My heart twists. The burn in my eyes intensifies.
I sit up and roll it on for him.
“Sorry,” he says with this shy little smirk. “Guess I’m a little too wild for you.”
“No such thing.”
I lube him up. Then he takes the bottle from me. “How do you wanna do this? What’s the most comfortable for you?”
“Usually,” I say, rolling over, “it’s easiest to start on my belly with my hips up. The angle helps a lot.”
He puts his hands on my hips and helps me angle them up so I’m on my knees and elbows. His touch is gentle, and I’m glad I have my forehead buried in the pillow so I don’t have to make eye contact.
He uses his knee to spread my legs a little wider. And then . . .
Nothing.
A beat passes. Then another.
Turning my head, I ask, “You okay?”
He’s staring at me. At my ass. My pussy. His eyes are dark and unreadable.
Expression feral, nostrils flaring and mouth tight.
He squeezes a dollop of lube onto his fingertips. Circles those fingertips against his thumb, warming up the lube.
“You.” He takes my ass cheek in his hand and pulls it to the side. “Are.” He arcs his thumb over my rim. Gently, touch barely there, but my nipples still tighten to painful, hard points. “Beautiful.”
I curl my hands into the sheets. Anticipation coiling inside my skin, making my pussy pulse.
If the idea of leaving Hank doesn’t break me, this orgasm will.
But I’m too far gone to care. I want more. I need more. I want this man’s hands all over me.
“Your thumb,” I murmur. “Press it. There.”
Ever the obedient student, he does as I tell him and presses the pad of his thumb against my asshole. The pressure is exquisite, and I find myself pressing back up against him, seeking more. Needing more.
“Inside is okay,” I say.
He switches it up, replacing his thumb with his middle finger. “I like it when you talk to me. When you tell me what you need. Because I like giving it to you. I like knowing what’s going on inside your head.”
He says the words as he pushes the tip of his finger inside me. The combination of the two—what every human wants to hear, what every human wants to feel—almost makes me come on the spot.
My legs tremble. My heart goes apeshit inside my chest.
“Baby,” I say. “More.”
His other hand moves up my side, thumb trailing a ribbon of sensation up my spine. He cups my breast and plucks at my nipple as he slowly pushes his finger inside me.
This isn’t my first rodeo. But I’m still shocked by the pain that mingles with my rising pleasure. Hank’s got thick fingers, and the pressure is intense.
It’s forbidden, exciting, and it’s exactly what I’m after.
Wildly, I wonder if I want to cross every orifice off the list this weekend because maybe then—when we’ve done everything there is to do—I’ll finally have had my fill of Hank. Maybe if there’s nothing new or exciting left to try, I’ll get bored, the way I usually do with men.
But as I stretch around him, pain lessening, pleasure rising, my body tells me this is just the beginning.
It’s too late to turn back now. My body is pulled taut as a bowstring. I’m on the edge of the precipice, and I want Hank to push me over the edge.
I want him to push me hard.
“So good,” I pant, reaching around to grab his dick. “This. I’m ready. Please.”
He keeps his finger inside me for another heartbeat. Then he slowly pulls it out. I hear him crack open the cap of the lube again.
“You’re tight,” he explains, voice rough. “More can’t hurt.”
He lines himself up at my asshole. The pressure of his crown alone has my eyes burning for a different reason. I like the pain, though. Maybe because I deserve it.
How fucked up is that? Wanting this excellent man to hurt me? I thought the punishment phase of my life was over. I’m done punishing myself for not being perfect. For the jiggle on my belly and the flab on my arms.
I thought I was done punishing myself for taking up space in the body I have.
Why, then, this guilt?
He pushes inside me with a grunt. He’s right. I am tight; we’re both struggling against my body’s resistance.
“Talk to me.” He massages my breast. “How do you feel?”
“I’m okay. You?”
“You feel like heaven, honey.”
I turn my head, telling myself it’s the last time I’ll look at him until after we both come. “No, how do you feel?”
He’s wearing this contracted expression, like he’s in pain too. The kind of pain I’m in, that I like.
“I’m gonna miss you,” he whispers as shadows flicker across his face. “So damn much.”
I don’t know what to say to that. I reach for his hand on my breast, twining our fingers and giving his a squeeze.