against myself. My eyelids flinched with the pleasure/pain.
“Good pain?” he asked.
“You were right,” I whispered. “It does exist.”
He clenched his hands around his kneecaps. And I imagined he wanted to grab me and was stopping himself, and that restraint…God, it was so sexy. And I wanted more than anything in the world at this moment to break that restraint. To test it, over and over again, until he snapped.
“What else do you like?” he whispered.
I pushed the palm of my hand harder against my pussy and arched into it, rolling my hips against the pressure.
“I like that,” I said, biting my lip.
“Take off your shorts,” he said.
I shook my head, smiling at him.
“You,” I told him.
He reached for me with big, thick hands, calloused and nicked. Scarred not by the fire, but by the usual things. Life things.
I held my breath, waiting for their touch. It seemed in that moment I’d been waiting for his touch forever. My whole life. He grabbed hold of the bottom edges of my shorts, his hands brushing over the tops of my thighs in the process, and I gasped. His eyes lifted to mine and he stroked his thumb against my leg again.
I felt that touch inside my skin.
Dylan was touching me. And I read some kind of surprise in his face.
After all this time, we were touching.
After another second he yanked the shorts down my legs, revealing my old bikini underwear. The blue ones with the white flowers.
God. It had to be this underwear.
The elastic bit into my skin and red hair curled over the edges.
“You’re a redhead,” he whispered, touching those curls, and then he touched the underwear, right over my core. Right where I ached. “You’re wet.”
“I’m…” on fire, dying. Hurting.
Unable to wait, unable to do this at his pace, I slipped my fingers beneath the tight blue crotch of my underwear, and we both looked down to see the rolling edges of my knuckles as I made my way down to my clit.
“Spread your legs wider,” he whispered and I complied. I lifted my knees, bracing my feet against the edge of the cushion.
“You are so fucking gorgeous,” he said, his eyes moving over my body. My shoulders. My breasts. My hand between my legs.
Dylan watching was hotter than I’d expected, hotter, almost, than I could take, and I squeezed my clit between my fingers.
“Does that feel good?” he asked.
I nodded, squeezing it harder and then letting it go. In time with my heartbeat.
Slowly, he reached forward and touched the top trembling edge of my breast, just where it rose above my camisole. Just his finger there across that small curve.
I jumped. Startled, shocked even. His eyes were locked on mine and I couldn’t look away. My fingers under my panties slipped farther, lower, until I was inside of myself, reaching deep and high and as hard as I could.
That had always felt good. Always been enough. But somehow with his eyes on me, with his hand on my breast, it wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough.
“Dylan…” I breathed, hoping he’d understand and he’d just do it. Just push my hands out of the way and take over. That’s what I needed him to do, because the things I did alone in my trailer, they weren’t enough. Not nearly enough.
“You can do it,” he said, cupping my whole breast in his hand, his thumb right over the hard edge of my nipple.
“But I want you.”
His face was flushed. Blotchy, almost. His jaw as hard as granite.
“I want you to fill me up,” I whispered.
But all he did was press my nipple between his thumb and finger and pinch it, slowly building up the pressure until I groaned. Until I felt like I was being pulled into pieces.
“More,” I begged. “More…”
“Keep going,” he told me, and I lifted my hips up off the chair.
“Dylan—”
“This is what you get,” he breathed. “All you get right now.”
Oh God. Fuck him. My face twisted and I lifted my other hand, using both between my legs, keeping up that heartbeat on my clit, and slipping two other fingers inside of myself.
Between the look on his face and my hands between my legs I was lost in the pleasure, swept up in some kind of endless tide, and then he squeezed my nipple as hard as I could take it, as if he knew the very specific calibrations of pain and pleasure in my body, and I screamed. I screamed and arched up off that chair.