The Sacrifice

"Do people do this in public often?" I asked, and maybe while I did so, I leaned back. But just a little.

"Normally? No. At these parties? Yes," he told me, arm going around my waist as the woman moaned louder, slamming her hips backward as the man thrust inside. "You like watching."

"I didn't say that."

"You didn't need to. I can smell how turned on you are. How much do you want to bet that if my hand drifted down," he said, his fingers teasing over my lower stomach, "I would find your pussy drenched?"

My chest felt tight, my breath coming out too hard, too fast.

I could feel myself relaxing against him, my body inviting more closeness, as my head rested on his strong shoulder.

He took the movement as permission, his hand slipping under my skirt.

"I thought I told you to put on panties," he said as his finger traced my slick cleft. "Or were you just waiting for me to do this?" he asked, his thumb moving over my clit.

I couldn't seem to find the words—or the desire—to tell him to move his hand, to stop taking liberties, or to leave me alone.

Because as his finger started teasing little circles around me, all there was in the world was that sensation, that exquisite building, the promise of something worth the wait in the end.

My head turned on his chest, face nuzzling into his neck, breathing in the fiery scent of him as his free arm rose, slid across my belly, then up and into my bra, squeezing my breast with pressure that was just shy of painful, sending another jolt of desire through my system.

My eyes drifted close, allowing me to melt away into the sensations, to blank out everything else that, suddenly, no longer mattered.

Ly's thumb and forefinger squeezed the tightened bud of my nipple before starting to roll it as one of his fingers started to drift down my cleft, tapping against the entrance to my body.

"Tell me you want my finger to fuck you, witch," he demanded, voice in my ear.

He used the word like he always did, like an insult, like a slur. It shouldn't have, but somehow, in that moment, it only made the fire burn hotter through my system.

"Yes," I hissed, my hips starting to rock against his hand, needing more.

"No. You need to say it," he demanded, teasing the tip of his finger inside of me before retreating. "Tell me you want me to finger fuck your pussy," he told me as his thumb pressed a little harder against my clit.

His words were base and filthy.

But there was no denying their truth.

Squeezing my eyes closed a little tighter, I took a steadying breath. "I want you to finger fuck my pussy," I repeated, feeling my cheeks heat in embarrassment.

"That's a good witch," he told me, finger thrusting inside me.

All thoughts of embarrassment evaporated at the sensation, at the unfamiliar fullness inside, the rough but somehow gentle invasion.

A low, rumbling growl worked its way through Lycus's chest and into my body as his finger settled inside, doing a small little turn once seated.

"Fuck," he hissed, his body going tight as his hips shifted, grinding his hard length against my backside, the proof of his desire even more fuel for the fire. "You're so tight," he added, making those muscles inside clench around him. "Can't imagine how good my cock would feel. Here," he added, flicking his finger. "Like this," he went on, withdrawing his finger then thrusting it back in.

His finger was relentless then, nearly slipping all the way out before going back in, fast and consistent, driving my body upward, making my breath get caught, my legs feel weak.

"You want another finger, don't you?"

I didn't know what I needed. Other than release from the torment building inside.

"Y-yes," I whimpered, my hips grinding down on his hand.

Another finger slipped downward as his other finger pulled out. When he thrust back in, there was even more fullness, a slight pinch accompanying it that evaporated almost instantly as the new sensation built, stronger and stronger as his thumb continued to work circles over my clit.

"You want to come, don't you?"

Come.

That sounded like the right word for what I wanted to do.

"Yes," I gasped, one of my hands grabbing the wrist of the one up my skirt, the other lifting, wrapping around the back of his neck, holding on as my leg muscles started to shake.

"Thought so," he agreed, his fingers twisting inside of me. "Your walls are so fucking tight," he added as his fingers crooked inside me, raking against my top wall, causing a new, unexpected sensation. "Yeah," he said when I cried out—a pleased but confused sound. "That's your G-spot," he told me as his fingers raked across it again. "Feels good, yeah?" he asked, his voice rough.