Page 84 of Out on a Limb
I braced for him to stay there, work that spot like most men with a basic knowledge of anatomy would.
But he didn’t. Instead Andrew kept moving, using his forearm to shove my shorts and panties lower, freeing up more room to work.
His fingers slipped inside me, dragging in and out in a slow motion that curled my toes and bowed my back. The heel of his hand hit my clit and the tips of his fingers stroked a spot I didn’t know existed.
I grabbed his shirt, fisting the fabric as he moved faster, each pass of his fingers digging my heels deeper into the mattress, shoving me closer to an end that might ruin me forever.
In what had to be less than three minutes I was coming, making inhuman sounds as my body clenched at fingers that were clearly more skilled than I’d anticipated.
My vision blurred. My ears rang. It was like he’d hit some sort of factory reset and everything had to come back online.
I rolled my eyes around as I tried to blink away the sense of confusion clouding my brain.
“You ready for some food?” Andrew fastened my pants before climbing off my bed. He left without waiting for an answer, which was good, because most of me still wasn’t working right.
What in the hell just happened?
I couldn’t decide if it was amazing—
Or terrible.
Because if that was what he could do with just one hand…
Andrew’s head poked in through the open door. “Do you have a panini press?”
Was he kidding?
Probably not.
His eyes skimmed down my body where it laid in the exact position he’d left it in. A slow smile crept across his face. “Never mind.”
I stared at the ceiling, listening to him whistle as he moved through my kitchen. It took a full five minutes to work my way up into a sitting position.
Then another five minutes to make it to the edge of the bed.
What sort of vagina voodoo did he just use on me?
Forget stabbing pins into a doll. If a man wanted to ruin a woman for life all he had to do was whatever Andrew just did to me.
Because a new standard had been set. A new bar was raised.
“Shit.”
“Something wrong, Pickles?” Andrew came into my room, that same shit-eating grin on his face.
“You.” I pointed at him. “You did that on purpose.”
“Absolutely I did.” He handed over a plate with a pressed sandwich and three pickles on it. “Eat. We need to get back to work.”
I thought Andrew was a nice person.
A nerd.
The kind of man who would need me to run the show until he found his footing.
Even then, I expected to be the one mostly in charge.
Andrew went to sit in the chair angled into one corner, leaning back to stretch his legs out while he ate the sandwich on his own plate.
