Page 62 of Finding His Redemption

“What color?”

“Blue. It’s old and soft and probably not very sexy.”

His laugh was rough. “Everything about you is sexy, Nessie. The way you move, the way you smell like vanilla and cinnamon. The way you look at me like I’m not completely broken.”

Her throat tightened. “You’re not broken.”

“I am. We both know it. But when you look at me...” He paused, his breathing uneven. “When you look at me, I can almost believe I’m worth something.”

His vulnerability made her chest ache. She wanted to reach through the phone and pull him into her arms. “I wish you were here.”

“You don’t know how much I wish that, too,” he said. “If I were there, I’d take my time learning every curve, every hollow. Find out what makes you come apart in my hands.”

Heat flooded her body, pooling between her thighs. She slipped her hand beneath the covers, fingers trailing over her stomach. “Tell me where to touch myself,” she whispered. “Show me what you’d do.”

His intake of breath was audible through the phone. “Nessie...”

“Please.” The word was both request and demand.

A pause, filled only by the sound of his breathing. Then, “Start with your throat. Just your fingertips. Trace them down slowly.”

She did as he instructed, her skin prickling with awareness.

“Down between your breasts,” he murmured. “Not touching them yet. Just the space between.”

Her breath hitched as she traced the path he described, her body responding as if it were his hands on her skin, not her own.

“Are you doing it?”

“Yes,” she breathed.

“Now cup your breasts. Gently at first.” The rough edge in his voice sent shivers down her spine. “Feel how they fit in your palm. Do they just fit, or overflow?”

She cupped her breasts, feeling their weight. “They overflow.”

“Yeah, they do,” he growled. “Because they’re made for my hands, not yours.”

She squeezed them. Her nipples hardened against her palms through the thin cotton, and a soft moan escaped her lips.

“That’s it,” he whispered. “Now brush your thumbs over your nipples. Light at first.”

The sensation shot straight through her, making her back arch slightly and her legs spasm. She bit her lip to muffle another sound.

“I can hear you holding back.” His voice was velvet in her ear, rasping over her nerve endings. “Don’t. I want to hear what I’m doing to you.”

“This is crazy,” she whispered, but her hands didn’t stop moving.

“Maybe. But you need this release. You’re wound too tight. And I need to know you’re feeling what I’m feeling.” His breath stuttered, quick and unsteady. “Are you wet for me?”

The crude question should have shocked her, but instead it sent another wave of heat through her body. She pressed her thighs together, feeling the slick evidence of her arousal.

“Yes,” she whispered.

“Touch yourself,” he commanded softly. “Slowly. The way I would.”

She followed his instructions, a soft gasp escaping her lips.

“Christ, the sounds you make,” he groaned. “I want to hear them in person. Want to feel them against my skin. Do you have your fingers on your pretty little clit? Or did you shove them deep inside your pussy? Are you sliding them in and out, coating them in your honey?”

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