Page 51 of Misery
"Then that's what we're doing." He shifts me, lays me back on the bed. The sheets are cool against my heated skin. "Nothing else. Just that."
"But you?—"
"This is aboutyou." He kisses down my throat. Between my breasts. Each kiss is deliberate. Claiming. "About you feeling good. Safe. In control."
"I want you to feel good too."
"I will. Trust me, making you come is going to feel very fucking good."
His hand slides down over my stomach, and it trembles under his touch.
He keeps going to the edge of my panties and pauses.
Waiting.
"Yes," I breathe before he can ask. "Please. Yes."
His fingers slip beneath the fabric and find me wet. Ready.
We both inhale sharply—him at the discovery, me at being discovered.
"Fuck, Elfe." His voice is wrecked. Destroyed. "You're soaked."
"Is that... is that normal?"
"It's perfect. You're perfect." His fingers explore. Gentle.
Learning what makes me gasp. What makes me arch. What makes me beg. "Tell me what feels good."
"All of it. Everything. Just... don't stop."
He finds my clit, circles it with his thumb, and the pressure is perfect.
Like he's studied how to touch me. How to unravel me. How to make me forget everything but this.
"Oh god." My hips rise without permission. Chase his touch. Seek more.
"That's it. Take what you need."
One finger slides inside me. Careful. Slow. Testing.
I tense at the intrusion—not bad, but foreign.
Different from my own fingers. Bigger.
"Breathe," he murmurs. Kisses my hip bone. "Just breathe. I've got you."
He works me carefully, building sensation layer by layer.
He adds another finger when I relax, his thumb on my clit, fingers inside, playing my body like an instrument he's mastered.
The stretch burns but in a good way, in a way that feels right.
"I can't—it's too much?—"
"You can. You're close. I can feel it." He curls his fingers, and I see stars.
It makes my back bow off the bed. "There. Right there."
