Page 59 of The Woman Left Behind

She righted her head, her eyes now lost, lost to what they were doing, lost to him, and she begged, “Please don’t.”

“This is a big step,” he reminded her.

“We’re ready,” she said instantly.

His lips tipped up. “I’m ready, but I need to be sure you are.”

“Have you lost feeling in your fingers?” she demanded.

That surprised a laugh out of him.

“Harry, I’m not being funny,” she snapped, impatient.

“Sweetheart.”

“Harry.”

“Lillian.”

“Harry.”

Experimentally, he circled her clit again.

Her eyes fluttered closed, her lips parted, and he felt his cock beading.

Okay then.

Fuck it.

He kissed her and he fingered her, and then he stopped kissing her so he could watch as he made her come.

And fucking hell, the show was spectacular.

As she recovered, he ran his lips along her jaw, down her neck, across her throat, and up to her ear, and when he felt her fingers relax in his hair and she started stroking it, he slid his hand out of her jeans.

He lifted his head and looked down at her.

She had just the barest sprinkle of freckles across her nose, her skin was rosy from her orgasm, her gaze hazy with it.

He already knew he could look at her for a lifetime.

But seeing her like this, he knew he could give that to her for a lifetime.

“Good?” he asked softly.

“Your turn,” she said as answer.

He shook his head. “Unh-unh.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Sorry?”

“I’m good,” he stated.

“Uh…Harry, I can feel you’re not.”

He smiled at her. “It isn’t a fatal condition.”

“I know. But does it matter to you that I want to alleviate your…condition?” she asked.

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