Page 27 of Breaking the Lawyer

I meet his eyes, and the intensity there nearly undoes me. "I'm sure."

He sets the condom aside and hands me the lube. "We'll take it slow. Start with one finger."

I sit up, taking the bottle with trembling hands. He lies back in front of me, spreading his muscular thighs, and I think I might actually die from the visual alone.

"Which finger?" I ask, because my brain has apparently taken the night off.

He chuckles. "Either one works."

I pour lube into my palm—way too much, but better safe than sorry—and spread it over my fingers.

"Now what?" My voice comes out strangled.

"Touch me. Everywhere. Learn what I feel like."

I don't need to be told twice. I start with his chest, mapping the broad expanse with my palms. His skin is warm and smooth, stretched taut over hard muscle. When I brush over his nipples, he makes a soft sound that goes straight to my cock.

"Like that?" I ask.

"Yeah. Like that."

I continue my exploration, running my hands down his sides, over his abs, feeling the way they contract under my touch. His cock is right there, hard and thick and begging for attention, but I want to savor this. Want to memorize every inch of him.

When I finally wrap my slick hand around his shaft, we both groan. He's bigger than me, thicker, and the weight of him in my palm is intoxicating. I stroke him slowly, watching his face for reactions, learning what makes him gasp, what makes his hips jerk.

"Feels good," he breathes, eyes falling closed.

"You feel incredible," I tell him, and it's the truth. Everything about him is perfect—the silky skin, the way he responds to my touch, the sounds he makes.

I stroke him a few more times, then let my hand drift lower to cup his balls. They're heavy and warm, and when I roll them gently in my palm, he lets out a shaky exhale.

"Brooks..."

"I know." I pour more lube onto my fingers, coating them thoroughly. "I'm ready."

I reach down between his legs, finding the tight ring of muscle I've been thinking about all day. He's warm here too, and when I press the tip of my finger against him, he spreads his legs wider in invitation.

"Slowly," he reminds me.

I push in just the tip, feeling the incredible heat of him. He's so tight, so perfect, and the fact that he's letting me do this—trusting me with this—makes my chest tight with something that feels suspiciously like emotion.

"More," he says, voice strained.

I push deeper, watching his face for any sign of discomfort. But he just looks blissful, head thrown back, mouth slightly open. When I'm fully inside him, I pause, letting him adjust.

"Move," he instructs. "In and out."

I do as he says, establishing a slow rhythm. The sensation is incredible—he's so hot and tight around my finger, and every time I move, he makes these little sounds that drive me crazy. A part of me gets lost in the experience—inhim, and I lose all track of time.

"Another," he gasps after a while.

I add a second finger, and he tenses for a moment before relaxing again. The stretch is more noticeable now, and I can see the effect it's having on him. His cock is leaking steadily, and there's a flush spreading across his chest.

"You okay?" I ask.

"Mmhmm," he moans. "Keep going."

I establish a pace with both fingers, thrusting in and out while my other hand finds his cock again. The combination has him writhing beneath me. It’s mesmerizing.

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