Page 56 of That First Night

My fingers trail through her slit and I feel wetness coat them as a growl comes from deep in my throat. “You’re soaked, baby.”

“Yes,” she moans.

“You’re always so ready for me.” I can feel her hips start to rock in a rhythmic motion as I slide a finger inside her. I slowly move it in and out as my thumb continues to press firmly on her clit in slow circles.

“More,” she says, barely above a whisper.

“More of what, Peyton?”

“More.”

“I need you to be more specific. Tell me what you want more of.”

I can hear her breath catch, but she whispers, “Your fingers. I need more.”

I withdraw my fingers to throw the pillow away that was on me and pull her to straddle my lap. My hands grip her hips, and I’m sure she can feel the steel between my legs because sweatpants do nothing to hide my raging erection. She lifts up to allow my hand to dip between us and I don’t waste any time before diving two fingers deep inside of her.

“Take what you need, baby.” My mouth finds the hollow of her neck while her hands cage me in as she grips the back of the couch. “Ride my hand.”

I can tell she’s on the verge of tipping over the edge because her pussy is squeezing my fingers. At that moment, I press them in as deep as I can, and I know I've hit her G-spot when my name falls off her lips with a moan.

“Thomas, don’t stop.”

I don’t plan on fucking stopping anytime soon, that’s for sure. I slip a third finger in. Feeling her tight pussy stretch for me. “So fucking tight,” I breathe into her neck.

“Thomas, Thomas,” she repeats as her hips continue to rock back and forth on my fingers deep inside of her. I know that if she keeps this up, I am going to come in my sweatpants. I haven’t done that since middle school.

“Come for me, baby.”

Seconds later, her moans grow louder, and I feel the walls of her pussy contracting around my fingers. I will never get over how sexy she looks when she lets go for me. Her body is shaking, and her breathing is rapid and frantic as her head falls back, coming down from her high.

While I withdraw my hand from her, our eyes lock, and she attempts to regulate her breathing. I slowly bring my fingers up to my mouth where I insert them and suck them clean. “Mmm,” I moan. “You taste so fucking sweet, Peyton.”

“That's…” she brings her bottom lip into her mouth. “That’s so hot.”

“No, baby.” I smirk. “Your orgasm is fucking hot.”

She does that thing again when she’s nervous and I’ll be damned if it isn’t the cutest, but also the most frustrating thing she does. She has no reason to be nervous around me. She tries to move off of my lap, but my hands grip her hips and press her down onto me so she can feel me. Her eyes meet mine and I can see her cheeks flush.

“Why are you nervous?” I ask her as I take my hand and cup the side of her face. My thumb delicately brushes the skin on her cheek bone.

“I guess,” she pauses for a moment as if she is trying to figure out how to put words together. “I guess, I want—”

“What do you want, Peyton?”

“I want you to fuck me.”

I don’t know who the hell I think I am.

When did I turn into the girl openly asking to be fucked six ways to Sunday by someone who looks like he belongs on the cover of a GQ magazine? Damn it, Avery. She was right about the right guy doing that for you. Me sitting on his lap like this is making it hard to catch my breath after the best orgasm of my life. I mean, was this the best one? Or was it the one where he had me sprawled out on the kitchen counter? Fuck if I know. But it seems to get better and better each time.

I want Thomas. There’s no denying that.

Is asking him to have sex crossing so many lines? Yes.

Do I care about these stupid lines anymore? No. I mean, yes. Wait, no.

Relax brain. Let me have this moment, even if it’s just this once.