Page 91 of A World Apart
“Touch me,” I rasped, chest heaving. Jihoon ran his thumb over my peaked nipple, cupping me fully in his hand, lightly squeezing me. His head dipped, and I cried out wordlessly as he pressed soft kisses to my other breast, tonguing my nipple. The sensation seemed to stretch down my body to a deeper place, like a guitar string that is too tight being plucked.
What had started as soft and gentle soon became a thing more urgent, more firm. My back arched off the bed to meet his insistent touches as I moaned.
Without warning, Jihoon tore his mouth from my breast and crashed his lips down upon mine, pushing his tongue into my mouth in a frantic, desperate sort of kiss. He groaned into my mouth as I met his fervour with my own, raising my hand to his face, holding him to me.
The hand holding my breast began to trail down my body again, not quite so gentle or slow this time, a more determined press of fingers seeking downward until he once again paused at the barrier of my cotton underwear. He slipped just his fingertips underneath the elastic and stopped.
“Is this okay?” he rasped, his voice a deep and dark thing that echoed through me, intensifying the ache and, unbidden, my hips tilted, silently encouraging his downward pursuit with words I didn’t have, so instead I nodded, trying not to draw blood as I bit my lip.
And then, finally, as his fingers skimmed underneath the thin scrap of fabric, I arched against him, almost dislodging him, but for his muscled chest so steady above me.
Almost lazily, my bent leg fell to the side in silent surrender and anxious anticipation. I gasped the moment his fingers trailed down the centre of me, gently exploratory and yet possessive. I felt that in the way his palm firmly pressed down on me, eliciting a small, choked cry.
Jihoon ran his mouth softly up my neck, leaving a trail of small, sweet kisses until he reached my mouth again.
“Is this okay?” he murmured into my lips as he gently pressed a finger against me.
“Yes,” I gasped, the sound swallowed as he kissed me, a claiming and absolute kiss that almost distracted me from the moment he pushed that finger inside of me.
The feeling was so foreign and so all-consuming that I tore my lips from his as my spine arched and my breath caught in my throat. My entire focus shifted to that one finger and the way I pulsed around it, a strange feeling I had no basis for comparison for.
I was panting and yet breathless as Jihoon gently worked his finger in and out, maddeningly slowly. I didn’t want him to stop, couldn’t conceive of it, and yet I knew we were on a precipice I wasn’t sure I could fall over.
“Jihoon,” I gasped as he kissed the corner of my mouth, a sweet, almost reverent touch that nearly sent my thoughts scattering.
“Mmhm?” he murmured, not pausing his soft kisses, or his finger.
“I have to tell you something.” The words tumbled from my lips, forced out on breathy exhales.
“Mmm?” He nibbled delicately on the sensitive skin just below my ear.
Needing him, but needing him to hear me more, I clasped his face between my palms and brought his gaze to mine.
“I... I’ve never… I don’t know-”
“Ssh,” he turned his face and placed a kiss upon my palm, “I know.”
“How?” I frowned, calming slightly as his finger slowed its movement.
He smiled and ducked his head, hair falling over his forehead in tousled waves.
“I can tell.” His voice was so quiet in the stillness of the room, but it felt like a declaration. I squirmed and tried to tilt my hips to dislodge him. Jihoon withdrew his finger and lifted his head to meet my eyes.
“It’s okay,” he insisted. “I didn’t come here expecting that.” With his words, he lay his hand over me, cupping me, that possessive gesture warming me more than the heat from his body that lay so firmly against mine.
“I didn’t expectyou,but here you are,” he placed a soft kiss on the tip of my nose, before he pulled back to hold my gaze.
“Whatever you want, is fine. If you want to stop, it’s fine. If you want me to go,” he swallowed, but carried on, “it’s okay. But I need you to tell me.”
The heat from his palm seared me, and though the ache had faded during our conversation, it was only banked. The weight and mere presence of his hand being where it was, where no one but I had touched before was enough to start that climb again, that steady ascent that scattered my thoughts.
“I want to,” I admitted shakily, “but I’m not ready to.”
He nodded, “I understand, and that’s okay. Do you want me to stop?”
I shook my head immediately, “No.”
“Do you like it when I touch you?” His voice was deeper than normal, a timbre I felt as well as heard.
