He chuckles, dipping one big finger into the tiny pot. "Then let me take care of everything." He lifts his finger, and it gleams with oil in the candlelight of the bedroom. It's like he's presenting it to me, as if showing me what he's got on his skin…and I'm a little surprised when he leans down and gently presses that slicked finger to my mouth. "Taste."
A hot rush of arousal surges through me. I lick his fingertip, our eyes locked, and bright flavor unfurls on my tongue. It tastes like…berries. I taste him underneath, and on impulse, lick his fingertip a second time.
"Very good," he murmurs, rubbing his finger along my bottom lip. "I'm going to slick your pretty cunt and make it good and wet. Yes?"
"Yes," I whisper against his finger, and suck on the tip before he pulls it away.
He climbs off the bed, and the front of his pants strain with the sheer size of his cock. There's a wet spot on the front, and I think about the bead of wetness I'd seen when I petted him. It came out because he was so aroused, and I wish, suddenly, that he had his pants off so I could admire his body again. It was different, but I liked looking at him, so very, very much.
I'm so distracted with thoughts of Agakor taking his pants off and parading about our bedroom that when his warm hand touches my flesh again, I jump, a squeaking sound erupting from my throat.
"Did I startle you?" he asks, drawing back.
"I…it's okay."
He puts his hand between my thighs again, rubbing more of the oil between my legs, and it feels…all right, I guess? I haven't noticed a big difference other than his fingers glide through the folds a little quicker now instead of dry flesh rubbing against dry flesh. He removes his hand, coats his finger again, and then drags it through my slit.
A shiver ripples through me.
"I'm just going to touch you for now," he murmurs, moving to a table beside the bed and setting the pot down. "Get you used to my touch. Tell me if you want me to stop, all right? We'll take things slow."
"All right."
I try not to jump when he places that big, warm hand between my thighs again. His touch is startling—of course it is—but when he skims a hand up my thigh, it feels nice. Comforting. He rubs my leg, focusing on just brushing his hand over my skin and massaging my muscles. I gaze up at him, watching as he puts his other hand on my opposite thigh and does the same. I'm going to have oil up and down my legs, but I can't find it in me to mind. I'm too fascinated by the intent look on his face as he caresses me.
"I love how soft your skin is," he tells me as one big hand glides toward the apex of my thighs again. "I could just touch you for hours."
"Won't that make the guests nervous?" I ask, because I feel like I should say something, and not just lie here like a lump.
Agakor chuckles, and I feel it in my thighs, from his hands there. "They'll think I'm a madman if we return too soon. Don't worry about them." His fingers skim higher, teasing at the join of my legs, and then one finger slides up and down my slit.
I suck in a breath. That felt…intense.
He makes an “mmm” sound in his throat. "Better, I think. I'm going to touch you on your pretty cunt, now. Tell me to stop if you don't like it."
One finger delves deep, gliding up through my folds, and then rubs a little circle around the bud at the top, the one that's so damn sensitive I never touch it. Immediately, I cry out, trying to snap my thighs shut around his hand. His big body is in the way, though, and all I end up doing is squeezing him with my legs.
"Shh," he murmurs. "I know it feels like a lot, but it's supposed to feel good, too."
I pant, startled, and clutch at my skirts. They're so bunched up and knotted in my hands that they're going to be wrinkled beyond salvaging, but I can't find it in me to care. "It's…fine. I'm fine. Everything's fine."
To my surprise, he laughs. His fingers glide over that bit of flesh again, making my legs twitch despite my efforts to hold still. "If I'm doing it wrong, how do you make yourself come, love?"
I squirm against his hand, because he's talking to me in an incredibly sensible voice, and yet his fingers are gliding over that bit and I can't concentrate. It's like I need to come out of my own skin. I need to burst. Something. I pant like an animal, fighting not to push his hands away. "You're…not…doing it wrong," I manage. "Are you?"