Page 65 of Your Echo
“Ace, I should go.” I can hear my resolve breaking.
“So go.” He moves closer, dropping his voice to a growl. “Go now and meet your friend, soaking wet and aching for my touch between your legs...or go in a few minutes and meet your friend, soaking wet and aching from how hard I just made you come.”
“Merde alors.” I close my eyes and breathe in. “Just let me text her, okay?”
He lets out a dark chuckle and hooks his index fingers around the belt loops of my jean shorts. “Text away. I’ll keep myself busy.”
I stare at the screen of my phone, not even able to find Jacinthe’s name as Ace undoes the button of my shorts and then slides the zipper down. This is crazy.Complètement fou. Anyone could walk in here at any moment. Jacinthe is probably freaking out, and I’m sure people will be looking for Ace too.
Then he touches me over the fabric of the thong I’m wearing and my phone almost falls out of my hands.
“I thought you had a text to send?” he teases as he ghosts over my clit, his face just a few inches from mine.
I make a strangled noise and somehow bang out a message to Jacinthe that I’m sure is riddled with typos. I go to reach for Ace’s belt after that, but he stops me with the hand that’s not currently pressed between my legs.
“Just let me do this,” he urges. “Just let me touch you.”
He tugs my shorts a few inches down my hips and then starts rubbing circles into my lower back. I throw my head back and close my eyes, unable to do anything but give in to him.
“That’s it,” he croons, pressing his lips to my neck as his fingers finally inch their way underneath my thong. “God, youarewet. Did you like dancing for me?”
“Yes,” I pant. “Yes, I did.”
“I should have made you take your clothes off first.”
He slides a finger inside me. My hips buck.
“Good girl, Stéphanie. Here.” He guides my own hand down to join his. “Don’t you feel good?”
I’m soaked. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I start to worry about what my shorts must look like, but then Ace tells me to rub my clit and fits a second finger inside me. He starts thrusting into me, sliding almost all the way out and then refilling me at a pace so slow it would be torturous if it didn’t feel so good. I frantically stroke my clit, feeling the beginnings of a climax building inside me already.
“You’re going to come for me aren’t you?” he asks. “Right here, with only this curtain in front of us.”
“I...I...oh.” I can’t get a handle on any words right now. The only thing that matters is that he doesn’t stop.
“I want you thinking about me all day, do you understand? All fucking day, I want you thinking about what it felt like to have me touch you like this. I want you to think about what it felt like to come on my fingers while you tried to keep yourself from screaming.”
“Sacrement.”
He’s thrusting faster now, curling his fingers just right. He spreads some of my wetness onto my clit for me, and I stroke myself so fast I’m sure my hand must be a blur. I’m so close, sofuckingclose. Ace palms one of my breasts over my shirt and I cry out. When he moves his lips from my neck to my shoulder and bites down hard, I lose it.
I come so hard I see stars. The black curtains surrounding us turn into the night sky, and I stand there waiting for the constellations to fade, so dazed my knees almost buckle underneath me.
When I finally return to my senses, the first thing I’m aware of is Ace’s breath hot on my neck. He’s laughing, the exhilarated, breathless kind of laugh people make when they’re so overcome they don’t know what other sound to make.
“God, Stéphanie. The things you do to me...”
He trails a few frantic kisses up my neck and then steps away from me, sliding his hand from between my legs.
“Just look at you.” His eyes drink the sight of me in: flushed face, heaving chest, shorts barely clinging to my thighs. “You’re perfect. You’re fucking perfect.”
In that moment, with that look on his face and the aftershocks of an orgasm still sending tremors up and down my spine, I believe him. I’m flawed and I’m scarred. Some days I feel like a fuck-up and some days I feel like a fraud. I’m the farthest thing from the world’s definition of perfection, but I’m perfectly myself, and that’s perfect enough for him.
