Page 64 of I Almost Do

"Are you ready to move lower?"

"Yes." Another whisper.

"Bottoms off or bottoms on?" I ask. "You can do it either way. You can slide your wet fingers right down under your panties. Do you remember that? When I touched you under your panties?"

She nods frantically, eyes closed.

"You can touch yourself like that, under your panties, or you can take them off and let me see that pretty pussy when you work it."

Her abdominal muscles visibly clench at my words, and she blows out a rough breath. There's a beat where she hesitates. Builds up her nerve. "I want to take them off," she whispers.

"Go ahead."

She nods, flutters her hands down to her waistband, then stalls there. "I want to," she says. "But I'm—"

I make an indistinct sound in my throat and gently take her earlobe between my teeth before I whisper, "Is my sweet girl shy? I've seen you almost bare lots of times. Why is this different?"

"It just is."

She's right. It is. This is about emotional vulnerability, not physical exposure. "Would it help if I took my clothes off now too?"

Her eyes fly open, and I pull back to look at her. She goes for her panties so fast, I almost laugh. But I don't. Because I'm working off my drawstring pants and boxer briefs, and I am way too busy looking at that pretty bare pussy she's just revealed.

I didn't see that part of her last spring. I felt it with my fingers, but it was hidden, always hidden, under those black silk panties.

I didn't taste her then either, and the lack of it has tormented me ever since.

I look up to see her eyes are on my hard cock, wide and every bit as enthralled with me as I am with her. In more than a year of marriage, she's never seen me like this either.

I haven't even touched myself yet, but a bead of precum pearls at the tip of my cock. She reaches out her thumb and swipes across it, then brings it to her mouth, her pretty pink tongue licking it off.

Jesus. My abdominal muscles clench as I resist the urge to push forward. To give her more to taste.

She looks up at me with mischief in her grin, and I shake my head, mock scolding. "Witch," I say, then tip my head back, close my eyes, and try to get it together. The point of this is to take care of ourselves.

When I've gotten the urge to take more than we agreed to under control, I climb on the bed beside her, not touching, careful to leave a few inches between us. I take her hand and use it to run the backs of her fingers between her breasts, down her belly, to rest at the apex of her thighs.

"Touch here now. Slide a finger. Right. There," I say. "You can close your eyes if it makes it easier to concentrate on the way you feel. Or you can leave them open and watch yourself."

Her gaze leaves my face and moves down to where I hold her hand as she slides a finger through the slick folds of her pussy.

"I like to watch too," I admit. "But I bet you remember that."

Her gaze flies to mine, then down to my aching cock. "I want to watch you," she says.

Her breathing has picked up, ragged and raw. I feel her hand flex under mine, her fingers circling faster. Her movements are frantic, brows furrowed. She looks frustrated. Poor thing.

"Are you trying to come?" I scold her gently.

"Yes."

I make a small tsk sound. "I told you not to think about coming."

"So bossy," she grumbles, but her lips quirk in a smile when she says it.

I am bossy. I'm a domineering asshole. I don't know what Marcus was thinking when he asked me to be her husband.

I pull her hand back up to my mouth, suck on those fingers again. For her. But also for me.

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