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"You."

I tighten my grip on the back of her neck, enough to make her whimper.

“You’re going to pleasure me,” I tell her. “You can use one hand. The other better be touching yourself.”

I need the image. I need to see how Alessa touches herself, so I know how to touch her. It’s the only way to learn about a new lover.

Besides, I get off on telling her what to do, on exhibiting this display of prowess and power. I’m one ofthosebitches, and I don’t have an ounce of shame admitting it.

“Yes, ma’am.” Her whisper is far from pitiful. And, I hate to say it because it jerks me from my fantasy, her hand knows exactly how to ascend beneath my dress and rub the place that I refused to cover with tights tonight. I’d rather go cold than restrict her access to my body.

Her hand gently rubs me between the legs. The slightest contact makes me sigh and want more. More friction. More pressure. Moreher.

My hips start moving on their own accord, wanting nothing more than to be closer to her hand, even with my underwear in the way. But I stop myself before my desire overwhelms me.

I release my grip on her neck.

“Take your time,” I say through gritted teeth. This is a test for me as much as it is for her. Can I keep my cool? Can I resist fucking her fingers and rubbing my pussy on her lips before she takes that turn on her own? I don’t want to do too much, too fast.

Take. My. Time.

I guide her hand back beneath my skirt and Alessa takes the hint.

She slides her palm from one thigh to the next, taking care not to miss a single millimeter of skin. It drives me crazy. Then her fingers curl under my lingerie. Her fingernail grazes my clit.

God, I want to kiss her. Or bite her. Anything to make her scream her want for me.

Alessa's fingertips run along the length of my slit. They're coated in my arousal by the time she reaches my clit again. She rubs it in slow circles.

I can't help but let out a quiet moan. It encourages her. The circles she draws get tighter and faster until—

“How’s that?” Her tone implores me to give her praise.

“Good.” Almost too good. I don’t have to tell her what to do or give her pointers.

I can’t help it. I have to ask. But I’m still somewhat in a sane frame of mind to make sure I don’t offend her – the last thing I want to do when someone has her nails near my most vulnerable body parts is offend her.

“You’ve done this before, haven’t you, Alessa?”

Her hand falters and rests against my thigh. I keep my legs open, my skirt hiked up around my waist. I don’t care how I look. I just want an answer.

“Do you want me to lie?”

“Never lie to me, Alessa. You won’t be in trouble if you tell me the truth about your experiences before me.” I force back a laugh. “Or your lack thereof.”

I want to know. I also want her to trust me, like I’m expected to trust her.

“I have, madam.” She bites her lip, anticipating my response.

“But you never had other kinds of sex before me.”

“Not what you’re thinking, no.”

“But you’ve fingered other women.”

“Only a couple, madam.”

Only a couple.A couple more than I previously believed. While I know this shouldn’t irk me, it does. It’s my fault. The moment Alessa told me she was a virgin, my stupid sex-addled brain insisted she was a virgin to everything but maybe kissing. I never figured she might be familiar with putting her hand down a woman’s pants and bringing her carnal pleasure. Does this also mean I wasn’t the first to go down on her and give her oral pleasure?