Page 72 of Divorced from Number Thirty-Eight
“Read me two scenes?” he asks silkily.
Still with those fingers inside me.
Still fluttering.
“Gray,” I warn.
“Hmm?”
“Inside. Me,” I demand again.
“Will you read to me, Red?” he murmurs.
“I already said I would,” I snap.
His lip twitch. “Two scenes?”
“Yes,” I say sharply. “Now?—”
“Will you write about me too?” He scissors his fingers and I moan. “About how good this is between us?”
I freeze, cheeks going hot.
“Oh, Red.” He chuckles hotly, eyes burning into mine. “You already have, haven’t you?”
“It doesn’t matter—” I reach for his sweats, start pushing down the waistband, but he stops me with a blazing kiss.
“It matters, baby. It fucking matters.”
I shiver, hands stilling.
A nip to my bottom lip. “What’d you write?”
“I’ll tell you after—” I moan, head dropping back when he works me with those fingers.
“What, baby?” he presses.
I’m on fire, aching for him. Wet for him. And when those fingers slide out, press back in, it’s good—great, even—but it’s not his cock, not him stretching me as his body presses into mine, not?—
“Gray!” I exclaim when he adds a third finger.
“Still love my name on your lips.” He leans in, kisses me again, leaving me a limp, breathless mess. “And fuck, this pussy”—he groans, fucking me with his fingers—“I want to feel you slick and tight around me.”
“Then…” I pant. “Get…inside…me.”
“Not until you tell me, Red.”
Something snaps inside me. “I based one of my heroes after you, okay?” I snarl. “Not a surprise since I fell in love with you through a window, right? Now, I want you in me.”
He grins, lets me reach for his sweats again. “You’re reading from that book.”
It’s another order.
But I don’t even care.
“Fine,” I yank at the waistband of his pants, pushing it down. “Just get inside…oh.” I still. Because I’ve finally managed to free his erection and?—
“Actually, I don’t think that’s going to fit inside me,” I whisper.
