I trace the seam again, up and down. “Over? Or under?”
A convulsive swallow. “Over?”
Another pass, faster. With a slight increase of pressure at the top. “Like this?”
A whimpering sigh. “Y-yes.”
Her knees knock together. Hips flex. Barely touching her, and she’s nearly there already. A little extra stimulation, and maybe she’ll get there just like this.
“Hold on to me,” I tell her. “Just feel it. Just enjoy it.” I kiss her flesh, just beneath the swell of one breast. “Don’t be afraid, Jolene. I’ve got you. Just…enjoy it. Just let go and let yourself feel it.”
Her eyes close, hands knotting in my hair briefly, spastically, and then gentling to hold my head again. “O-okay. I’ll try.”
I trace her sex again, once more dimpling pressure at the top, where she’ll be most sensitive. Lips to her breast, kissing the globe, licking her nipple. My other hand toys with her other breast, lips on one, fingers on the other. She whimpers, a long high breath.
Hips tense, flex.
More attention and more pressure at the apex, pressing in slightly. Tongue and fingers busily twiddling and tweaking and circling, until she’s gasping and writhing, sinuous and sensual.
Her knees buckle again, and I slide my thigh between her legs, and she instinctively sits, and now her arms are around my neck, clinging for support, head hanging, mouth open. Eyes shut. Back arched, hips flexed forward.
I press my finger against her, then. Press inward with a slight circling motion, and a shocked gasp escapes her. Two fingers, then, middle and index, pressed in against her at the top of her sex, and she’s whimpering with each pressing circle.
“Oh god, Wes,” she breathes. “That feels…” she trails off, mouth dropping open and trembling as I increase pressure and speed.
“Tell me,” I murmur. “How does it feel?”
“Good,” she whispers. “So good. Too good.”
She’s sitting on my knee, and her hips move involuntarily. I don’t rush. Let it be slow, let it rise naturally. No hurry. I reach up and rake my fingernails over her scalp while my tongue circles her breast, and she cries out at this. So I do it again, and this time, accompany the scrape of fingernails over scalp and suctioning kiss to her nipple with a firm touch to her sex, circling consistently now.
I hear her swallow hard, and then the sigh becomes a choked gasp, and her buttocks slide against my leg as her need drives her to grinding against my swirling fingers.
“Wes!” she whimpers.
“Keep going?” I ask.
“Yes!” she cries. “Please. Please!” She’s rocking against my touch, now, and I match her fervency with the touch of my fingers, pressing against her and circling faster yet. “I’m—I’m gonna—Wes, ohh god Wes…I feel like I’m going to…”
A loud, shrill cry, then.
“I’m going to explode, Wes!”
“Good,” I growl against her breast. “Show me. Don’t stop it. Don’t be afraid. I’ve got you, Jo. I’ve got you.” I move my touch against her until she’s thrusting against my fingers and her spine is arched and head is thrown back.
“Wes!” she cries, her voice breaking. “Oh mygod—Wes!”
A Good Day; A Bad Day
Jolene
I’m on fire.
My skin boils, feels too tight on my bones. My head is fuzzy, crazed. My pulse is a hammering crescendo. I feel this ocean of titanic pressure building inside me—it’s centered low, just below the pit of my belly. As the pressure builds, a heat builds with it, and this heat radiates from my sex, between my thighs.
I feel…wet.
Down there. If he were to be touching me bare, he’d know how wet I am—it’s embarrassing. I wonder if he can smell me—when I touched myself, that one time, I smelled myself. It was on my fingers, afterward, and I had to wash my hands three times before the smell went away.
