not in a bad way. Or actually, in a really bad way, like an “I shouldn’t be doing this” kind of way.
His hands both slip down a bit until they’re resting on my butt. He squeezes gently, and this only makes the ache between my legs more apparent. “You’re making the pain worse,” I say through my breath. I give up. I need this. I want this. And I don’t care what he thinks of me after.
Now his hands are slipping beneath the waistband of my pajama bottoms and his skin is touching my skin. “Pain creates pleasure,” he says. His words vibrate against my ear, intensifying everything.
With his fingertips digging into the fleshy part of my butt, the pain does make a sharp turn into something much different. A dull throb pulsates within me, and my body arches forward, now pressing against his very hard part. He must be taking the hint that things aren’t slowing down for me but rather getting more intense because one hand wraps completely around my thigh as his finger presses against the spot that might make noises come from my throat. My entire lower body clenches and tightens against his touch while his gentle ways become lost as one of his fingers swims into me like it’s being sucked into a vortex. My knees don’t want to remain strong, and I’m not sure they can, but if they give out, his finger will also move. I lock my legs tightly, allowing this pleasure to reach every nerve ending within my body. He’s clearly skilled, knowing exactly what angle to press into and where the target for pleasure is hidden. Is it the same in every woman? He found it with such ease. Wetness coats his hand as it continues to glide smoothly between my legs, allowing him to pump his finger harder and higher. I realize my hands are clutched tightly against his biceps, and I’m now propped up on his knee as he holds me still. Never have I done anything like this while standing, never mind being perched on a man’s knee as he pleasures me. His knee is pressing against the crevice of my butt cheeks, and it makes this all feel even more wrong than it did a minute ago.
His other hand braces my back so I can lean back into the position allowing him to maneuver me in a way that has me liquefied to the point of no strength. My body involuntarily bucks against his hip and cries pour from my throat. “This feels so incredible, please don’t let it stop. Oh, dear God, you’re amazing.”
“Doll, I won’t ever let it stop if that’s what you need from me.” His voice is so guttural and strong even while in this situation. He’s very confident and sure of himself, so much so that he doesn’t seem awkward at all, which makes this easier, more enjoyable, actually.
Another finger slips into me and it’s welcomed with ease. The twisting and pressing grows harder, and I’m pretty sure I might wake up the entire house in a minute if things do end shortly but I don’t want them to end shortly. I want this to go on for as long as possible.
My body weakens after a minute but the pressure builds within me and the throbs turn into clenches and tremors. Warmth fills every inch of my body, and a numbness that brings along a sensation I don’t think I’ve ever felt in my entire life moves through me like a rumble of thunder. I shriek as my body jerks forward, feeling his hand slowly slip away while also gliding along the back side of my butt and up my back, which creates another round of waves, forcing me to buck against him once more.
And now I’m mortified. It’s instant. I let this man do something to me I would never let a man do unless I were in a monogamous relationship with him. He didn’t try to kiss me, and he didn’t try more. I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing, but this cannot happen again. I might need it to happen again.
“Are you okay?” he whispers into my ear.
Sound doesn’t escape my throat, so instead I nod my head against his shoulder.
“Was it the whisky? Are you going to hate me in the morning?” he asks.
“Maybe,” I whimper. “I might feel the opposite, though, too.”