Page 47 of Best Man Speaking

I trace small circles with my fingertips over the most delicate of skin, that which lives in the crease between my thigh and the lace of my thong. I relish the way the tiny hairs on my body rise in their wake.

“Do you wish I was there too?” he asks with a genuineness I wasn’t expecting.

A genuineness that lets me know, regardless of our animosity, he wishes to be here in this bed.

And so I answer him with absolute, undeniable honesty. “So much.”

Again, I hear a groan, and I can imagine him combing his fingers through his hair in frustration, pulling it just slightly.

“Hallie, are your hands above your waist?”

At this, I know I could laugh—the urge bubbles up inside of me—but I don’t because he’s so on point to have asked.

“Only the one, Marcus.”

“Fuck.” I hear his sheets rustle around again. “What are you wearing?”

“Underwear. Pretty, lacy ones, much nicer than the ones from earlier today,” I tease, keeping my fingers dancing along my skin.

“Are you touching yourself?” he asks, outright pain laced through his voice.

My free hand moves up to graze across the satiny skin of my breasts. I switch it up, gently scratching my nails, pressing hard enough to leave fine marks. If I’d thought I had goose bumps before, I was wrong.

“Not yet.”

But the honest truth is I’m starting to feel breathless with anticipation.

“Do you want to play, Hallie? Do you want me to make you come?”

A laugh slips out for real now. “It’s cute you think I need your help to make that happen.”

His laugh is deep. “Of course you don’t need my help. But do you want it? Do you want me to give you my sounds, to tell you how I’m dying to have you sit on my face before you sit on my cock, to help get you there?”

Now it’s my turn to groan. “Yes. Please.” The final word ends on a pant.

“Are you still wearing your panties, Hallie?” His tone is firm, and I can tell he’s trying not to be loud, aware that he’s staying in his brother’s house.

“Yes,” I say simply, more than eager for what comes next.

“I want you to touch yourself over the material, rub your fingertips back and forward for me. Make sure you brush over your clit, but don’t you dare linger. Are you doing that for me?”

I moan, acting out each word as he says it, running my fingernails over the waistband of my panties, along the edges near my thighs, and then inward and over the black lace, where it gives me the most sensation. Where I can feel the moisture that’s seeping through, I repeat my strokes, my nails gently grazing.

“Hallie, you don’t get to touch skin until the material is slick, until you’re seeping. Until you can feel it on your fingers. Can you feel yourself yet?”

My insides clench at his dirty words. “Yes,” I whimper.

“That was quick, beautiful.”

I flush, my body heating further as I continue to stroke within the moisture seeping through insubstantial lace.

“I just want you to tell me one more thing. One more thing, and then you can fuck yourself with those fingers properly, okay?”

“Okay,” I agree.

“You know I love how you smell, the spot behind your ear, the base of your neck, it puts me at ease—the air I want to breathe has you in it. But the scent of your pussy, Hallie? There’s nothing else like it for me. I’ve missed it. I’m hungry for it—my mouth waters for it. Tell me, beautiful, do you smell good?”

I am both breathless and embarrassed.

---