Page 55 of Broken Instrument

I shake my head and turn around to face the wall. “This isn’t you.”

“If you keep saying that, I’m going to do this tomorrow when I’m sober.”

A bark of laughter escapes me. “Is that a threat?”

“Maybe,” she returns, growing bolder. More confident. It’s sexy as hell.

I glance over my shoulder and order, “Lay down and slip off your jeans.”

She smirks but does as she’s told, apparently satisfied with my response. As the soft rustle of blankets quiets, I turn back to the wall and stare blankly in front of me.

“What next, Fen?” she whispers behind me.

“Are you still wearing your underwear?”

“Yes. It’s a thong, in case you’re wondering. Black. Lacy.”

I groan and close my eyes. “I want you to feel yourself through your underwear and tell me if you’re wet.”

“So wet.” I can hear her shuddering as she feels herself through the flimsy cotton of the thong she just described.

What I wouldn’t give to tear the thing to shreds…

“Tell me, Fen. Tell me what you’d do to me if it were your hands on me instead of my own.”

Resting my head against the wall, I take a slow, unsteady breath and squeeze my eyes shut even tighter. “I would spread your legs wide, Hads. I’d spread them wide and blow softly against the wet fabric.”

She gasps.

“I’d nibble on the little divots between your thigh and your lips, sucking softly as you squirm beneath me.”

A soft moan reverberates through the room, practically killing me.

“Then what, Fen?” she whispers.

“I’d pull your underwear aside and slip my finger into you. Pumping softly as you squeeze me tight.”

Another gasp.

Fucking hell. I can’t see her. I refuse to look, but I can picture it. Her writhing on the bed, her hair a tangled mess as she shakes her head from side to side. Her eyes squeezed shut. Her button nose scrunching. Her jaw slack.

The zipper digs into my dick as more blood rushes south, making me light-headed. I’m gonna come in my jeans, and I haven’t even touched myself.

But she’s touching herself, and it’s all the motivation my dick needs.

I can hear her. The soft, wet noises behind me. The little moans. The staggered breaths.

It’s the most erotic thing I’ve ever witnessed, and I’m not even watching.

“Keep going,” she begs. “Keep going.”

The neediness in her voice makes my legs tremble, and I brace my hand against the wall to keep from sliding to the ground––or worse––losing the last of my self-control and bringing to fruition everything I’m describing to her.

“Tell me,” she whimpers.

“I’d add a second finger and crook them together, teasing the little bundle of nerves inside of you while licking your clit slowly with just enough pressure to drive you wild until your hips would buck off the mattress and your fingers would dig into my hair––”

“Shit, Fen,” she breathes out, the soft wet sounds getting faster and faster as she fingers herself. “Please.”

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