Page 81 of Lotus

I’m convinced that was deliberate.

My grip on her tightens, and her head falls back to my right shoulder. I watch as her eyelids drift closed, her body still moving, still writhing against me. The more she moves, the more the coil of heat grows low in my abdomen, funneling downward. I can hardly concentrate on her massage, and my hands are basically just squeezing her now, holding on for support.

Sydney’s eyes remain shut, but her movements don’t cease. “You can touch me if you’d like.”

I inhale her flowery scent with my lips pressed against her hair. I’m already touching her, so I’m confused at first, but then I think I understand.

She wants me totouchher—like a man touches a woman.

If Sydney weren’t currently wriggling her backside against my throbbing arousal, I’d probably flee. I’d panic. But logic seems to have slipped away and my inhibitions are lost to me. I allow my hands to respond on their own, curving over her shoulders and sliding down beneath the fabric of her shirt. I watch as my palms cup her breasts beneath the cotton, soft and supple, and she arches into my touch with a wanton sigh.

My lip catches between my teeth and I bite hard, sweat creasing my brow, my body beginning to tremble with a need I’ve never known. I slip my hands out from her shirt and trail them down her sides until I reach her hips. One glides back up her t-shirt from the bottom, while the other teases the hem of her pajama shorts. Hesitation sinks in, mingling with my lust, and I don’t know if she wants me to touch herthere.

But Sydney clasps my hand in hers and tugs it down further, offering permission while she grinds against me. “It’s okay,” she rasps, her voice husky and tight, shaking lightly with her own desire.

God. I never knew these feelings existed. I’ve experienced carnal thoughts before, sure, and I’ve pleasured myself with my own hand. Butthis… this is something else entirely. The sensation of another human being so intimately entwined—the palpable connection, thick and heady. It’s more than physical. It’s more than surface-deep.

It’s unparalleled.

With one hand palming her breast, the other sneaks into her shorts, then inside her underwear. An ounce of fear and uncertainty pokes at me, but it’s devoured by my insatiable curiosity and my body’s own internal instincts. Her heat invades my fingertips, slick and smooth, and a sound erupts from both of our throats, my dark growl fused with her whimper. Sydney’s hips move faster, still stroking my hard length through my jeans, bowing up to meet my hand as my fingers begin to move between her wetness.

She gasps. “Oh…”

I pull her closer to my chest, a primal and possessive feeling trickling through me. Her breast is in one hand, her sex in the other, her body hot and thrashing between my thighs. Everything in me is screaming to unbuckle my pants and yank them down, then to sheathe myself inside of her. I’m blinded by the craving—nearly dizzy from it.

Should I? Can I?

Is that where this is headed?

“Syd, I…” I don’t know how to express my thoughts. My yearnings. I’m overcome with lust and confusion and blurred lines and crippling need. Sydney keeps moving, keeps grinding, keeps torturing me in the most exquisite way. “I want to…”

I try to pinpoint the correct word. Copulate. Fornicate. Intercourse. Sex.

All accurate, but nothing sounds quite right.

So, I blurt the only thing that does: “I want to make love to you.”

She stills for a moment, her eyes opening slowly, seemingly in a fog. Our gazes lock with her head tipped back, her mouth parting with a small sigh.

I bite down on my lip again, still touching her in the most intimate way. Have I upset her? Offended her? Does she want the same thing?

Sydney swallows, not breaking our stare.

Then she begins to move again. She doesn’t respond with words, and for a moment, I’m perplexed. But all thoughts slip away when she angles her hip against my groin, gyrating with purposeful motion, with the perfect amount of pressure. Her eyes are still on me, my hands are all overher, and the tension swelling in my core begins to climb.

I insert one of my fingers inside her and begin to pump, letting her breathy moan drag me closer to the pleasure moment. Her back is arched, her head resting on my shoulder, and we are cheek to cheek. Sydney’s eyes close as she continues to use her body as a tool to guide me to ecstasy. I palm her breast, tweaking the hardened nipple, and groan into the curve of her neck.

I feel myself spiraling, peaking, chasing the feeling I’m absolutely desperate for. I cup her sex in my hand, pressing her backside firm against my groin as she rides me.

And then I explode.

An orgasm sweeps through me, hitting me like a tidal wave, stars flickering behind my eyes, and my head drops back against the couch as I shudder beneath her weight. I feel my pants flood with warmth, my hips jerking up against Sydney. She slows her movements, and I come down from my high, shocks still rippling through me. My limbs are heavy, my breathing heavier.

Her wetness is still slicking my fingers and I’m not sure what to do now—do I keep going? I want to, and it seems only fair.

I thrust my finger inside her, inserting one more, forcing her to squeak in surprise. Sydney reaches for my hand, twisting her head to look at me. “It’s okay, Oliver.”

While her words sound like permission to keep going, the tone of her voice says otherwise.

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