As my fingers graze the few inches of flesh closest to her wetness, she moves into my touch. “Please,” she whispers. “Please, what?” I ask, enjoying the sound of her pleas. “Tell me what you want.” “Touch me,” she says, her sweet voice sounding like molten sin. “I need you.” I slide my knuckles down her spine, eliciting a delicious moan. Seraphine’s back arches, and the sight is beyond tempting.
