I kiss his lips, summon my courage, and meet his eyes. “Touch me,” I say in his language. “I fear, but I also want.” I am aware that I mangle his language as he does mine, but I do not care, as long as he understands what I intend to say.
He kisses me, gently at first, sweetly, chastely, then with intensifying heat. I give in to the desire, stop fighting it and kiss him back with all the need I feel raging inside me. I kiss him hard, curl my hand around the back of his neck so he cannot break the kiss, crush him closer, taste his tongue and his teeth. My legs fall open wide, my heels drawn slightly in so my knees lie flat on the ground.
He takes this as the invitation it is, and his finger slices up the line of my privates and back down, pushing in ever so slightly with each motion up and down. I feel at once hot and wet down there, as if wanting him has set loose a flood inside me. I worry that he will feel the wetness inside me and think it is gross, and almost clamp my legs closed, but do not.
His finger slides into me, and I hear his breath catch. I force my eyes open so I can watch for the disgust on his face, but instead I see only desire, pleasure, a smile of delight, but concern touches his eyes.
Then something wild and magical and terrifying happens. He curls his finger upwards and brushes the small nub of sensitive flesh near the top of my privates, and when the tip of his finger touches me there, my universe explodes. I hear a moan, loud and shamefully wanton, escape from me.
I thought I was awash with heat and damp desire before, but in the instant of his finger’s contact with my clitoris, a flood of fire and liquid shoots through me, drenching me. My cheeks burn with shame. I can smell myself, my desire, and I know he does, too. Surely that scent will turn his desire to ashes, cause his face to wrinkle in displeasure. Surely. I watch his face, but all I see is his blue gaze burning into mine, and there is nothing in his eyes but concern for me, and a need so intense my breath catches.
He likes this. His nostrils flare and he draws in a deep breath, pulling in my scent. His head falls onto my chest between my br**sts, and his chest heaves. His finger curls against my clitoris once more, as slowly as the shifting of desert sands. My throat betrays my pleasure with a long, high-pitched whimper, and my body arches clear off the ground as lightning strikes my core.
What is he doing to me? I cannot take this. It is too intense. Too much. My heels scrape the dirt as the wave of ecstasy rolls over me. He waits until my back returns to earth, and then he does it once more. This time, however, he circles the little button of flesh with his finger, slowly still, but without stopping. My breath scrapes past my throat, and a moan hits my teeth and forces my mouth open wide. I can feel my face contorting, my eyes clenching shut, my face lifting to the ceiling as sensations I never knew were possible shoot through me. Such intense pleasure it is nearly painful bolts through me, lightning at my core. Quivers of ecstasy lance through me as his finger swirls around my clitoris.
Now he moves away from my button and his fingers, two of them, descend and thrust gently into my womanhood…my vagina. I know there are other words; I have heard them all before, but I do not want them in my head. I am fighting enough shame as it is. The sounds I am making are wanton, loud and shameless, even though my mind keeps trying to tell me to be quiet. I cannot. I have no control over my body now. I am a puppet, and Hunter’s fingers within me are controlling me.
I crack my eyes open and glance down to watch him, seeing his hand, his middle and ring fingers pushing into my privates. He is inside me to the knuckle now. Watch it happen. Let it happen. Enjoy it. His palm faces my body, and now his fingers curl upward, explore my inner walls. My breath is coming short stutters, gasps, whimpers. His curling fingers brush me in a certain spot, high on the inside, and the lightning bolts shiver hotter than ever, send me into a writhing, helpless spasm, and he does not relent, but presses his thumb to my clitoris and moves it in swift circles, barely brushing me.
Pressure wells up inside me, and my hips are moving on their own, rocking up into his hand as he moves his thumb against me and his fingers inside me. The pressure is rising, rising, turning into fire, into earthquakes within me. I do not know what is happening. Fear is a cold wave in my heart, threatening to douse the fires raging in me.
I feel like a tea kettle about to boil over. His every touch makes me writhe and whimper. His head rests on my chest, on my shirt, and his breath washes hot against my neck. He, too, seems overwhelmed, barely holding on to his sanity or his control.
I touch his chin so he looks at me. The vulnerability I see in his eyes is what does me in. I am on a ledge, about to fall over into madness. I want to see his eyes, so I may retain some semblance of my self through it all.
HUNTER
My god, she’s so beautiful. She’s barely holding on. I can see how afraid she is of what lies beyond that edge. She’s so close, about to come, but she won’t let herself. She’s gazing at me, fear in her eyes, desire in her eyes, confusion, need, worry, shame.
Shame. She’s ashamed of this. I saw her blush when I first touched her. She is so wet, her desire a pungent aroma that has me so hard I could come if she’d only brush her thigh against my cock. Just the smell of her pu**y is enough to make me lose control. I can’t take her eyes on me any longer. I let my head thump down against her chest. The thin cotton of her shirt is strained by the swell of her br**sts, each mound pulled aside by gravity. Her ni**les are beads poking the cotton, tempting my tongue.
Not yet. She’s not ready for that yet.
My fingers slide inside her channel, and her body is writhing against me. I touch her clit with my thumb and I feel her nearly lose it right then, but she doesn’t. She’s afraid. How do I make her forget her fear?
I kiss her. God, she tastes so good. Her lips drive me crazy, the way she nibbles at my lower lip, the way her tongue traces my teeth…I want to kiss her forever, but I can’t. Her clit is a hard little bump, intensely sensitive. If I so much as brush her clit, she whimpers. Her G-spot is a roughened, ribbed patch of skin, and she moans when I rub it with my fingers, her hips bucking against my hand.
I’m so hard, so f**king hard. I’m about to come in my pants just touching her, just hearing her moan for me. Thank f**k she isn’t trying to touch me, because I wouldn’t have enough self-control to stop her. I desperately want to feel her slim little fingers wrap around my cock, stroke me and touch me.
No. No. This is about her, not me.
She moves beneath me, sliding down so her knees rise up, her heels bumping against her ass, thighs spread wide as I drive her wild with my fingers. Sliding down made her shirt bunch up even more, and now the bottom swell of one breast is visible.