Page 83 of Come Back to Me

I jerk against him, a pitiful, helpless groan drifting from me.

“Oh god?—”

“No,” he denies, his nose rubbing mine. “Cody. Say my name like a good girl, Christy.”

The desire, the need, the frustration, the expectation—they squeeze tears out of me.

“Cody, please, please, give it to me.”

“Give what?”

“Y-Your dick.”

“Nuh-huh. I don’t put out on the first date.”

Inside, I’m squealing—first date?

Then, I realize what I said and I sag against him. Disappointment doesn’t hold me for long, though, because he gets back to touching my clit.

And I don’t know how he does it, but holy fuck, it’s better than when I do it.

But then, I don’t do it goddamn right.

All my adult life, I thought I was broken, but?—

“You’re so fucking wet, Christy.” Christy. Not Tee. God, that’s hot. “You feel that? So fucking slick. For me. I know it is. You thinking of what I’m doing to you, baby? You thinking of my dick sliding in deep?”

“Touch me!”

“I am.”

“P-Panties?—”

“There we are. I can hear it.”

His nose rubs mine before he plunders my mouth again. My nails dig into his wrist with one hand, and the other I use to shove aside my underwear.

When bare skin touches bare skin, I’m sure I’m going to die. Then, I realize death was premature. His thumb brushes my clit as two fingers slide down to my slit and he thrusts them in.

I let loose a sharp mewl, keening and sobbing—the still quiet of the night amplifying my sounds, making them louder and clearer. My own noises take the place of half notes and whole notes, turning me on even more. Ratcheting up the need, intensifying the urgency as I approach a crescendo that has nothing to do with quarter notes and eighth notes —it’s the most beautiful music I’ve ever made.

When he hooks the digits forward, rubbing against a place I’ve only read about in books, I gasp into his mouth then break the connection to sing, “Please. Cody. Please. I’ve never... Ever. Never. Please. Never felt. I need. You. Please, please, please.”

I can feel his body’s response to my litany, but he whispers, “That’s exactly what I want to hear whenever I’m about to make you come.”

Whenever?

As I’m shrieking at the possibility of this happening, of him actually saying it out loud, I unravel.

That soft, squidgy part of my pussy performs a crescendo ending and the detonation is complete.

It starts at my toes.

I didn’t think it would, even if the romance novels said it did. I wasn’t a believer.

But, fuck, if I’m not going to come to Cody’s church every goddamn Sunday.

The agonizing ecstasy shoots up my calves to the backs of my knees—the tingles make me feel as if I’ll never walk again.

---