Page 47 of Delta

"You ever come so hard you forget your name, Bryn?"

"No." It's a breath, barely audible.

"Put your hands over your head and spread your legs." His command is quiet, insistent, dripping with promise. "Be a good girl for me. Let me show you what real ecstasy feels like."

"I'm not a good girl, Rush."

"No, you're not. I like that about you. But you'll be a good girl for me, won’t you?"

Fuck.

I'm shaking with need. My thighs squeeze together, heat pulsing through me. My nipples are so hard they ache, and my clit is throbbing.

I refuse to give in so easily, however. I just stare him down.

"Stubborn one, aintcha?" He grabs my hands and moves them behind my back, pinioning them in one hand. "Maybe you need a little reminder of what you're missing out on, then."

"Perhaps I do," I whisper.

His fingers walk down my belly, and then I gasp as he presses the pad of his index finger to my clit; he lets out a rough, dark chuckle at my sharp inhale. "Like that, do you?"

"A little."

"A little, she says. As if I can't smell the need dripping out of this sweet, hot, tight, wet, little cunt."

I hate that word. I hate it. It's gross. Yet from him? Maybe it's the accent, I don't know. I just know when he says it—with a crisp enunciation, the 'T' popping—my core spasms.

He traces a finger up my seam. "See?" he shows me his glistening fingertip. "Drippin' for me."

Fuck, fuck, fuck. I want his mouth. I need to come. It's an inferno inside me, pressure building in my core like a malfunctioning steam engine

Touch me—touch me. Goddammit, touch me.

The words won't come out; sometimes I hate how stubborn I am.

“Still not convinced, are you?" he grins. "Very well, then. This is fun for me. Maybe I’ll take my time. Tease you for fuckin' hours. You ever been edged till you're ready to kill someone for an orgasm?"

I just stare at him, refusing to answer.

"It's a simple question, Bryn. Have you?

"No," I whisper.

"Is that what you want? Want me to finger your hard little clit till you're right about to come, and then stop? Do that again and again and fuckin' again until you're ready to fuckin' snap?"

"Maybe I do," I snarl, lying through my gritted teeth. "Or maybe I just want you to stop goofing around and fuck me already."

He laughs. "Oh, no, no, no. That won't do at all." He touches his lips to my ear. "I like to play with my food."

I shudder at the tickling of his hot breath, my core clamping, thighs squeezing. "Rush…"

"Wossat, love?"

I can't bring myself to ask him to touch me. Capitulation isn't in my blood.

He swipes a finger against my clit and I twitch, gasping. He keeps my wrists pinned behind my back, his forehead against mine as he watches his finger slide upward over my seam, pause, and then he scrapes a fingernail over my clit. A ragged moan escapes me, then, and that's when he plunges his two middle fingers inside me without warning, scooping my essence and smearing it over my clit—my knees almost give out. He hooks those fingers inside me again, and I'm held up by his touch inside me.

"Fuckin' hell, Bryn. So fuckin' tight, so fuckin' wet. Drippin' for me, you are." He withdraws his fingers and drags his wet middle finger over my lips. "Taste yourself, Gorgeous. Tell me. Do you taste as sweet as you smell?"