He sank a finger inside, parting the flesh. I cried out, grasping his arm. I hadn’t forgotten the shocking contradiction of his coldness against my heat, but no memory did it justice. I shook. “I remember how you showed me the way you like it. I play that over and over in my head. I could write a fucking tome on it by now.” His thumb continued moving. “When I’m fisting my cock, I remember how you held my hand against you at the lake.” “Oh, gods,” I gasped. “Do you…do you really?” “More times than I should admit.” His finger pumped in and out of me, bringing me closer and closer to the edge.
Oh my lanta
