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She did, draping one of her legs over his and reveling in the sensations he created. He slid a finger inside her, and she sucked in a breath, then moaned and rocked her hips as he pleasured her.

His lips and tongue fluttered over the skin of her neck, and suddenly his hand was gone from between her legs.

“No,” she whimpered. “Ollie–”

He grasped her hand, gripping his arm. “Show me how you like it,” he said and placed her hand between her legs, his hand resting over hers. “You’ve made yourself come before?”

She nodded.

“So hot, Tarley. Show me.”

She’d had the privacy to explore her own body—now that she lived alone—but she’d never thought someone would watch her. The idea of Ollie watching her excited her, her heart beating with the bewitching idea of it.

He pressed his hand against hers. “I need to see.”

She slid a finger into the silk of her hot warmth, then up to the apex where her clit was swollen. Moaning at the pleasure of her own ministrations, she rubbed her backside against Ollie behind her as she rolled her hips, seeking release.

He grabbed hold of her hip and drew in quick breaths as he watched, squeezing harder. Then, as if he couldn’t stand just watching, he slid his other hand under her tunic up over her ribs to a breast, curving around and kneading, then grasping a nipple.

She gasped at the pressure, feeling it like a jolt between her legs.

“You like that, Princess?” he asked, doing it again.

She bucked against his erection, and he groaned. “Fuck.” The word was rumbled, like thunder deep inside his chest. “Fuck,” he repeated. “I like how you love yourself.”

With slow, deliberate circles, she continued. She felt powerful, arching her back, pressing her head against Ollie’s shoulder as she pulled her own pleasure from inside out. She panted, then moaned, louder now, each sound stacking upon the next, less restrained with each passing second.

Ollie pressed his hips against her backside, his hard length finding resistance against her ass as she rocked, her rhythm quicker, his breath quickening as she did.

“Fuck, Tarley,” he murmured near her ear. Then with one arm banded around her, he reached down and covered her hand with his, inserting a finger inside her once more.

She cried out. “Yes. Please,” she panted.

“I want to feel you come.” The added weight of his hand against hers, the warmth of his palm hot against hers as she moved against her own fingers and now his only increased the sensations. He ground his hips against her backside. Warmth spread from where she was touching herself, to the feel of his finger sliding in and out of her.

He inserted another finger, murmuring, “So hot.”

All of it, the sensations, his body, his words, her touch became overwhelming. The pleasure whipped up like a storm in the forest, overtaking everything with its intensity. Her breaths came quicker, sharper, building inside her chest as she panted. “Please,” she cried and rocked against both of their hands. “Please,” she repeated over and over.

“Yes, Princess,” Ollie said into her ear. “Let go.”

And she did. All the worry, the struggle, the loneliness broke apart inside of her, as her body tightened around his fingers, around her heart, and cracked everything under the pressure. “I’m coming,” she whimpered. Heat raced through her, burning her up, disintegrating everything else until all that was left was her. And Ollie.

“So tight,” Ollie said gruffly. “Fuck. I want to feel you grip my cock.” Then he groaned, pressing his lips against her bare shoulder.

The storm eased, breaking up, until she relaxed, loose and languid in the glow of her release, and sighed. Relief flooded her, and she couldn’t keep the smile from her face.

Ollie withdrew his fingers from inside her and ran his hand over her body from her hip back up to her breast, squeezing it as he pressed kisses against her exposed skin.

She moved, withdrawing her leg draped over his hip, but Ollie reached down and grasped her thigh. “Not so fast,” he said. “Where do you think you’re going?”

She stilled and twisted, tilting her head to look up at him. His eyes were dark, like that stormy forest—gray, brown, dark green, black—and her heart lurched in her chest, then found that quick rhythm once more.

“Breakfast?” she asked, though her voice sounded breathy and insubstantial in her own ears.

“Not yet.” He shook his head and lifted his eyebrows. “It’s my turn to make you come.”

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