Page 16 of Escape Velocity

She did as he asked. He kept a hand on her breasts, squeezing one nipple and then the other as he ran his fingers through the triangle of hair at the top of her legs. When she bucked her hips, he reached lower, into the folds of her private parts.

His fingers slipped easily along that hidden valley, slick with unaccustomed moisture.

She felt one finger dip into her opening, turning in a circle, making her need more. He seemed to know what she wanted, because his hand traveled upward toward a bud of sensation at the top of her woman’s part.

He circled there as he had with her nipples, then stroked downward again, keeping the top of his hand pressed to the throbbing place.

“Harder,” she gasped.

In response, he angled his hand, pressing more firmly, sliding against her, building the pressure inside her to an unbearable peak. Her hips rose and fell, as she strove to increase the friction. She heard her own harsh breathing, felt her heart pounding. Then a dam broke, and sensation burst through her. She cried out as the tension released in a quaking explosion. An explosion of pleasure.

She flopped back against the mattress and lay with her eyes closed, breathing hard, mentally finding her way back to the bunk where she lay. She wanted to hide from him, but that was impossible.

When she finally opened her eyes, she saw Max staring down at her, his features rigid.

“What did you call that—that pleasure that swept over me?”

“Sexual climax.”

“They took that away from me?”

“Yes.”

She made a small sound. “It was so good. Like nothing I ever felt in my life.”

“I’m glad I could give you that,” he answered, but she caught the tension radiating from him.

“You need to tell me things.”

“Like what?”

“This is what men and women do together?”

“Sometimes.”

She had tried to talk to him a few minutes earlier, but she’d been incapable of listening to his answers.

Now she pressed for context. “That was like mating?”

“Not quite.”

“Because you didn’t put your thing inside me the way a male animal would do with his mate.”

“My penis. Or my cock, rod, joystick. Guys have a lot of words for it.”

“Is sex called mating when people do it?”

“Sexual intercourse.”

“And not feking?”

“Where did you hear that?”

“I have heard men say it. I guessed what it might be . . .” She turned her palm up.

“Feking is probably the least polite way you can say it. There are lots of other words. Screwing isn’t quite so bad. But you can have a climax without doing it, as you just found out.”

She felt her cheeks redden, but she wanted more information. Clearing her throat, she asked, “And that place—the place where the sensation was greatest—what is that called?”

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