His voice deepens. Just a hint of gravel. “I’d use my fingers probably. Yeah. I’d press my fingers inside you. Get you close. But I wouldn’t let you come. Just close enough that your entire body hurts, and then I’d force you to go back out there. Watch you squirm while you talk to all those irrelevant people, until finally you’re begging me to leave so I can take you home and make you come.” It’s the most animated he’s sounded since I met him. I can scarcely breathe. And the lack of oxygen gets worse when his hand finds my cheek.
