touching. I lick my lips and meet her gaze when I return my fingers, pressing slow, firm circles around her clit.
Her hips press up into it, expression crumbling. “Oh, god.”
I don’t even recognize the sound that comes from my chest, something rough and hungry, but I brace myself over her to duck in for another kiss and she meets me open-mouthed, eager.
It’s completely an accident when my fingers slip—pure drunken lack of coordination—dipping in beneath the edge of her panties. But the sound she makes into my mouth is full of equal parts shock and approval, so I pull back to watch my hand push clumsily under the fabric. I feel, hear, see her chest hitch, hips squirming beneath me as I finally touch her, skin-to-skin.
“Fuck, you’re so wet for me.” My fingers slip around in her folds until they find her clit, and she bucks into it, mouth falling open so invitingly that I have to lick into it. She’s fighting to stay quiet. I can hear it in the tense little bitten-off whimpers she makes into my mouth. Her hips keep working against my hand and it’s driving me fucking crazy, how badly she wants it.
Alcohol always makes me lazy and loose-lipped, and that’s exactly how I feel when I breathe into her mouth, “God, I want to eat your pussy.” It’s just pure, trashy truth. I love eating pussy, and I’m good at it, and in that moment, I want so badly to taste what my fingers are doing, to make her fall to pieces on my tongue.
But even though her face screws up in pain-pleasure at the words, she doesn’t ask me to.
That’s fine.
I hold her eyes with mine, wanting to know she’s okay but not daring to ask. Asking that pissed her off last time, and all I want is to make her feel good. Her legs spread just a bit wider, sensing what I’m about to do, opening for me. I circle around her core and slowly, carefully, sink a finger into her.
“Oh,” she whispers in a sharp intake, but she doesn’t withdraw. No, she pushes her hips against it, making it sink in deeper, shoulders tensing, breath caught.
Yeah, she’s better than okay. She’s tight and beautiful and perfect. Her head grinds back against the bed, pale hair glowing like a halo around the long column of her throat. I rub my thumb over her clit as she fucks herself on my finger, pushing in another, and the sounds I can hear her trapping in her chest are making my dick throb with the rhythm of them.
“Don’t stop,” she cries in a rushing exhale, hand gripping my arm as it moves against and inside of her. I don’t stop. I’m so fixated on needing to see her come that my wrist is trembling under the strain of it. I want to watch her feel it—feel good. I want to know that it’s nothing but our two bodies doing it. I want to know that it’s something I’m giving her.
And then it happens, the wave of release rolling up her body, starting somewhere deep inside, clenching around my fingers, mouth parted, lips red, eyes slamming shut.
“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god,” she chants, jaw going slack. I can’t stop myself; I kiss her. I kiss her hard, deep, furious. I want to taste all the good she’s feeling. I want to breathe it into my lungs like secondhand smoke and hold it there, because it’s ours.
She shudders beneath me, hips writhing around, and then whimpers herself still.
Somehow, I’m just as breathless as she is, like I’m the one still shaking with the aftershocks. The fine hair framing her face is damp with sweat and I push it back from her forehead, pressing a kiss into her temple.
“Fuck, I’m sorry, I’ve got to….” I reach down to fumble with the fly on my jeans, because I am not climbing down from the roof with a wad of jizz in my boxers.
Vandy blinks like she’s coming back into her own body, movements languid as she reaches for me. “I can—”
I gently push her wrist away. “No, that’s not—” Not the point, I want to say. Not important. I’m pretty sure I just jumped ten spots on my ‘steady and slow’ sex-with-Vandy risk management plan. If we jump any further, I might as well just shred the damn thing.
She pouts, watching my hand disappear into my pants. “Or I could watch you do it.” Her