Page 74 of Touch

They can pursue more, touch by alternative means, and draw one another to climatic heights. Images swirl in her consciousness, each one involving methods to make one another tremble. One technique in particular unravels through her mind, a long-practiced art from an invisible goddess who’s accustomed to being a spectator when humans fuck.

Viewing. Watching.

Andrew’s orbs glitter, her invitation darkening his irises. While no other deity has ever read her thoughts, this flesh-and-blood creature does so effortlessly. The implicit understanding, the manner in which he understands her, and how he savors Love’s offer as if it’s the key to all his desires.

She cannot decide which is more exhilarating. That another being in this universe knows her intrinsically, that their connection is growing stronger, or that hunger is straining across his gorgeous face.

Andrew brushes his lips through hers. “Move back.”

Love’s mouth quirks. Obeying is not in her nature. Yet from him, it sounds less like a command and more like an acceptance of her invitation, followed by a counter proposal. His masculine timbre, the intention in his tone, and the thrill of the unexpected incites a wildness in her, for she has never wanted to submit to a request more in her life.

Her knees skid across the mattress as she retreats, her movements rustling the textiles. With a fixed expression, Andrew prowls after Love. He matches her posture across the bed, slow and steady, abducting the sheet along the way.

Anticipation stirs her blood. When and where to stop, he leaves up to Love. The moment she pauses halfway across the mattress, he halts before her, his mortal scent an inebriating substance in the air.

Outside, snow coats the trees. Inside, flames dance in the pit, tossing orange hues across the transparent walls.

How to proceed? Of all living things, the Goddess of Love should know. However, indecision stays her motions. She has witnessed millions of kisses, embraces, and sexual exploits. Yet it’s different to take an active part in the seduction.

Angling her gaze up to his, Love implores without speaking. Like a new form of magic, this man grasps her silent inquiry.

Locking his eyes with her, Andrew lifts the sheet, and she shuffles forward. Once the remaining distance closes, he wraps the material around Love’s body. The instant she presses herself into his chest, the mortal emits a low, rugged noise as the weight of her breasts thrusts against his pectorals.

Love sighs, the sound tumbling from her lips. Despite the thin barrier between them, the sensation of carved muscle against her bodice and hard limbs encasing her frame makes her head swim. She yearns to slip inside him, or to have him slip inside her, the longing corporeal.

Her nipples toughen, pitting through layers of fabric and scraping over his torso. Andrew’s famished expression sends a thrill up her limbs, an ache building in the nexus of her thighs.

The clothes are a nuisance yet necessary if they wish to maintain contact. Nonetheless, Andrew maneuvers the sheet. Sliding it over her silk camisole, he caresses her breasts, the points of her nipples cinching under his palms.

“Christ,” Andrew mutters, his voice gravelly. “Please make that noise again for me.”

When he grazes his thumbs around her peaks through the material, Love seizes the edges of the sheet for balance. “Oh,” she whimpers.

With a satisfied hum, the mortal nods and coasts his lips along hers. “Again.”

Then he glides the sheet down her waist, across her navel, over her hips, and down the outer rims of her thighs. Love quivers like fletching. More astonished sounds fall from her mouth, as light as snow, as bright as embers.

The sensory responses overwhelm her, magnetic and extraordinary. Her flesh sparks as his hands sweep the fabric over each inch of her flesh, until she’s melting and delirious. But when he runs the soft textile down, Andrew stalls, his heady gaze fastening to hers.

Permission. That is what he’s asking for.

Once more, pressure rises to her cheeks. She must be blushing. Any goddess would be mortified to exhibit this response, yet nothing Andrew does makes her feel shame. Rather, it imbues Love with a new type of power.

Leveling her gaze with his, she bobs her head. “You have my blessing.”

The naughty corner of Andrew’s mouth lifts. “Spread for me, goddess.”

Condemnation. How she enjoys when he formulates these requests, all the while surrendering the choice to her. The paradox is downright alluring, the seam of her pussy reacting, the crease growing slick.

While studying his face, Love parts her knees. Widening her stance exposes the arousal pooling in the tiny shorts, the notion wetting her further.

Andrew’s nostrils flare. With excruciating slowness, he draws the sheet to her inner thighs, massaging them until they’re pliant and unsteady. Panting into one another, their eyes fuse while he veers the sheet higher, ascending to the intimate slit.

Love’s mouth drops open on a stuttered whine. Andrew uses the fabric to sneak past the waistband of her silk shorts, descending to the gusset of her panties. Locating the material shrouding her cunt, he slips lower and sketches the folds until they swell. Astonished, she grabs a portion of the sheet, tacking it to Andrew’s waist for leverage while another disjointed noise shakes from her lips.

“Fuck,” he mutters, his pupils dilating. “Feel that? Feel your immortal pussy in my human hand?”

Love’s hips buck into the sheet. “Yes,” she encourages.

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