Page 45 of Wish Upon A Star

Oh, how little I know.

The more he touches me, the higher I fly, the hotter the fires within me burn. I cry out, and my spine arches and my hips surge against his finger. He slips back into me, slicking deep, knuckles brushing my tender lips, curling. Withdrawing, slowly, and then pushing back in. God, what is this? God, god. Is this heaven? Am I dying? I could be. The mad heat and crushing pressure are billowing through me and I’m literally sobbing, and my hips are moving on their own, beyond my control, pushing against his touch. He doesn’t withdraw it, now. Pushing in, sliding out, but not all the way. Again, and again. More. Faster. His palm presses against my clit, rubs against it with a perfect pressure, as if he somehow knows I need that too.

My hips flex, thrust, thrash—I should be ashamed of myself, riding and writhing against his finger with such wanton abandon, crying with actual tears and sobbing with breathless gasps. I’m not ashamed.

It’s incredible.

I’m crazy.

I don’t recognize myself. I don’t understand this wild new world, in which a simple touch can conjure such madness. Such incredible, indelible bliss.

He doesn’t stop.

There’s more?

It feels like I’ve crested a wave, but instead of sliding down the other side into the valley, what lies on the other side of this wave is another, higher wave.

I’m gasping raggedly, buttocks squeezed together hard, clenched, pushing my hips upward as far as they’ll go, and I feel my breasts trembling.

He levers over me, and now his mouth latches onto my breast and his tongue flicks my nipple and he slithers his fingers, wet from me, against my clit, and—

I explodeagain.

This time, I scream.

If lightning struck me the first time, this is…

Like toppling into the sun itself.

I’m clutching at his head and holding him to my chest, and my hips are writhing against his quick-circling fingers, and now the sun-hot detonation is a new fury, a new wildness, a new kind of billowing frantic heat smashing me into pieces, stealing my breath and snatching even my scream.

I convulse forward, curling up around his fingers as they whirl mad-fast against me.

I break.

Another scream, this one so shrill and breathless it’s nearly silent.

I wrench his hand away from me, gripping his wrist with bruising strength. “No more—no more. No more. No more.”

He rolls to his back and gathers me in his arms, and I’m nuzzled into the shelter of his shoulder. I’m trembling like a leaf in a hurricane wind.

Convulsing helplessly.

I force my eyes open—they’re wet, stinging with salt. “Wes…I didn’t know. I didn’t…I didn’t know.”

He huffs a laugh, and kisses my temple. “I know, honey.”

I sag against his shoulder, suddenly exhausted. “I’m so tired, all of a sudden.”

“I’ve got you.”

Silence.

“Wes?” My voice is a sleep-muzzy murmur.

“Hmmm.” His isn’t any different.

“Thank you.”