Page 116 of Maybe You

Fingers still circling my hole until I’m not tense anymore. Until I get used to the feeling. When I finally dare to take a look over my shoulder, his eyes are on his fingers, watching every move. My cheeks flush with heat. The look on his face makes me hot and bothered but also intensely self-conscious. My cock strains against my stomach, and there’s no friction to take the edge off.

“Are you going to put it in or not?” I ask. Snippy. I don’t want to sound snippy. But I sound snippy. And self-conscious. And I feel inexperienced in a very distinct way.

He lifts his gaze to mine and smiles. His amused smile.

“I’ve been wanting to do this for a long, long time. You’re insane if you think I’m going to rush through it now.”

“You’re supposed to cross the finish line when you’re at it, not… dillydally in front of it,” I say primly.

He starts to laugh, and his fingers vibrate against my opening.

“Did you just say dillydally?” he asks.

He laughs even harder when I punch him in the thigh.

But then I’m smiling because he’s laughing, and somewhere in there, my body relaxes, and Sutton’s finger pushes inside me.

I suck in a breath.

“Oh,” I say, and it’s not so much a word as a rush of air past my lips.

“Look at you,” Sutton says, almost reverently. He pulls the finger out again and goes back to circling it around the rim in slow, almost lazy strokes.

The finger dips back inside. Just the tip. More circling.

It happens again and again. The tip of his finger delves in and slides back out. Teasing little touches that coax my body into responding and make my breath hitch in anticipation.

Then deeper. Briefly. Ever so briefly.

And out again.

He continues doing that. Working his finger inside me in countless tiny thrusts. His lips move over my upper back and shoulder and neck.

Then he adds a second finger, and it starts all over again. Circling my hole. The tips of his fingers in my ass. More pressure this time. A tighter fit. He pulls back. A strategic retreat. But only for a second. Then he’s teasing me open again until he’s knuckle deep inside me, and then more.

It’s been a long time since I’ve done this. Or had it done to me, to be more precise. Mostly I remember the discomfort. The constant twinge of pain.

But Sutton is opening me up so patiently and gradually that there’s none of that. Just the slippery, wet heat of his fingers moving in and out of me, curling just at the right spot until every muscle is loose and relaxed.

And still he keeps going. He eases his fingers in and out. Lazy, teasing strokes.

Again.

And again.

And again.

Until my thighs are straining, my dick is weeping, and my hole is so sensitive that even the slightest brush of his fingertips makes my cock jerk painfully. My body is covered in sweat because he’s fucking edging me, and I can’t come.

When he pulls his fingers out again and starts to push them back inside, I clench my ass.

“Give me more,” I grit through my teeth, “or I swear to God, I will fucking murder you.”

In reply, he pushes his fingers back inside.

“Ask me nicely,” he rasps, and he sounds hoarse and desperate and on edge, just like me.

Goose bumps travel over my skin at the look he sends me, eyes dark with desire.

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