Page 50 of Take My Hand

“Hayden,” I gasp as his finger softly runs back and forth through my wetness, spreading it around.

He takes his time exploring, no sense of urgency I feel swirling inside my chest at every graze of his finger against my clit.

“All of this for me? Just from sucking my cock?” he whispers against my throat, mouth kissing over my racing pulse.

Words cease to exist as he slips his hand down and one finger slowly enters me. He gives a few gentle, shallow, teasing thrusts before pulling back.

“I didn’t hear an answer.”

“Yes,” I say desperately.

“Yes what?”

“It’s all for you.”

A second finger joins, and he thrusts them deeper, rewarding me for my compliance. His thumb brushes my clit at the same time and my body bows underneath his. The calluses on his palm scrape my heated skin in the best, most torturous way.

The fabric of my shorts is too itchy, too confining. I need them off more than I need my next breath. Slipping my hands down between us, I push them off of my hips as best as I can without interrupting Hayden’s movements.

I wait to see if he’ll scold me for taking the initiative, but instead his eyes zero in on my hip bone, pulling his lip between his teeth.

“You didn’t tell me you were hiding that underneath there,” he says, fingers slowing down but not stopping. He rolls my clit under his thumb but there’s not enough pressure behind it to send me over the edge.

“It wasn’t hiding,” I say, words breathless. “You just haven’t taken my pants off before to see it.”

He shoots me a look before tracing the outline of the three butterflies I have inked on my left hip. They’re small, each only about the size of a quarter. It’s my one and only tattoo that I got when I was nineteen.

It was impulsive but I thought they looked pretty.

Until I returned home that evening to my ex and was berated me about marking my body. And the fact that I didn’t discuss it with him beforehand didn’t go over well either.

As if I needed to consult someone else about it…

I forget that it’s there a lot of the time; always hidden by my clothing.

But seeing the way Hayden drinks them in, similar to the way I look when I trace the ink on his skin. I wish for the first time they were in a more visible place so he could look at them whenever he wanted.

“We kinda match, and I didn’t even know it,” he says to himself, absently running a hand across his neck, over the butterfly he has sitting there.

The backdrop is cool against my back despite the sun heating the room as Hayden bends his head and drops a delicate kiss to each of the butterflies. My hips wiggle under him, body attuned to his lips.

When he looks up at me, all tenderness is gone from his expression. Raw hunger has replaced it, and he thrusts three fingers into me this time.

“Fuck,” I curse, eyes squeezing shut at the pinch as my body stretches around them. He presses his other hand flat across my stomach to keep my hips pinned as they try to ride his fingers.

Each stroke of his fingers sends me higher and higher, and when he curls them inside of me, hitting a spot so delicious and deep, I clamp a hand around his forearm, holding on to him for dear life.

“Hayden” I whimper, his pace not stalling, fingers hitting that same spot over and over again. His thumb continues to circle my clit, but with more pressure behind it.

My fingernails dig crescents into his skin, but he doesn’t seem to mind. If anything, it spurs him on to go faster.

“I’m going to?—”

“I know.” His words are ragged, clenched out through his teeth. “I can feel it. Let go. Ride my hand, butterfly.”

The nickname tips me over. My head slams back, eyes screwed shut as my orgasm rips through me and tears me apart. Blood roars in my ears, blocking out the music still playing and Hayden’s soft words of encouragement.

My body thrums and sinks into the floor as I float back down. Hayden lifts his fingers to his mouth and licks them clean.

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