Page 65 of Full Out Fiend
I’m simultaneously turned on and grateful that he’s giving me a pass for tonight. It’s not that I don’t want him. Fuck, if I’m honest with myself, I really do want him—but I’m already so hot and bothered I can’t think straight. I couldn’t make a lucid decision about what to do or how far to go if my life depended on it.
I am, however, worried that his confidence is about to be shattered.
“Got it. But I should warn you—I don’t know if this is going to work,” I caution. “I had my vibrator on the highest setting right before it died. I doubt I could even get myself off right now without—”
He leans in and pinches both my nipples until I arch into his touch. “Don’t you dare doubt me,” he whispers haughtily before biting my earlobe and trailing more nibbles down my neck.
His hands graze down my front, caressing gently over my bump before he grips each of my thighs and forces my legs wider.
“Your orgasm starts in your brain, angel.” He’s back in my ear, his breath hot on my tingling skin as one single finger slicks through my folds.
“Do you ever think about that night?”
I whimper, already unable to form coherent responses to his questions. My brain can barely make sense of all the places he’s touching me. His mouth on my neck, one hand woven into the hair at my nape. His other hand is trailing featherlight touches along my pussy, touching all my intimate parts while cruelly avoiding my clit.
“I think about it all the time. When I had you pressed up against my bedroom wall. When I sankallthe way inside you for the first time?”
One finger enters me. Then another. I wrap my arms around his neck and rest my forehead on his shoulder. When he crooks those perfect fingers forward, I whimper on command. I’m so relieved I might cry.
“Fuck. You weresowet for me that night. You loved the way I touched you. The way my tongue felt on your skin.”
He crooks his fingers forward again, then finally—mercifully—his thumb lands on my clit. He doesn’t move, though. He just holds me. Holds me and presses hard on my G-spot and my aching, swollen nub at the same time.
“Do you remember sitting on my face, angel? Do you remember holding on to the headboard and riding me until you saw stars? I can’t even look at my goddamn bed without thinking of you and remembering the force of you grinding down on me. The way you danced back and forth, begging me for more…”
The intensity of my moan surprises me. But the heat’s already ebbing out from my core, and a familiar tingle starts in my toes. His hand is just barely moving now—his thumb rubbing hard, rhythmic circles over my clit as his fingers flex and dig into that perfect target inside me.
“I love it when you beg, Daphne. I love it when my name comes out of your mouth right before I make you gush.”
“Fuck… I’m close… Fielding. Please…”
I grind my forehead into his shoulder, so fucking desperate for release.
“Please,” I whimper one last time, right before the intensity of the buildup peaks.
“I’ll give you anything, angel. Starting with this orgasm and ending with forever. Now come for me.”
I shatter around him, against him, because of him. I shatter, and every little piece of me is made whole in that moment. I buck against his hand, and he works me through the orgasm, neither of us stilling until I’m completely wrung out and limp in his arms.
Appreciatively, I lean into his body and press my lips into the skin between his neck and his collarbone. He makes no move to pull away or put space between us. I ride out the gentle pulses of aftershock with his hand buried deep inside me until my body is lax, my mind is at ease, and all that registers is his arms cradling me against his chest as he carries me back to my bedroom.
Chapter 35
Fielding
Maybeitwasn’twiseto plug in the waffle maker right where I made her come last night.
Yet here I am, leaning against the counter in the exact spot I was standing a few hours ago, stirring batter with the hand I had buried in her pussy. I adjust my boner in my gray sweatpants—again—just as she makes her way into the kitchen.
“Good morning,” I greet as Daphne squints her eyes closed with a yawn. “Waffles will be ready soon. I’ve already got bacon and eggs on the table for you.”
Most of her morning sickness has passed, but she still feels better if she eats as soon as she wakes up. Too long, and her stomach gets queasy. Then nothing sounds good by the time she gets to lunch or dinner.
Instead of heading to the table, she surprises me and starts into the kitchen. In fact, she’s walking directly toward me.
I watch, desperately trying to play it cool, as she makes her way across the room and stands much closer than usual. Unsure of what she wants, I freeze. I refuse to fail if this is some sort of test to gauge if things are awkward or different between us after last night.
My muscles stiffen when she wraps both arms around my bicep and nuzzles against the fabric of my T-shirt. “Thank you,” she murmurs, smiling sweetly before kissing my shoulder and turning back toward the table.