought.
One simple word as he turned over and put his back to her again.
“Goodnight.”