Page 50 of They Are Mine

He just stares.

Eyes tracing every inch of me, mouth slightly parted, a quiet, reverent sound slipping from his lips.

Like he can’t believe I’m real.

Like he can’t believe I’m his.

His hand slides down, over my stomach, between my thighs.

His fingers graze me, just barely, just enough to make me whimper.

“Oh,” Noah breathes. His voice is wrecked, his breath uneven. “You’re so…”

He groans, his forehead pressing against mine.

“So wet,” I finish for him, grinning against his lips.

He exhales sharply, his fingers dipping into my heat, spreading the slickness, teasing the sensitive bundle of nerves that’s already begging for him.

“Fuck, Juliet,” he whispers. Then, he slides two fingers inside me.

Slow. Deep.

I gasp.

My body clenches around him, needing more, needing him.

And he gives.

Fingers curling, stroking, moving in a slow, deliberate rhythm.

Like he’s learning me.

Like he’s memorizing every sound I make, adjusting, perfecting.

And oh, he is so fucking good.

I dig my nails into his back, pulling him closer, wrapping my legs around his waist.

His fingers keep moving, keep stretching, but it’s not enough.

I need more.

I need him.

I tilt my head, panting, desperate, whispering against his lips, “Noah, please.”

His breath shudders. His fingers still inside me. His lips part, like he’s going to say something, like he’s going to ask if I’m sure.

Sweet boy.

I don’t let him.

I reach down, wrapping my fingers around the hard, thick length of him through his pants, and he chokes on a sound, hips jerking into my touch.

Oh.

Oh, I love that.

---