Page 52 of Do It For Me
I lift my gaze to meet his, barely taking in the depth of his dark eyes before his lips crash into mine. His kiss is intense, consuming, as if he wants to pull every breath from me.
His hand moves down, grazing my waist and slipping to the inside of my thigh. His touch is soft, teasing, like a feather gliding over my skin. Heat pools in my belly, spreading lower, making me feel strange.
He tangles his fingers in my hair, holding me in place, while his other hand guides mine. He moves it over my body, retracing his touch.
He shifts my hand to my chest, covering it with his own to press it against my breast. “Touch yourself with both hands.”
Swallowing hard, I obey, trembling. My eyes don’t leave his, searching for approval, for guidance.
“Now brush your nipples. Pinch them,” he says, his voice low and firm.
My cheeks burn as I comply. A sound escapes me—a moan I hadn’t meant to make. I freeze, horrified by my reaction.
But Dante’s smile is different. Proud, encouraging. He leans in to kiss me again, as if reassuring me that I’m doing something right.
He guides my hand down to my ribs, then my belly, stopping at the hem of my panties. He doesn’t pull them down or slide my hand inside. Instead, he presses my fingers over the fabric, moving them until they touch a spot where the heat gathers.
“You need to touch yourself here,” he whispers against my ear, his voice igniting every nerve in my body.
His hand moves further, guiding my fingers lower. The fabric is damp, clinging to me, and I wonder if he feels it too.
“You can slide your fingers in here,” he murmurs,
“Can I?”
His soft smile brushes against my hair. “Yes. Now suck on them,” he says.
“My—my fingers?”
He nods. Swallowing my hesitation, I obey. Then, I lower my hand again. Dante hooks the edge of my panties, slowly pullingthem aside. His hands guide mine as I press my fingers into myself, the warmth and tightness startling me.
“You can touch your clit, or do this… or both, if you’d like.”
“Both?” I gasp.
“With both hands,”
Panting, I keep moving my fingers as he guides me. The tingling inside me grows, an ache that refuses to fade no matter how I touch myself or move my hips. It feels good, unbearably good, yet not enough. My mind fogs with pleasure, and the slick sounds of my fingers against my wetness grow louder. That, and our breathing, is all that fills the room.
“Go back to your clit,” he whispers, his voice husky.
“But it feels too good,” I whimper.
“Do you want me to do it for you?” His question sends a fresh wave of heat crashing over me.
That’s it.
I nod.
With one hand, Dante cups my cheek, tilting my face until I’m locked in his intense gaze. Then, he slips two fingers into my mouth.
“Lick them good,” he commands.
“Lick them or it will hurt,” my father says.
A shiver runs down my spine. Dante frowns. When he pulls his fingers away, he leans in, kissing me deeply.
“You’re with me. No one else,” he whispers. “Youare touching yourself.”
