Page 61 of Practice Makes Perfect (Pine Barren University #2)
I brush lower, through soft curls already damp with arousal, and gently part her.
She’s soaking, molten, and the discovery sends a jolt straight to my cock that has me breathing through my nose like I’m furious in the penalty box.
And, when I stroke her with one finger, barely grazing, she whimpers.
“Good?” I grin.
“Yes,” she says, her half-closed eyes and pink lips parted, a vision.
I continue exploring, watching for every tell—the catch in her breathing when I brush her clit, the way her hips lift when I increase pressure, the frustrated sound she makes when I deliberately slow down. But she remains so quiet, so controlled, even as her body responds.
Years of conditioning, probably.
Years of not being asked, not being heard.
Well, that ends tonight.
“Can you show me where you like to be touched?” I ask, stilling my hand.
Her eyes fly open, panic flashing like a warning light. “I… don’t know.”
I study her face. “You don’t know what you like?”
“I’ve never really thought about it. Usually guys just… do their thing.”
That anger surges again, but I breathe through it. Because this isn’t about my righteous indignation or overwhelming desire to meet her previous partners in a dark alley. It’s about her pleasure, her discovery, and I don’t want to make it weird for her.
“How about this?” I resume gentle strokes, watching her face. “I’ll try different things, and you tell me what feels good. Think of it as a fun science experiment.”
Relief softens her features. “Yeah. OK. I can do that.”
I start with feather-light touches, barely grazing her folds, and she squirms with impatience. “More pressure,” she says, and the directness makes me grin.
“Like this?” I press harder, dragging my finger from her entrance up to her clit with deliberate slowness.
She nods, and I repeat the motion, mesmerized by the way her eyes flutter closed, lips parting on a silent moan. When I reach her clit, I circle it gently, and her whole body jerks like she’s been hit with a defibrillator, her eyes shooting open.
“Too much?” I freeze.
“No, no.” Quick, desperate. “It’s good. Just… intense.”
I nod, continuing the circles but even lighter, even slower. Soon, her breathing steadies, then gradually quickens as I maintain the rhythm. Her hips start moving in sync with my touch, seeking more pressure, more friction, more everything.
“Is this how you touch yourself?” Genuine curiosity colors my voice.
A small, shy nod. “Sometimes, but usually faster.”
“Faster?” I increase the pace, and she moans louder, uninhibited.
“Yes. Just like that. Don’t stop.”
I keep the rhythm steady, completely transfixed by her transformation. The furrow of concentration in her brow, the flush spreading like wildfire across her skin, the way her lips part wider with each breath—all of it combines into a picture that’s stunning.
And when I deliberately slow down, she makes a sound that’s almost a growl.
“Why’d you stop?” Eyes open, accusing.
“Didn’t stop.” I can’t hide my smile. “Just changed tactics.”
She grabs my wrist with surprising strength. “Faster. Please.”
I obey, and she’s moving her hips now with abandon, chasing her pleasure without shame and without waiting for a guy to dictate the pace. She’s close—I can feel it in the way her thighs tremble, the pitch of her breathing, the flutter of muscles under my touch—and I’m ready to get her there.
“Can I put my fingers inside you?” I ask.
Eyes closed, head thrown back against the pillow, she nods frantically. “Yes.”
I ease one finger in slowly, feeling her tight heat grip me, and I have to bite back a groan. She’s so wet, so perfectly snug around just one finger that my cock throbs painfully, imagining how she’ll feel around me if I’m lucky enough to get that far with her.
Think about that later, I try to transmit a message south. This is about her.
I add a second finger carefully, watching for any sign of discomfort, but she only moans louder, hips lifting to take me deeper without any hesitation. I curl my fingers, searching for that spot that’ll change her world—has any guy bothered before?—while my thumb circles her clit.
When I find it—that slightly different texture, that sweet spot—she gasps sharp enough to cut glass, her back bowing off the bed.
“There.” Her voice is a desperate, gasping moan. “Right fucking there.”
I keep my fingers pressed to that spot, moving in small, firm strokes while my thumb works her clit.
She’s panting now, little whimpers escaping with each exhale, her hips moving erratically.
My gaze travels her body, drinking in every detail, and locks on her breasts—those perfect pink nipples begging for attention.
“Can I suck your nipples?” I say.
She nods, and I shift position slightly, still keeping my fingers moving inside her with the same relentless rhythm, and capture one peak in my mouth. The second my lips close around it, she cries out, her inner muscles clenching around my fingers.
I suck gently, swirling my tongue around the sensitive bud while my fingers continue their assault on her G-spot. When I graze the peak with my teeth—barely a hint of pressure—her entire body goes rigid as a board. She clamps down on my fingers and comes with a shout, her back arching.
And I love it.
I love the way her nails dig into my shoulders hard enough that I’ll have marks.
I love the way she shakes apart beneath me.
I love the way her face contorts with pleasure.
I love the way she says my name over and over like a prayer.
“Oh god, oh god, Mike, fuck, oh god?—”
I work her through it with patience, keeping my movements steady but increasingly gentler, watching in absolute awe as wave after wave crashes over her. She’s magnificent like this, completely uninhibited, taking her pleasure without shame or restraint.
When the tremors finally subside and she stills on the bed, satiated and exhausted for the moment at least, I slowly withdraw my fingers. This earns me a small whimper, and I press a kiss to her sternum, where her heart pounds like she’s just played three periods without a rest on the bench.
She opens her eyes finally, looking dazed and soft and thoroughly debauched. The earlier shyness has evaporated, replaced by wonder. “Jesus,” she says.
“Good?” I grin, knowing the answer but needing to hear it.
She laughs—relaxed and genuine and musical. “It’s never felt like that before.”
“Like what?”
“Like my soul left my body and had to Apple Maps its way back.”
Now it’s my turn to laugh. “You use Apple Maps?”
“Shut up. My brain’s not fully online yet.” She shoves weakly at my shoulder. “Okay, your turn, how would you like?—”
“I’d like whatever you like,” I say, as I trace lazy patterns on her hip. “Want to go again?”
“But I just…” Her eyes go wide as dinner plates. “Again? Like… right now?”
“Yeah, if you’d like to.” I can’t keep the eagerness from my voice. “The female body is capable of multiple orgasms. It’s basic biology.”
“I’ve never…” Pink floods her cheeks. “I’ve never come twice in a row. Actually, most of the time I don’t even come once during sex.”
The words hit me like a blindside check. “You’re kidding.”
“It’s not a big deal!” She rushes to reassure me, like somehow her lack of orgasms is her fault. “Really, it’s fine, I?—”
“It’s a very big deal.” I keep my voice gentle but firm. “And, by the sounds of it, you’ve got years of catching up to do, so I’m happy to help with your studies.”
“Mike?” she says, suddenly serious. “Thank you.”
“You don’t have to thank me for giving you orgasms. That’s like thanking someone for letting you breathe.”
She looks away, something shadowing her face. “But it’s not normal, is it? So… thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” I say softly. “And just so you know, watching you come is definitely in my top five favorite things.”
She laughs, shoving at me again. “Top five? What’s the competition?”
“Well, there’s my mom’s lasagna…” I pretend to think. “Yeah, you’re definitely up there.”
“Wow,” she smirks. “I’m truly honored to rank alongside layers of pasta and bolognaise sauce.”
“You should be.” I shrug. “And, hey, if you work at it, we might get you to number one before too long…”
“Game on,” she says.
And I grin and decide this is my new favorite sport.