Page 27 of Beg for It
His eyes dance with a teasing glint, the nonverbal response a taunt. He said all I had to do was beg, and he’d give me it all. I crave his touch and yearn for release, arousal dripping between my desperate thighs.
“Please, touch me,” I whisper again.
“Do you remember what I said earlier, Blair?”
“I’m yours until the sun rises.”
“Have you used a safe word before?”
I shake my head. “No, but I know what they are.”
“Alright. Let’s keep it simple then. If I do anything that you like but edges on your boundaries, say yellow. If I do something that’s a hard no and you want me to stop immediately, say red. Does that work?”
It sounds simple enough, and it matches up to the stories I’ve read about in my romance books. I might not have practical experience, but I’ve read and watched enough to have some basic knowledge.
“Yellow and red. Got it.”
“Good.”
His fingers dip under the fabric barrier and slide up my slit, gathering the evident wetness that has built over the course of our heated encounter.
A gasp escapes me. If I thought I was being coy about my attraction to him before, it is pointless now. I am soaked through for this man.
A moan works its way up my throat. I’ve touched myself countless times, but it’s never felt anything like this. He strokes up and down. Up and down. Up and down. Up and down and—
Holy shit.
His thick fingers enter me with zero resistance.
“Fuck, Blair,” he groans.
God, his voice is a whole other issue. I’ve gotten myself to come to it before, and I have no doubt that if he keeps it up, I’ll be a mess around his fingers in no time. He is rewiring my brain, banishing any thoughts that aren’t about him.
The rhythmic curls have me twitching beneath him, the pads of his fingers hitting a spot I didn’t even know existed. I’ve technically never gotten off on my fingers alone, or anyone else’sfor the record. I thought my G-spot was broken or missing. This man is proving me wrong.
But the kernel of self-doubt that’s been drilled into me causes my nerves to stand on alert. It keeps the building orgasming from reaching the edge. The last thing I want to do is disappoint him after he asked me all the way out here. I don’t want to underperform, to not be the perfect woman for his pleasure.
“You’re tensing, relax,” he murmurs.
I try to listen to his words, but I’m just getting more in my head.
God, how embarrassing would it be if after all that talk I couldn’t come? If my pussy just totally dried out and—
“Blair, look at me. Now.”
His command runs through me and my eyes pop open—I didn’t even realize I’d squeezed them shut.
Those crystal blue eyes stare back at me.
“Exhale through your mouth,” he instructs.
I don’t even think. I just do as he says. My body goes slack as some of the anxiety melts away.
“Good girl. Keep doing that.”
The praise washes over me, lighting up the pleasure center in my brain with a hum. It forces my muscles to release more of my self-inflicted tension, and a gasp pulls from my lips as all the sensations heighten.
His palm rubs against my clit in quick, succinct movements as his fingers continue to curl inside me. I feel the pressure building, and building, and building. The tide is pulling at the shoreline.
