Page 181 of Saving Her

“Penny, you have to answer me. I won’t keep going unless I know you’re comfortable.”

“I’m comfortable,” I pant. “I know how to tell you to stop.”

“Good.” His touch skims to my inner thigh, the sensitive skin bursting into a valley of goose bumps.

It’s remarkable. All the tingles. The burn where his attention doesn’t even touch.

The approach to my core is painfully lethargic. He takes his time, learning every inch of me, creeping forward one minute, only to double back. Circling. Grazing. Branding.

By the time he reaches the juncture where leg meets groin I’m a mess of rampant breathing, my throat dry, my core pulsing.

I contemplate telling him to stop.

Ending this now—happy and blissed—is far better than the uncertainty that awaits. I can’t get through this without acknowledging my trauma. Can I? Being like this with him can’t be that easy. I have to break down soon. It’s inevitable. I’m merely waiting for the switch to be flicked.

“Luc…”

“Hmm?” He guides my legs apart with slight pressure, exposing my vulnerabilities.

He doesn’t say a word. Doesn’t move his body closer to mine. He only continues to circle and swirl. Tease and tempt.

It’s nothing like my past.

A completely foreign experience. Strikingly, agonizingly different.

“Nothing.” I shake my head and clutch the sheets as he circles my pussy, the lightest glide of two fingertips moving around and around my outer edges.

This is far beyond what I wanted.

It’s more passion. More kindness.

I envisaged sterility. Fear. Sorrow.

Yet here I am, tempted to beg for more, my hands itching to clutch him to my chest as his inhales labor.

Tension builds inside me. Sweet, needy tension.

I don’t know how to sate the pulse becoming an adamant force deep down in my core. It makes me mindless, all the tingles and bliss.

He continues the circles, gliding closer and closer until he’s brushing my pussy lips.

I shudder, anticipation trapping the breath in my lungs.

I don’t know what comes next, but I want it. Ineed it.

“Luca?”

“Yeah?” His voice is breathy. Graveled.

“Don’t stop.”

He groans, his digits parting my folds to slide through slickness. My back arches. My breasts tingle. One finger enters me. Gradually. Agonizingly slowly.

I pant, wanting more as I close my eyes.

But bliss doesn’t greet me in the mental darkness. Luther does. His conniving face stares back at me, smirking.

I scramble backward, the claws of panic snatching at me.

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