Page 78 of Light Up The Night
"RILEY!" I hiss.
"Sweet as sugar, darlin'," he murmurs, and traces my seam again and again, and now his finger is between my labia again and I cannot breathe from the sensation—his touch isinsideme.
I shake all over as he slides that finger up, up…and brushes against my clit. A jolting, searing rush of intense sensation makes me shudder and shriek, and my spine arches.
"So fucking sensitive," he growls. "So fucking sexy." He nips my earlobe. Whispers hot words I feel as much as hear. "Ready, sweetheart?"
Panting, I can only nod.
He slowly, carefully, gently plunges his finger inside me, deep inside my vaginal channel, which pulses around his finger. I try to gasp, to whimper, but no sound emerges—I am arched, my whole body taut as a violin string.
I feel a slight twinge of something—a slight discomfort, and then the sensation is gone as if it never was, and he is sliding his finger out of me and then back in, and it is the only sensation in the world, in the universe. Him. His touch. I am more vulnerable now than I have ever been in my entire life—by an exponential amount. I am shaking, but not with fear. His touch inside me causes waves of sensation: a shuddering, a shifting, a billowing of heat and a throbbing of pressure. I am shaking from the intensity.
I am wild with it.
I feel a drive…a need; I need to…I do not know.Dosomething.
I need more.
I just do not know what.
"Riley," I breathe. "I need…"
"What, baby?"
"I do not know."
"I think I do." He rolls toward me and now he is almost above me, and he lifts my breast to his descending mouth, and a sharp bolt of arousal strikes like lightning as he flicks my nipple with his tongue, causing me to shriek, shrill and breathless. His finger moves upward, slipping almost out of me, and I feel the absence acutely.
There is no warning.
He presses his finger to my clitoris, and the bolt of lightning that strikes me then is blinding and all-consuming and white-hot. My whole body spasms, arching off the bed, and I scream.
"Jesus, honey," he growls, and claims my mouth in a hot, fast kiss. “Sogoddamn responsive. Hot as fuck."
And then he nuzzles my breast and suckles on my nipple and swirls his finger in a circle around my clitoris and the lightning strikes and strikes and strikes and strikes each time his finger swirls, with each movement and each shift of pressure and speed, and he seems to know how to read my every slightest, subtlest response to his touch.
"Riley…" I whimper. "Oh…oh my."
His lips curve against my breast. "Oh yeah?"
"Yes."
"More?"
I nod. “Yes. More. Please."
"You're gonna come for me, aren't you?" he demands, and his finger circles—faster and faster.
My hips feel as if they are tied to his movements—each swirl, each circle, each swipe and flick, my hips move. They buck, shift, push. Seeking. Needing.
"Tell me you're gonna come for me, honey."
"I…" a rippling, shearing wave of intense pleasure grips me, then, seizes me with unrelenting ferocity, and I cannot manage words.
He touches me, and I can only arch and buck my hips into his touch and cry out loud in a gasping half-scream. "So fucking sexy, Cadence," he growls. "Come for me, sweetheart. Let me watch you shatter for me. Scream for me. Scream so loud the fucking stars hear you."
That abyssal precipice nears. I shudder at its edge, and his touch pushes me nearer and nearer, and now I do not fear the oblivion awaiting in that unknown space but welcome it. I seek it. Strive for it.
