I bite my lip. My face is burning. I manage the smallest shake of my head.
“Figures,” he mutters.“Fucking untouched.”
Then, his arm slides behind me. His other hand crosses his body and settles on my waistband.
I blink. “Wait—”
He doesn’t.
His fingers are inside my pajama bottoms in one smooth, confident move. No hesitation, no fumbling, like he’s done this a hundred times. Because he probably has.
I shudder.
“Relax,” he murmurs, voice dripping with amusement. “You want to learn, don’t you?”
I can’t speak. Just nod, trembling like his prey.
His fingers dip lower, and I jolt the second he finds my crease, the touch featherlight, barely there, and still it rips a gasp from my throat.
He strokes — once, twice — slow, teasing passes like he’s got all the time in the world to watch me squirm, shake, be humiliated, yet unable to resist.
A low, cruel chuckle rumbles from his chest. “What’s wrong, Piggy? Can’t even look at me?”
I can’t. I don’t dare. My chest rises and falls in short, frantic breaths.
Just then, he circles around my entrance. His voice lowers.
“Yep. Definitely a virgin. I can feel it. Tight little skin right here.” He nudges my hymen with the gentlest pressure, just enough to prove he knows.
“Grayson,” I whisper, voice cracking, muscles locked in place.
He moves closer, now fully flush against my side, his body solid, overwhelming. I could melt just at the sight of his massive thigh pressed tightly against mine. My skin forms goosebumps as his breath ghosts down my neck. And oh, that cologne... fresh, clean, sexy, wraps around me, thick and suffocating in the best way.
My heart?Stopped.
Then, his finger dips inside to the first knuckle.
I choke on a tiny gasp, then another. It doesn’t hurt. Not really. It’s careful. Like he wants me to feel it... but not break the skin.
He pulls out and taps his finger on my opening, letting the wetness sound in the quiet.
“You hear that?” he murmurs. “You got wet the second I touched you.”
He doesn’t laugh. He doesn’t tease.
He just exhales and leans in closer, his nose brushing my jaw.
“You know, I should make you squeal. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
My spine snaps straight as I tense, attempt to lean away, but he’s faster, keeping me in place. The slightest mischievous smirk flashes before disappearing. He soothes, like he cares, “Calm down, you sad thing. I won’t tear you.”
But somehow, he speaks like a man giving a lesson. Like it’s nothing personal. Like this is just another thing he’s good at. So I nod. After all, I trust anyone more than myself when it comes to sex. I know nothing.
That’s why I do as he says and stay calm. My eyes close as his finger pushes in again — deeper, past the second knuckle this time, but still slow, still unbearably tender.
“There,” he whispers by my ear. “Now that neglected little pussy’s been touched.”
He starts to move in soft, sensual strokes that makes me feel like... he’s making love to me. It’s a stupid thought, but this is how I imagine it, just not a finger.
