Page 75 of Daisy
"Then let me help you." His voice is gentle but commanding, like he's used to being obeyed. "Can you do that? Let me guide you?"
I nod, not trusting my voice. Something about the way he's looking at me—like I'm precious and powerful and worth wanting—makes me brave.
"Good girl." The praise makes warmth bloom in my chest. "Now, are you wearing panties under those sweatpants?"
My face burns hotter, but I force myself to answer. "Yes."
"Slide your hand inside your pants. Over your panties first. Tell me what you feel."
With trembling fingers, I slip my hand into my sweatpants. Even through the cotton of my underwear, I can feel how wet I am with slick. How swollen and sensitive everything feels.
"I'm..." I swallow hard. "I'm wet."
"Good. That's perfect." He starts stroking himself again, slow and steady, and the sight makes my mouth go dry. "Now find your clit. The little button at the top. Press against it gently."
I explore carefully until I find what he's talking about. The moment I touch it, electricity shoots through my body and I gasp, my knees going weak.
"There you go," he groans, his pace increasing slightly. "Circle it gently. Like this." He demonstrates with his thumb on the head of his cock, and I copy the motion.
Pleasure spirals through me, so much more intense than last time. Maybe because he's watching. Maybe because his scent is everywhere, making my body come alive in ways I never imagined.
"That's it, beautiful. You're doing so well." His voice is praise and sin combined. "Does it feel good?"
"Yes," I breathe, my voice barely a whisper. "So good."
"Now slide your panties aside. I want you to feel how wet you really are for me."
I do as he says, my fingers slipping through the slick heat between my legs. I'm soaked, wetter than I've ever been, and the direct contact makes me moan.
"Fuck, that sound," Dante groans, his hand moving faster on his cock. "Do you know how beautiful you are? How perfect?"
I don't feel perfect. I feel wild and desperate and completely out of control. But the way he's looking at me—like I'm the most precious thing in the world—makes me feel powerful in a way I've never experienced.
"Slide a finger inside yourself," he instructs, his voice strained. "Slowly. Feel how tight you are."
I hesitate, suddenly nervous. "Will it hurt?"
"Not if you're gentle. And you're so wet, beautiful. Your body knows what it wants."
I push one finger inside myself slowly, gasping at the strange but not unpleasant sensation. I'm incredibly tight, my body gripping my finger like it never wants to let go.
"How does it feel?" Dante asks, his breathing getting heavier.
"Full. Strange." I experiment with moving my finger, and pleasure shoots through me. "But good. Really good."
"Add another finger. Stretch yourself open. Imagine it's me inside you instead."
The thought makes me clench around my fingers. Two is definitely a stretch, almost uncomfortable, but the fullness feels incredible. Like my body was made for this.
"God, look at you," he breathes, his voice raw with need. "So fucking beautiful touching yourself for me. Do you know what I want to do to you?"
I shake my head, unable to speak around the pleasure building inside me.
"I want to lay you down on that bed and lick and kiss every inch of your body with my mouth. I want to taste you on my tongue until you come apart for me, until you're shaking and begging for more."
His words are filthy and perfect and make me move my fingers faster.
"Then I want to stretch you open with my fingers, prepare you to take my cock. You're so small, so tight. I'd have to go slow, work you open inch by inch until you can take all of me."
