Which bits of him to take first, though? Her experience had almost exclusively been confined to lying on her back in a dark room and remaining mostly still. Her husband had liked a good tup, but he’d not expected her to participate overly much.
This was entirely new, and she wanted to do everything. Touch everything.
Making sure they did not get too tangled, she reached between their bodies. Her hand butted against his as she took his shaft between her fingers and stroked her fingernails lightly down it, played her thumb over its wet tip.
Here was something to revel in. The catch of his breath and the rapid beats of his heart against his ribs became a percussion ensemble. That gave her strength, and she wrapped her fingers around him and squeezed, and she played and experimented, and he liked it very well indeed.
So much so, he gave back to her tenfold. With his one finger still pressed against her tight screaming bud, he dipped his others deeper, curving inside of her.
“More,” she gasped, pressing into the most intimate embrace.
“More what, Freddy darling?”
“More of you inside of me.” Words that should have been difficult to say but were not.
“Are you sure?” He stilled inside her. “Are you sure you’re ready?”
She nodded. “Do I not feel it?”
“You do. Damn me, you do.”
“More. Now.”
“Lift up.”
A command she did not hesitate to obey, and when he placed his shaft at her opening, she knew what to do now, lowering without any instruction at all.
It had been so long, too long, and he was large and aching inside her. Her body clenched around him, and he hissed. She took a deep breath and lowered a bit further, welcoming the growing familiarity with his girth and length and preparing for more.
His hands also prepared her, one moving to her bottom and the other to her breasts, playing.
She could not rid her mind of the word play. It covered every sentence of their touch. They were playing a very mature game, but a game none the less. Would it be one with a winner? Or one in which all won, all were satiated and victorious after?
She would find no victory without him, of that she was sure.
She wiggled and breathed and relaxed as he slid further in, welcoming him fully, finally. Then she rocked her hips forward and back, side to side, and his fingertips became claws on her hips. A clear tell—she drove him to the edge of wild. Nothing existed here to tame the beast. He was a wolf, and he’d devour her.
Finally.
He groaned, curled up with a tantalizing flex of muscle, kissed her belly. “You’re so tight.
She’d had two children but … “As I said, it has been six years.”
His fingers tightened further as the rest of him relaxed. “I like that.” A possessive gleam in his eye.
She was not sure she liked that. But her brain and body gave her no room to consider it. Her body seemed to like it very well, her nerves curling into tendrils and reaching for him with each breath, her tongue with his name at its very end, waiting.
“Grant?”
“Freddy?”
“Move more.” She wanted to add talk less, but she loved the rich timbre of his voice. He should be the one to announce the acts in the show. If they let Grant talk, he would ensorcell the entire audience from the very first word. He could give them articles, random nouns like cat and dog, boring verbs like sleep and sit. It would not matter what he said, what he said was beautiful. “I need more,” she said again.
“You’re going to have to do the work, Freddy darling.”
“Oh?” But … oh, yes. She saw what he meant, saw the up and down of it, the in and out. Yes, she saw. She pressed her knees into the bed and pulled almost entirely away from him, then she sat back down. Then again. And again. And then over and over, experimenting with lengths and speed until sweat beaded on Grant’s brow, until his hips bucked beneath her with fervent need.
A need climbed and clawed within herself as well, her ribs a ladder to some place, to the same place they’d been about to visit together in his dressing room.