Page 27 of The Butterfly
But then, his rough intake of breath had her opening them again, staring down at him with wide eyes.
“What?” Oh, God. There was something wrong with her. There had to be. “Niall, what’s wrong?”
Resting his cheek against the inside of one thigh, he released a long, controlled breath. “Nothing … everything. I know I shouldnae look at ye this way, but … bloody hell, Livvie ... ”
Her anxiety eased a bit as he went on inspecting her as if she fascinated him to no end, as if he’d never seen anything more enthralling than the slick revelation of pink flesh on display between her parted legs.
“Do ye ever touch yerself here?” he asked, his first finger lightly brushing against her delicate inner flesh.
She shuddered, closing her eyes and shaking her head. He pressed down on the little bud at her center, just hard enough to make her hips buck, eliciting a shocked cry from her.
“Ye should,” he said, going back to feather-light touches, now avoiding the little nub he had just teased to throbbing wakefulness. “How will ye ever know what ye like, what feels good, if ye never learn for yerself?”
She released a little huff of frustration, raising her hips and urging him to give her more, to deliver the promised pleasure. Instead, he took one of her hands and guided it between her legs, gazing at her with expectation in his eyes. Her mouth fell open, but no words were forthcoming when she realized what he expected of her. He settled her hand over her mons, until she cupped herself, her middle finger pressed tightly along the slit and compressing her little bud. Even that innocent a touch felt decidedly naughty, with her so very much aware of how hot and wet she was, as well as his intent gaze fixated upon where her hand touched her body.
“Like this,” he whispered, placing one hand over hers and helping her along, applying more pressure.
She gasped when he began to move his hand, and hers along with it, coaxing her into a slow, languorous rhythm. The friction between the pads of her fingers and her quim sparked something deep within her—something primitive and visceral.
“Oh,” she whispered, then, “Oh!”
Niall smiled, giving an encouraging nod. “That’s it. Dinnae fight that feeling. Strain toward it … ye want to reach the height of it.”
She couldn’t have fought it if she had tried, her legs shaking and her belly clenching. He coaxed her middle finger right against her clit, showing her how pressing down on it and agitating it in circles could send the most delicious waves of heat and bliss rippling out to the far reaches of her body. She felt the pleasure of it all the way to her scalp, all the way to the tips of her fingers and toes.
Shame ceased to exist as she surrendered, legs spreading wider, her own touch becoming bolder. The more she stroked and petted herself, the closer she came toward … something. Some unnamed feeling that built and built inside of her until she felt she might explode.
“Touch here, too,” he said, grasping her other hand and pressing it to her breast.
He urged her fingers to her nipples, showing her how to pull and twist at them the way he had. Once she got it right, he took his hand away and applied it to the other, the two of them working the tips of her breasts together, in a rhythm as one.
It felt more wondrous than she could have imagined. The little sparks of delight caused by the touches on her breasts shot straight down between her legs—adding strength to the flutters rippling through her insides.
“Niall, I …”
Her voice sounded foreign to her own ears, coming out strangled and husky, as if some other wanton creature spoke with her lips.
“I know, Livvie,” he replied, his hands now holding her thighs open, gaze still fixated upon the motions of her fingers and the flesh they teased. “Ye’re almost there.”
Biting her lip to keep from crying out, she urged herself closer and closer to the edge of that most elusive feeling—the thing tearing her up inside and making her limbs tremble and her insides flare with volcanic heat. All sense of propriety or modesty fell away, and she surged her hips in time with the motions of her hand between her legs, creating more of that rapturous delight. Her other hand pinched at her nipple, harder and with more urgency as she loomed on the precipice. And then, she was on fire, the little flutters she’d previously experienced overtaken by pounding spasms that unfurled from deep in her cunt. Her inner channel clenched, the nub at her fingertips throbbing in unison, a rush of moisture soaking her fingers. She bit down on her lip until she tasted blood, muffling her gasps and moans. She stroked herself until she could not any longer, the intensity of her rapture becoming too much to bear.
Going limp beneath him, she felt as if she floated on the surface of a gentle stream, the sun warm on her skin. Had this been possible all along? Had she suffered for want of him needlessly, possessing the power to give herself the pleasure she craved?
No, she realized, when he took her hand and urged her fingers toward his lips. No, it had not been possible.
She could not have reveled in the slick caress of his lips sucking the proof of her arousal from her fingers, nor the mind-numbing sensation of him licking the same flesh she had just been touching. The pleasure of it was ten times that of her own touch, the hot strokes of his tongue urging her back toward that climactic end.
“Niall!” she cried, not bothering trying to quiet herself.
Just then, she did not care if everyone inside Dunvar House heard her or knew that she was being pleasured by him. If any of them had ever felt anything half this good, they would not judge her.
He moaned against her, his lips and tongue working her into a frenzy, until she thrashed beneath him, her fingers clenching tight to his worn quilt. Wrapping his arms around her thighs, he held them open, keeping her pinned down and spread for his devouring mouth. This time, when that ecstatic paroxysm overtook her, it stole her breath, sweeping her away on a tide even more powerful than the first. Niall went on until the end, his erotic assault not ceasing until she’d gone still beneath him, panting and sobbing, hot tears splashing her face.
“Livvie,” he whispered, swiftly coming back up over her, lying between her spread thighs and wrapping his arms around her. “Are ye all right?”
Burying her face against his shirt, she clung to him, nodding as even more of the tears came. “I am all right, I just … I never thought it would be that way, Niall.”
“It isnae … not always. I s’pose it’s only like this when … when two people …”
