as my hips move with his hand. His other hand palms at my tit again, and it’s amazing, the way he’s able to have his arms around me like this, and all I feel is the white-hot spike of want that’s driving me crazy.
Every time his fingers dip low, I can feel how soaked my panties are. I know he can feel it, too. I know that every time he drags his fingers back up, it’s because he wants me to chase them, to take what I want.
I know when his fingers dip beneath the fabric of my panties that I’m excruciatingly impatient. “Yes,” I say before he can ask. “Please, just—”
He watches me, eyebrows knitted tight as his fingers slip between my folds. “Goddamn.”
I don’t know what makes me shudder more—the ragged, strained note in his voice, or the feeling of his rough fingers sliding up and down my pussy. He moves them slow, testing, almost like he’s getting to know it, acquainting himself with the feel of me. On one of those long passes, I buck my hips up, encouraging, and he hisses out a breath when the tip of his finger sinks inside me.
He goes still and I kick a foot out for leverage to push him deeper. “More,” I gasp, hands fisting in the blanket. “What the fuck do you need, an engraved invitation? Just take it slow, okay?”
There’s a rumble from deep in his chest, and like I ask, he goes slowly, sliding his finger inside. “Is this okay?” he asks, pausing. I nod. “Words, Sugar.”
“Yes, it’s okay.” More than I thought, I like the way the pressure feels as he fills me up, pushing against the walls. He takes my approval to heart and slides in further, not stopping until it hits the knuckle. He shifts around a bit, curling his other hand around my ribs, holding me close as his finger retreats and dips back in. It doesn’t make sense. The way he’s holding me… if this were another person or another time, it’d be sending me running away. But right now, all my body seems to care about is the hot throb between my legs.
Sebastian fucks me with his finger, deep and slow, the heel of his palm pressing against my clit on each thrust. I’m such a fucking mess of ‘almost there’ and ‘don’t stop’ that when he slides a second finger in, all I can think is how much I want more. But as much as I’m making sounds—god, the most embarrassing fucking little cries—I know he’s a mess, too. I can feel him hard beneath me, moving his hips in tandem with mine.
“I told you I could make you feel good.” He groans, breaths coming as choppy as my own when his lips rest against the shell of my ear, voice like gravel. “Bet you could take it. We can—just like this. I have a condom.” I don’t even have time to really think about it before he hastily adds, “Fuck, forget I said that. I just wanna make you come. Can you come for me, Sugar?”
With a sharp gasp, I slam my hand over his, pressing him hard against my clit, deep inside me. If I thought my cries were embarrassing, then the way I shake apart as I fall off the precipice is truly next level. He clutches me against his chest, the muscles in his forearm rippling as his hand works between my legs, yanking my orgasm from me like a willingly stolen thing.
“Perfect,” he rasps into my ear. “So fucking perfect. You take it so good. That feel good, baby?”
I never would have thought listening to a guy talk during this would make it all better, but it does. Listening to Sebastian’s want, his desire, is ridiculously hot and I whine as the vestiges of my orgasm ripple through me, surging and waning at the motion of his hand. I bat at it when it becomes too much, too sensitive, but alternately feel the loss acutely when he takes it away.
Sebastian didn’t come, I know he didn’t, but he deflates just like if he had, the two of us sprawled out in the back of his car, trying to catch our breath. The windows have all fogged over and the car smells thick with sex.
It takes approximately three minutes for that hand he has wrapped around my ribs to start feeling less like one of those good sex things, and more like something that’s trapping me.
He doesn’t fight when I spring upright, almost braining myself on the roof. “You okay?” he asks, reaching out to touch me, but thinking better of it at the last second. “Did I—was it too much?”
But I shake my head, turning to give him a tired smile. “No, it was… God. It was perfect.”
I can practically see his ego inflating right in front of me. He wedges an arm behind his head, eyes dragging down my open shirt. “Told you so.”
“So, things with you and Bass are working out?”
I glance at Georgia as we walk from our third period class. She’d been asleep when I got home the night before, and I left early to go check on the kittens and give them a little food before class started. It’s the first time we’ve seen one another since Sebastian finger-blasted me at the lake.
“Um, sort of.” By ‘sort of’ I mean ‘yes’. Like ‘shout it from the top of the mountain’ yes. What transpired between the two of us in the backseat of his car was nothing short of a miracle, but Georgia’s question does make me wonder… “Why? Did he say something?”
Do I look different? Can she tell? What made her ask?
“Well, when I dropped you off at the garage yesterday, I didn’t expect you to come home right away, but I didn’t realize you’d be gone that long.” She gives me a coy smile. “People can do a lot of things with that much time.”
“We just hung out,” I say, fully aware that my cheeks are blistering. “And you know, got to know one another better.”
“Mmmhmm,” she says, pulling open the front door of the building. “That’s definitely my favorite part of getting with a guy. The ‘getting to know one another’ phase can be very sexy.”
Georgia has no idea that sex wasn’t even the biggest part of what happened between me and Sebastian. The simple fact he and I had been able to work through my fears and aversions was bigger than she could possibly grasp. Sure, he fingerbanged me within an inch of my life, and the resulting orgasm was a thing of poetry, but that was just the cherry on top. A delicious, sweet, knee-quaking cherry.
I wonder, “Do you ever get past the 'getting to know one another’ phase? I ask that out of curiosity, no judgment intended.”
“Honestly, not if I can help it.” She grins. “Like I said, it’s the best part. Why would I want to mess that up by getting into all the icky stuff?”
She splits off toward her locker, adding that she’ll see me in the dining hall. I approach my locker on the opposite side of the hall, unlocking it and opening the door. I do a double take when I see the contents, thinking I’ve opened the wrong locker. I close and re-check the number, but this is definitely my locker. Someone must have put their shit inside by mistake, because on top of my math book is a shiny, brand-spanking-new laptop. It’s rose gold-colored with the charging cable tucked carefully next to it. I look around to see if anyone is watching, but they aren’t. I open the laptop, just hoping to find out who it belongs to, and it springs to life, an image appearing on the screen. It’s a photo of a kitten. Abbadon, to be exact. It’s my photo.
No fucking way.