"Fuck, Iris." He drags his fingertips over my sex. "You always get this wet?"
My response is a groan.
God, that's hot. How can five words be that hot?
He teases me with one finger.
Then two.
I clutch at the sheets to stay upright.
That feels good.
Too good.
I need him inside me. His fingers. His cock. His everything.
I need it too much. The way I used to need—
"You like it rough?" He slides one finger inside me. Then two.
Fuck.
My eyelids flutter together.
I rock my hips. Rise onto my tiptoes.
How do I like it?
I don't even know.
I always went along with whatever Ross wanted.
He pushes his fingers inside me. It's slow. Deep. Intense.
"Slow at first." I swallow hard. How does he talk about this stuff so casually?
I mean, I appreciate his excellent communication skills.
And how much his dirty talk sets me on fire.
But I can't return it. Not with that kind of confidence.
"Then harder." I rock my hips.
He murmurs a yes as he drives his fingers inside me.
It feels good. But I need more.
"Fuck me," I breathe.
"This first." He drives his fingers into me. Again. Again. Again.
It pushes me toward the edge.
Fills me with this strange mix of satisfaction and need.
It's good.