Chapter 41: Mouth and Fingers

He kissed the inside of my thigh while I tried to remember how lungs worked. Then he kissed higher, back to the soaked mess of me, and I made a warning sound that was not quite no.

“Too much?” he asked. “Sensitive. —slow.”

“Slow,” he agreed. “I am not done living here yet. You taste like I should have been doing this years ago.”

The years landed in me and tangled with the aftershocks. I let my knees fall open again because if I thought too long I would start arguing with the compliment, and I did not want to argue. I wanted his mouth.

He gave it to me slower at the start, lapping through the wet, licking up what the first orgasm had left. I whimpered. Everything was turned up. Even the air moving when he breathed on my clit made me twitch. He was patient with that. He licked around it, not on it, until the sharpness dulled into heat again. I could feel myself climbing a second time, and I almost did not believe it. Two felt greedy. Two felt like a story someone else got to have.

His finger slid through the slick and paused at my entrance. “Is this okay?”

“Yes. Gentle. Please.”

He pressed in slowly. One finger, thick enough that I felt the stretch even after being this wet. I groaned. He worked it in and out in a shallow, lazy rhythm while his tongue went back to my clit, and the combination made my brain slosh. I said Oh my God into the pillow, then turned my face back because I wanted the air. He added a second finger when I started pushing down to meet the first, curling them, looking for something I had only ever found on my own and usually by accident.