Page 8 of Submit

Her mind emptied as she read that last question, her body flooding with desire.

Oh, yes.

They’d talked about it already, but her body was as worked up now as it had been when he’d been sitting only inches from her.

Adam.

She cupped one breast with her hand, rubbing her hardening nipple through the thin cotton of her camisole with her fingertips.

“Mmm…”

She set the laptop down on the night table, leaned back into the pillows and closed her eyes. And saw Adam in her mind’s eye, standing over her. Commanding her to touch herself. For him.

She spread her thighs, raised her camisole over her breasts, baring them to the cool evening air. She didn’t mind—her skin was on fire as she slid her hands over the gentle curve of her belly, the undersides of her breasts. Her sex was absolutely aching, but she would tease herself a bit. He’d like that, wouldn’t he?

She circled her nipples with her fingertips, feather touches, tracing the edge of her areolas. Her thighs flexed, wanting to squeeze together, to ease the ache between them, but she forced them wider apart.

“Oh yes, for you,” she murmured.

She took her nipples between her fingers and thumbs, gave them both a small squeeze and sighed with pleasure, then did it again, hard enough to hurt.

“Ah!”

Pleasure was an electric current running through her veins. Her clit began a slow, throbbing pulse in response. She squeezed her nipples again, then again, creating a rhythm that kept pace with the pulsing need blooming between her thighs. Harder and harder, and still she needed more. More pleasure. More pain.

More pain.

She was soaking wet. Finally, she yanked her bikini panties off and with her legs spread wide, allowed herself to press one finger at the entrance of her pussy. She was slick with need. She bit her lip as she slipped her finger inside, gasping at the sharp stab of pleasure.

“Oh God, yes,” she murmured.

She tilted her hips and pressed two more fingers into her pussy and began to pump.

She imagined Adam watching her, his hand stroking the bulge of his cock against his slacks, his eyes gleaming. She knew what he would want of her—that it had to be more than her pleasure.

With her other hand, she teased the hard nub of her clit. One touch and she had to pull in a breath, commanding herself not to come yet.

For Adam.

She pinched her clitoris between forefinger and thumb, then pinched harder, making it hurt. The pain was pleasure—there was little difference as her hips thrust into her own hand, as her fingers drove deeper inside her. She pinched harder still, the pain dizzying, driving the pleasure higher. She let her nails dig into her thigh, but it was all pleasure, the pain simply making everything sharper, more intense.

“May I come? Please?” she asked the empty room, wishing it were him.

She made herself hold back for several more moments. Then she pumped herself hard, her fingers surging deep, the other hand pinching her clit, tugging on it. And as she imagined it was his hands on her, doing these things to her, she came. Her body shook, pleasure rolling through her like thunder.

“Oh! Oh…”

Her climax seemed to go on forever, her fingers pressing into her quivering sex. Her hips arched over and over, her pussy milking her hand for every last ounce of pleasure. She was still pinching her tight clit, using the pain to keep the edge keen, her orgasm rippling through her.

After, she was breathless, her body buzzing. Her sex still pulsed with need.

“Adam,” she murmured.

But it was just her own hands. Not enough.

Though she did have her toys.

She got up long enough to slide her toy chest—a vintage suitcase—from under her bed. She flipped it open and pulled out a few of her favorite implements: a thick, flesh-toned vibrator made from a firm, ridged rubber, a slender chrome vibe, a pair of nipple clamps, a small bottle of lube and a white hand towel. She lay the towel down on the soft quilt and lined everything up on top of it.

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