Page 102 of Bourbon Bliss
“Yes.”
“That’s my girl.”
A delicious wave of pleasure stole through me as his fingers delved lower. His hands. His large, glorious hands. One slipped beneath my bra to cup my breast. I glanced down to see the other disappearing between my legs. I was still mostly clothed, and yet the image of his hands on me this way was intensely erotic. I loved those hands and I loved what he was doing with them.
His finger traced the seam at my center, his touch still soft and gentle. “Is your pussy wet, baby? Do you want my fingers inside you?”
“Oh my god, yes.”
“That’s my beautiful girl,” he murmured. “I want to touch that perfect pussy.”
I closed my eyes, surrendering to the sound of his voice in my ear, the feel of his fingers teasing me. My nipples were so sensitive every brush of his hand and the feel of fabric against them made me tingle.
He dipped a fingertip inside and I gasped at the intense rush of feeling.
“Is that what you need, baby?”
I nodded.
His finger slid in further, moving easily through my wetness. In and out, his palm pressing against my clit, his finger giving me the friction I needed so badly.
I bucked my hips against his hand, seeking more.
“Fuck, June, I love making you feel good. Your pussy is so hot. So wet. Do you want more?”
“Yes.”
He growled low in his throat and slid two fingers inside me. My legs opened wider, my head falling back against his shoulder. He thrust his fingers in, moving faster now, and ground his cock against me in a matching rhythm.
“That’s it, my beautiful girl,” he said. “You like that? You like my fingers inside you?”
He was stirring me into a frenzy. My cheeks flushed and tension built in my core. I kept my eyes closed, focusing on nothing but the way this felt. His palm rubbing my clit. His fingers moving in and out of me. The wetness, the heat, the delicious pressure.
“George,” I whispered.
“Yes, my sweet June Bug,” he said. “Yes, fuck, your pussy feels so good.”
The pressure in my core rose to a peak, a tight, hot bundle of tension that had me whimpering, begging for more. Begging him to keep going.
“Don’t stop. Don’t stop.”
And then I came apart.
The orgasm rolled through me as dozens of tiny explosions fired off. I clenched around his fingers. Once. Twice. Again. Shuddering and pulsing as I rode his hand through my climax.
When it subsided, he slid his hand out of my panties and threaded his arms around my waist, holding me tight.
I needed more than that. I needed to hold him, too.
He loosened his grip on me as I spun around so I was facing him. I straddled him, letting my legs slide down either side of his waist, and wrapped my arms around his shoulders.
His erection pressed between my legs as we embraced. I moved against him, rubbing up and down a few times. He groaned. That low growl emanating from his throat was so masculine. So erotic.
I sat up and met his eyes, licking my lips as I unfastened his pants.
“June Bug, you don’t have to.”
“I know. I want to.”
