Mathiras (Corsair Brothers 4)
“Then they only programmed you to have half the fun, and I can’t imagine that’s true.” His breath fans over that sensitive spot behind my ear again and his hand slides up the front of my jumper, moving to the auto-fastener just below my collarbone. “You like it when you touch me, right?” When I nod, he continues, “I’d get the same pleasure out of touching you and making you come. Will you let me have that?”
Oh. When he phrases it that way, it seems less terrifying. It’s not about me or my body only—it’s about giving him pleasure in touching me. It’s like we’re sharing it after all. “We can try.”
“Brave girl,” he murmurs, and his tongue strokes over that sweet spot again.
I whimper.
CHAPTER 65
HELEN
Even though Mathiras says I’m being brave, I can’t help but feel anxious when he activates the auto-fastener on my clothing and it slides down my chest, opening all the way up to below my waist. He slides a hand inside my clothes, stroking over one of my breasts and cupping it.
Oh. Well, that feels good. I thought he’d go straight for the kitty, as Alice would say, but I like his hands on my breasts. I sigh with pleasure as his thumb strokes over the nipple of one, teasing it into an aching point.
“Still feel good?” he asks, stroking his tongue over the spot behind my ear again. It sends another jolt through me, slightly more intense than the last now that his fingers are on my nipple.
“Yes.” I turn my head more fully, so he can have better access to my neck and ear. I like that I’m still cradled in his arms, and his big body is wrapped around mine. I feel safe and secure with him holding me like this. Even when the pleasure jolts a little higher than expected and makes me quiver, it still feels okay because I know he has me and he wants me to feel sexy and not scared.
I close my eyes, relaxing against his touch as he continues to pet my breast and touch the spot behind my neck, telling me how pretty I am and how good I smell, and how perfect I feel in his arms. I like hearing his words almost as much as his touch, and so when his hand slides lower, caressing my belly, I sigh and squirm against him, wanting more pleasurable touches.
“Can I touch you between your thighs, my fierce mate?” he asks, voice husky and thick with arousal. “I promise it won’t be too much. And if it is, well, then we’ll stop.”
That sounds good. Panting, I nod, wanting to cling to his hand as it slides even lower. His tongue swipes over the ear-spot again and I whimper, because it feels good but now that his hands have been on my breasts, I need more than just this. It feels like not enough anymore.
His hand skims down my belly and then rests just over the mound of my pussy, fingers brushing over the curls there. “I know you have a lot of sensitive spots here, love,” he murmurs into my ear, his nose brushing against the shell of it. “So maybe we start with touching just one instead of all of them, hmm? So you don’t get overwhelmed.”
That sounds like a good, logical plan. Plus, the more his fingers play against my skin, the more I want him to touch me somewhere intense.
I nod again, and his teeth graze my ear. “Say it out loud, sweetheart. Tell me what you want”
Oh. “I want your fingers,” I blurt out. “But it can’t be too much.”
“Of course not. I’ll go slow. You want slow, right?” A finger slides up and down over my mound, teasing the cleft of my pussy. “Nice and slow.”
I whimper, because for some reason, I don’t want nice and slow. I want more than just languid teasing. But I said he could lead, so I try to relax. His finger trails up and down over my pussy again, up and down, and finally dips inside the seam of my folds, stroking through the wetness there. It’s a caressing tease, and I squirm against his hand because it doesn’t feel like enough. He’s not going deep. He’s not touching me in the right spots. “Matty…”
“Do you need more?”
“I do,” I whine, panting. “Please give me more.”
His other hand reaches up to cup my breast, and he gives it a squeeze. “Like that?”
“Between my legs. I need it between my legs.” I rock my hips, trying desperately to make contact against his teasing fingers.
“Stay still for me, then,” he murmurs. “I don’t want you sliding off my lap.”
I do as he commands, and when his fingers skate through the wetness of my cleft again, I gasp when he lifts his hand and presses it to the inside of one thigh, indicating I should spread my legs for him. Once I do, his hand goes between my thighs again, and his finger strokes through my slickness once more, then pushes against a strange spot in my body.