He brushes his fingers along my seam. “Fuck, you’re already hot for me.” The hungry growl in his voice has me whimpering. “Are you wet for me too?” His lips brush mine once more, and his fingers press against my clit, the touch teasing, full of promise.
A starving need has me widening my legs. I want him, this, more than I want oxygen.
He draws tight circles around my clit, bringing me closer to the edge. I don’t remember the last time it felt this way, and he’s not even touching me skin on skin.
A needy groan escapes me. Garrett swallows it, his mouth on mine. The glide of his tongue…the stroke of his fingers…perfectly synchronized. He’s playing me like an instrument. I’m the violin to his bow. Each move of his hand, each flick of his tongue, elicits a whisper, a whimper, a moan.
His hand moves away from my core, sliding up to the waistband of my yoga pants. Yoga pants, which until last week, I never used as they were intended. And now they’re experiencing an entirely new type of lesson in flexibility.
Garrett’s fingers slip under the waistband and continue south, reclaiming that which he had teased only moments ago. “Fuck, you’re so wet,” he murmurs as his fingers slide along my lips, slick from the way he’s got my body panting for him.
He continues to work me up, my body tightening with each pass of his thumb over my super-swollen clit.
I brush my fingers along his hard length, visible through the cotton of his running shorts. A strangled groan falls from him, and I have to bite back a satisfied grin.
Garrett shakes his head. “Not this time. This is about you, and only you.”
I cling to theNot this timeas his finger presses inside of me, curving to find that magical spot. Another thick finger joins it, taking me closer to the edge.Not much further.
My body bucks and writhes, searching for sweet relief.So close. Ever so close.
“Come for me, Golden Girl.” The growled words vibrate against my neck, the final push I need to collapse over the ledge.
White-hot liquid heat pours through every inch of me, and I cry out from the intensity. Then I’m floating skyward in a body that feels unrestrained, the tether holding me to my body disintegrating.
My ragged breaths fan my lips as I come back to myself. I should probably care I cried out and possibly alerted Garrett’s neighbors to what we are doing.
I probably should care, but right now, I can’t find it in myself to give a damn.
A smile lazily curves my lips as I take in the gorgeously deep shades of orange, red, and mauve stretching across the sky. “Wow. It’s been a while, but I don’t remember it ever being that good.” I turn my head to Garrett.
He’s sitting upright next to me, watching me expectantly. His smile is pure smug satisfaction, and I barely keep from rolling my eyes. “Glad you enjoyed it.”
I snort a laugh and push up to sit, my body still feeling like it’s floating somewhere in the heavens. “Don’t let that go to your head.”
But he’s a man—of course his ability to give me an orgasm will go to his head.
“So? Did it work?”
Work?It takes a beat to figure out what he means, and I catalog how my body feels. Maybe it’s just a placebo effect, but the earth-shattering orgasm seems to have helped with the pain. “There’s…there’s definitely something to that video. I mean, my body still aches, but…but it’s like the volume has been turned down a bit. Like…like background noise that isn’t quite as loud as before. If that makes any sense.”
Now, if only I didn’t need to have orgasms once a day to keep up this benefit. It’s not as simple as popping a pill, given that Garrett and I don’t live together.
And we’re not a couple.
The other downside of this holistic approach to pain management is I’ve stumbled, as feared, across a new addiction. A Garrett-induced orgasm addiction. Since when were orgasms this mind-blowing? Thiswow?
If only my vibrator were as capable as Garrett’s hand.
If onlymyhand were as capable as Garrett’s fingers.
A rustle of leaves has me turning to the sound. The noise wasn’t caused by the wind. More like an animal. A large animal.
“Um, you haven’t had any bears or cougars wandering through your backyard lately, have you?” I whisper, straining in the dimming light to make out what could have caused the leaves to rustle like that.
“No, why?”
“I thought I heard something. Over there.” I point to the hedge that separates this part of the garden from the garden closer to the house.
