Page 94 of The Defiant One
Her gaze followed Andrew's hand as he put a finger over the top of the open vial and briefly turned it upside down. Then he took his finger away, a drop of the liquid standing upon the pad of his forefinger, shimmering in the fiery afternoon light.
She gazed up at him.
He gazed back, smiling a little wickedly.
He reached down and parted her with one hand; then he touched his finger to her opening, and dragged it down the inside length of one damp petal of inner skin.
Dragged it back up the length of the other, painting her with the solution.
Celsie, her gaze still locked with his, began to shake.
"Do you feel anything yet?" he asked.
"Nothing but you . . . Which is erotic enough in itself."
He smiled. Again, he put his finger to the vial, this time opening her with the other thumb and forefinger, observing her while the drop of potion stood upon his finger. Somehow he managed to recap the bottle. Then, slowly, torturously, he forced her inner lips wide, touched the drop of liquid to that hard, swollen button that hid between them — and keeping his finger there, pressed hard.
Celsie moaned, sucking her lips between her teeth.
He increased the pressure. "Now do you feel anything?" he asked softly.
"It's . . . it's starting to tingle down there."
"Hmm, yes."
"It's — I think it's starting to — to burn."
"Does it hurt?"
"Oh, no. It's not that kind of burning . . . if you know what I mean."
"Ah, yes. I know what you mean." His smile was positively wicked. "I must remember to make a note of that."
He kept the pressure against her, pushing down with his finger, watching her flushed face as her head began to move slowly back and forth on the satiny red pillow.
"Andrew," she managed, on a choked little gasp.
"Yes, dear?"
"Andrew, I think I need you to be inside of me now."
"I'm not done observing, Celsie."
Heat was building within her, all of it centered around his finger . . . and every inch of flesh the aphrodisiac had touched. "To hell with the experiment, Andrew . . . I'm getting desperate."
He merely caught her nub between thumb and finger and began gently rolling it.
"Oh —" Celsie moaned, fingers clenching and unclenching, toes curling, the sensation beginning to feel like a thousand little needles all stabbing into that one fiery spot, screaming for pressure, screaming for release, screaming for his mouth, his tongue, his finger, his manhood, anything. And now he was rubbing that hard bit of flesh a little more forcefully, intently watching her face, intently watching the nub itself. Celsie choked back a moan and grabbed at his hand, trying to push it against her all the harder. "Oh, Andrew — I think I'm going to die if you don't do something!"
He was smiling, one brow raised as he observed her reactions, his eyes glowing with passion as he kept on. "Hmm, yes — you're blushing down there."
"To hell with the science stuff, Andrew, take me — oh please, take me, I'm burning up!"
Little whimpers began to escape her and she started to pant, to squirm, to struggle to get her legs together if only to put pressure against that keening, ravenous pins-and-needles ache that was screaming for fulfillment.
"Touch me, Andrew — oh touch me, I'm going mad!"
She shoved his hand against the burning flesh, crying out and twisting her hips against him as she fought for release.
