Page 15 of Brood
He sucks in a deep breath through his nose. His eyes travel up and down my body again before they focus on my breasts.
I glance down to see that the shape of my nipples is visible through the thin fabric of my camisole.
“Okay,” he says with a lot of gravel in his voice. He opens the drawer in his nightstand to pull out the lubricant. “Take off your clothes.”
I do as he says, tugging down my underwear and stripping off my camisole. When I’m naked, I step forward so that I’m within arm’s reach of where he’s seated.
Like yesterday, he moves me into a better position and then squirts a lot of the thick, slippery liquid onto his hands before rubbing them together and then applying it all over my groin and into my vagina.
When he’s got the lubricant all over, he slides two fingers inside me, stretching my inner walls like he did yesterday.
“You need to relax,” he says. He’s been watching his hand moving between my legs, but now he lifts his eyes to my face. “We can’t do this if you’re so uptight.”
I don’t appreciate being calleduptight, but I don’t object because I suspect he’s right. I’m still resentful, and it’s probably making me tense. I try to blow it out the way I did this afternoon.
“Good,” he murmurs, pumping his fingers in my vagina with the sound of wet suction. “That’s better.” He separates his fingers, stretching me even more. “Try to soften up your pussy, or it’s going to hurt.”
I don’t want it to hurt. Plus, getting pregnant is my primary responsibility now, and I want to do a good job. I keep breathing deeply, consciously relaxing my pelvis muscles.
“Better.” He slips his fingers out and rubs my clit.
I make a little squeak at the jolt of pleasure. Grab for one of his shoulders when my legs feel like they might buckle.
“Rub your nipples for me,” he says, penetrating me with his fingers again.
“What?”
“You heard me.”
I did hear him, but it’s a weird thing to do. I let go of his shoulder and straighten, using both hands to fondle my nipples. I don’t actually know how best to do it, so I rub in tight circles like he was doing to my clit.
The intense tugs of sensation surprise me. I gasp. Arch my back in a way that lifts my breasts.
He’s watching me touch myself. He’s still got his fingers inside me, but he stops moving them.
It feels good and torturous at the exact time—touching my breasts while his fingers are unmoving in my vagina. The sensations are somehow connected. It’s like they’re stretching me between them.
“Will,” I mumble, dropping my head and releasing a completely involuntary moan.
“Is it feeling good?”
“Y-yeah.”
“Okay, then. Don’t stop.”
It’s hard to focus on my nipples because he starts pumping his hand again. It’s really wet down there, and I don’t think it’s all the lubricant. Some of that wetness isme.
I hear myself let out a whimper that’s almost childish. I grab my breasts since I’m drowning in the rising sensations.
“No. Keep rubbing them.”
“But I…I need… I can’t…”
“Yes, you can.”
I groan again as I release the grip on my breasts and focus on fondling my nipples again.
“There you go,” he says in that low, slightly gruff murmur that’s so much better than his normal impatient tone. “You’re really softening up now.” He thrusts his hand faster. A little harder.
