Page 8 of The Spice Play

“I was right,” he mumbled against my lips. “You do look better like this.”

“I want to seeyou.” My words were breathy and lilting, interrupted and languid. “Please.”

He shook his head, his mouth ghosting against mine. “If my clothes come off, I would be doing some truly unspeakable things to you. Taking you. Ruining you. Better to leave them on.”

Every passing second with the vibrator on me made it harder and harder to think straight. “That… sounds perfect.”

“Mmm, but I came here foryourpleasure, not mine, Nelly,” he teased, pressing a kiss against my chin. “I do need to be inside of you, though.”

“Yes.” It came out gasped, desperate. “Yes, please, yes.”

His lips tightened and pushed together. “Hold the toy.” I shifted my weight and let go of his chest with one hand, dropping it between us instead. I went to take it from him, and he released it before gripping it again. “Don’t fucking take it off, justuseit yourself.”

I blinked.Right. Yeah. That made more sense.

His hand disappeared, leaving my pleasure in my care, and for once, it didn’t feel like enough to send me over the edge. I wanted him to do it. I wanted him to doeverything.

But then a sensation rippled through me from my entrance, and before I could put two and two together, his hand fisted the hair at the nape of my neck and tugged down, forcing my chin to raise as he looked down at me.

“What do you like, baby?”

The unmistakable feeling of a finger sliding into me told me he definitely wasn’t talking about drinks this time. My mouth popped open with a gasp, but he kissed it shut, giving me a moment to mull over his words.

“Anything,” I finally managed once he gave me the air to breathe again.

He chuckled deeply and darkly, his eyes twinkling in the low light like they had back at Smokey’s Bar. “You’ll have to be more specific. One finger? Two? Three?”

“As many as you can fit,” I mewled.

His nostrils flared, but he gave me what I wanted — albeit slowly. A second finger slipped in, and slowly, mind-numbingly, he started to thrust them. “Rough? Or gentle?”

My mouth went dry as I tried to pluck up the courage to answer that one. Morris had always looked down on me for what my answer to that question would have been, and the temptation to lie overwhelmed me, begging me to let the wrong word past my teeth to hold on to a shred of dignity. “Gentle,” I lied.

A single brow quirked upward. “You’re lying.”

My head was swimming from the endorphins and pleasure raking over me, but that cut right through. “Excuse me?”

“You tightened around me when I saidrough.”

Oh, my God.“Are you using my vagina as a polygraph test?”

His laughter broke the calm, determined mask he had on, but he kissed me again, a genuine grin spreading across his cheeks despite his attempts to hide it. “Yes. So answer me honestly.”

“Rough, then.”

“Thank fuck for that.”

Another finger slid in, and the burn of the stretch that his large hands were causing morphed from pain to pleasure. “Shit,” I gasped, nearly losing my grip on the vibrator as I struggled to stay focused, staywithit. I could already feel myself building, but I didn’t want this to end, I didn’t want him to go. “More.”

The last one slipped inside, and he lost his resolve.

His thrusts turned harder, became more demanding, more intense. They curled up at the tips, and as he pushed me further back with his body crowding over me, the angle changed, hittingexactlywhere it felt the most electrifying. I couldn’t stop the sounds breaking free from my mouth, couldn’t stop the building pressure in my lower stomach, couldn’t stop the end.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he said to me. His fingers knotted tighter in my hair, pulling hard enough that little pinpricks of pain sprouted across the base of my skull. “You sound so pretty for me. Keep going.”

I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt so full from something I wasn’t doing to myself, and it was just hisfingersthat were filling me. My mind spiraled, drunk on the pleasure and tipsy from the drinks, imagining what he hid beneath his jeans and what that would feel like instead. I imagined him fully bare, imagined him on top of me, inside of me, all over me. “Fuck me,” I whimpered. “Please. Please.”

He didn’t answer my plea. Instead, he kissed me again, absorbing my words and sounds and keeping his pace with his fingers.

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