Page 86 of Guarded Love
"That's not specific enough." His hands trail down my arms, leaving goosebumps in their wake. "Pick one. Tell me exactly what you want right now."
"Your fingers. I want your fingers inside me again."
"Where?" he presses, even though we both know the answer.
"In my..." I can't finish the sentence.
"Say it." His voice is firm but polite. "I need to hear you say it."
"In my pussy," I finally say. “I want your fingers in my pussy."
The satisfaction in his expression makes the butterflies in my stomach go into ultra drive. "There we go. That wasn't so hard, was it?"
Before I can respond, his hand is between my thighs, and before I can blink, his fingers are sliding into my pussy. I arch into his touch as a soft moan escapes my lips.
"Still so wet for me," he murmurs approvingly. "Tell me how it feels."
"Good," I gasp as he circles my clit with his thumb. "So good."
"More specific," he demands, sliding one finger inside me. "Tell me exactly how good."
"I can't—" My words dissolve into a moan as he curls his finger.
"You can." He adds a second finger, stretching me. "Tell me, or I'll stop."
The threat makes panic flutter in my chest. "No, don't stop. Please."
"Then tell me."
"It feels incredible," I rush out. "Your fingers feel so good inside me. I love how you stretch me, how you know exactly where to touch me."
"Better." He rewards me by increasing his pace. "What else do you want?"
"I want to touch you too," I admit in between taking deep breaths. "I want to feel you."
"Feel me where?"
My face burns, but I force the words out. "I want to touch your cock. I want to know how hard you are for me."
He groans low in his throat. "Fuck, Willow. The things you do to me, but you know what would make this even better? I want you to beg for me."
27
WILLOW
The word "beg" hangs in the air between us like a challenge I'm not sure I want to accept. My pride rears its head, the same stubborn streak that's gotten me in trouble my entire life. I don't beg. I negotiate, I argue, I fight, but I don't beg. Especially not to Blaise Dalton, who's spent years acting like I'm nothing more than his best friend's annoying little sister whenever we were near each other.
But then his fingers slow to a crawl, barely moving inside me, and my body betrays every principle I've ever held.
"Please," I whisper.
"Please what?" His thumb circles my clit with the lightest possible touch, just enough to make me squirm. "Tell me exactly what you're begging for, kitten."
I want to tell him to go to hell. I want to flip him off and storm out of this room with whatever dignity I have left. Instead, I hear myself saying, "Please don't stop. Please make me come again."
"Better." His fingers resume their rhythm, but still not fast enough. "But I want more than that. I want you to tell me how badly you need it."
"Blaise—"
