Page 44 of Wish Upon A Star

I fall forward, head dropping against his neck. His breath is on my scalp.

I’m so close, but something is preventing me from breaking through to what’s beyond.

“Wes?” I whisper. It’s a plea. I don’t know what I’m even asking. “Wes, I—”

“Stop?” He breathes.

I shake my head vigorously. “No!” I hiss, my voice a squeak.

“Then what? What do you need, Jo?”

I don’t know how to say it.

Just more.

I grab his wrist—the hand at my sex. Shaking all over, terrified at my own daring, I press my palm flat against the back of his hand, fingers tugging to the spaces between his fingers. Lift, guiding his touch up, away from my sex. Up. To the edge of the waistband. I’m gasping. Not having his touch is, suddenly, the worst kind of torture. I’m gasping as if I’d run up the stairs. I press his fingers and palm against the warm skin of my belly, just above the elastic waistband. And then, guide his hand under.

“That’s what you want?” he whispers.

I nod. Words fail me.

“Trust me?”

I nod again.

He lifts his knee, the one I’m sitting on, toppling me toward him. At the same time, he lays backward onto the bed, and just like that, I’m lying on top of him, and I feel him beneath me, feel his hand trapped between our bodies—and I feel something else, too. His sex, a thick ridge against my hip.

Before I can dwell on that, he’s scooting up onto the bed further. His mouth finds mine, then, and I’m lost in the wilderness of his kiss, caught up in the wonder of his tongue and lips on mine, seeing stars as my eyes squeeze shut tight. His hands roam me, coasting over my shoulders, both of them, over my back. Tracing my spine. He clutches my bottom gently, fingers dimpling, and then he’s caressing and petting, and if I wasn’t already breathless from his kiss I’d lose my breath at that touch.

Oh, to be touched.

To be wanted.

Needed.

He caresses me as if it’s as much for his pleasure as mine.

I rake my hand through his hair and claw the other into the thick meat of his hard shoulder where it rounds to become bicep.

And then he rolls.

He’s above me.

On his side, then, not on top of me but angled against me, and he’s still kissing me and his tongue is eager and quick and insistent, and I give him mine, taste his mouth and our tongues soar and sing against the other’s.

His hand traces the circumference of my breast; I gasp into his mouth. Lower, then, tickling over my navel, dipping in, a tease. Down to the edge of my panties, pausing. Waiting—asking? I repeat my action from before: press my hand on his and push his touch lower, under the elastic.

When he takes over, certain that I’m still wanting it, I grasp his wrist in a vise grip, then force myself to loosen.

He’s touching me, then, touching my bare skin. At first, his hand just cups. Delves, fingertips pointing downward, palm over my clitoris, middle finger against the seam. I gasp, breath sucking in sharply. My eyes flick open, and I see his hand under the green silk of my panties.

And then, I feel him touch me. His middle finger drags upward and slips between the lips. I whimper, gasp. Hips lift—it’s a plea, an encouragement. He understands, thank god. Another brush of his finger, downward this time, and when he draws his touch back upward, the thick digit slides in, a hint deeper.

Oh god.

I can’t even form thoughts. Especially when that touch surges deeper, and he’s penetrating me with his finger, slowly, gently, pressing inward. His touch isinsideme. I can’t breathe—can’t, can’t. And then he draws it out, and my breath drags in with a shuddery shrill gasp, as if I’m breaking the surface from the depths of an ocean. And now—oh, and now he brings his finger, slick and warm, against my clit, and I shake, a sharp thrash of shocked sensation. Nothing like touching myself. Worlds apart.

One touch, and I come apart. His middle finger presses oh-so-lightly against me, and lightning strikes with blasting intensity. The edge is shattered, and what lies beyond it is a wild thrilling ecstasy I never knew was even possible. I cry out, unable to stifle myself. He’s not content with that simple dissolving, however—he’s greedy for my insanity. He touches me more, even though I’ve already exploded, already crossed the line into climax.