Page 77 of Ellie Hayes and the Himbos
He catches my eye, and I see a dark glint in his as he continues his upward traverse, his fingertips making a whisper of contact as they breach the center of my bra, barely grazing the inside of my breasts. “Your pectorals have filled out.”
“Have they?” I reach around his neck, offering full access, while also emphasizing the swell of flesh over my bra cups. Thrust like this, the bra is practically transparent, my hard nipples obvious through the material.
Ian’s approving growl rumbles against my back. He keeps the actual contact limited to the muscle high on my sternum, but the heat of his palms radiates against my breasts with cruel intensity. “I filed down my calluses earlier,” he says, and plucks at the cup on the right side. My nipple is so tight, even this slight movement of the delicate fabric over the skin has me arching toward his palm, desperate for contact. “I won’t rough up the fabric.”
I’m about to ask him to clarify, but then his hands blessedly, mercifully, close on my breasts, and he begins to knead. I can’t sayanything. My head falls against his chest, and he nuzzles into my neck. We’re both watching the movement of his hands.
He releases my left breast to trail his hand down my torso. “External obliques,” he notes, mouth against my neck. His hand passes over the slight indentation of muscle in my abdomen. “Rectus abdominus,” and lower, just above the waistline of my panties, “Tendinus inscriptions.”
Instead of breaching the southern border, his hand trails toward my hip. I watch with hooded eyes as his index finger follows the slight channel that cuts in at an angle above my hip flexor. “The inguinal ligament. Very defined on you. Makes me want to follow them down.” He watches the progress of his fingers for a few breaths, tracing down the length of the ligament, then up again, over and over.
He meets my gaze, a question in his eyes.
“Please,” I say, breathless.
A growl of assent, and he eases past my waistband. He pulses his fingers against me, pressing and releasing as he makes his way down my pubic mound to cup my sex, his usually warm fingers cool against the relative heat of my opening. He smooths over the slick folds. “Do you think I can finish you like this?” he asks, tugging on my earlobe with his teeth.
Before I can respond, his fingers part me, sliding up to massage my clitoris. My legs threaten to give out.
He abandons my breast, reaching up for my right hand, still clinging to the back of his neck. He breaks my hold, lowering my arm, then tugs my bra strap roughly from my shoulder. My breast is bared, and then his hand is back over it again, massagingmy nipple in the same rhythm as the fingers deftly maneuvering around my clit.
“Watch what I’m doing to you, Ellie.” He licks up the side of my neck, kissing my jaw. “I won’t need to put even a finger inside of you.”
My insides clench, the ache inside of me demanding to be filled.
He chuckles. “I felt that. They want something to hold on to.”
“They?”I pant, the delicious tension in my belly winding tight. “You know the names of so many muscles, but not the ones in the vagina.” I catch his eye in the mirror and do my best to scowl. “What an oversight.”
He increases his pace. My legs are shaking. His tongue is hot and insistent at my ear, and as I waver on the edge, his wrist presses low on my abdomen—“Bulbospongiosus.”
I shatter with a cry wrenched from some primal part of me. I dig my nails into the back of his neck, my other hand gripping his backside, pressing his erection into my lower back as my body pulses its pleasure in spite of not having that thickness where it should be. Somewhere in the haze, I hear Ian emit a grunting roar, stifling the sound against my shoulder. He doesn’t relent for a second, his hands continuing their wizardry for the duration of my climax. It’s bliss and agony and endless.
When I’m finally spent, I release Ian to grip the edge of the sink. He’s removed his hand from my panties, but he holds me firmly by the waist, curled over me, the hand that had been at my breast now crossed over my chest.
“Fuck, that was amazing to see,” he breathes, and nips gently at my neck.
I’m blinking back tears. I gawk at our hunched reflections as he moves his lips over my shoulder, his head side to side, pausing intermittently to place a kiss. I’m still panting.
He meets my eyes and smiles.
I’m speechless. Mostly. “Bulbo…what?”
He barks out a laugh. “Bulbospongiosus. That’s the muscle. One of them, anyway. Men have it, too, in a different configuration. In us, it controls erections.” His eyes still on mine, he asks, with less bravado, “None of that hurt?”
“No,”I say. “No. Jesus, Ian. You sent me to anotherplane.” He grins. I love it so much, I keep talking. “I think I can taste colors.”
That gets a deep, full-bodied laugh from him. “I hope that’s good?”
“Would you like to find out?” I shift my hips meaningfully, though there’s less resistance from him against my back than there was a moment ago. “I’d like to return the favor.”
“You already did.”
“What?”
His cheeks go pink. “Feeling you and watching you was hot asfuck. And I don’t know if you noticed, but there was some writhing from you near the end.” He gives me a full-body squeeze. “I popped off like I was fifteen.” He shakes his head at himself, then looks to me, panic in his eyes. “Oh, shit. Sorry if that’s gross.”
“Eh. It’s kind of flattering.” I laugh, and he buries his red face into my shoulder with a groan.
