Page 20 of Untangled
He continues kneading the muscles in my back, this time near my spine. I let out a soft whimper when he hits a tender spot.
“Too much?” he says.
“Just a little sore.”
“I’m trying to make you feelgoodtonight. Let me try something different.” With this, he straightens, puts his hands on my hips and pulls me flush against him.
It’s not an ideal position for a back massage, but apparently Daniel’s done with that anyway. Instead, he brings his hands to cup my breasts. “This alright?” he asks, and the proximityof his mouth to my ear has his breath tickling my skin. I suck in a breath and then nod. “Thank fuck because I’ve been dying for this since we talked about it the other night.” Just as he promised then, he swipes his thumbs over my nipples. Slowly, methodically, until it feels like torture. My back arches into him as I chase more contact.
“Told you you’d be begging,” he says, and while I can’t see his face, his tone is smug. Absolutely dripping with it.
“Hmm, pretty sure I haven’t said a thing.”
“Not yet. But you will. I know your tells.”
As if to punctuate the point, he twists both nipples—hard. My gasp comes out half-moan. I love when he does that. He knows it, and does it again.
It’s not long before he has me squirming. He palms my breasts, pinches and pulls my nipples, twiddles them between his index and pointer fingers. He runs a flat palm back and forth over my chest until the friction starts to sting. He pushes my tits together and describes, inexplicitdetail, what he would do with his mouth and where he’d put his cock if he could. And all the while, I am getting increasingly keyed up until the ache between my legs turns into a painful thrumming.
“Okay, I’ll beg,” I plead.
“What was that, baby?” Daniel taunts.
“Please, I need more. Lower.”
“You want me to touch you here?” He brings a hand to cup my center, before drawing one finger from my entrancestraight up my slit. It makes my breath stutter. “Yeah, that’s what you want. You’re needy for it, aren’t you? I’ll give it to you, baby.”
Holding me tight against him with one hand still on my breast, he presses his thumb to my clit. The sensation is loud and then lingering, like a firework from our perfect date, one that pops and then fizzes its way down.
He finds a rhythm then, coating his fingers in my arousal, pushing inside me to curl against my inner walls, and then dragging them up to my clit, where he circles. He works my nipple in tandem, pinching, squeezing, twisting. It’sso much.
It’s so good.
I’m floating, letting myself sink into the rhythm and be rocked by it. Slow and steady, I climb. He plays my body like a score played by ear. He’s fluent in the language of my sighs.
Which is why his slap to my pussy—hard enough to sting, gentle enough to be loving—has me gasping. In surprise, but also from pleasure. “Again,” I ask as my head lolls back to rest on his chest.
He flicks his wrist for another sharp slap and my god, it’s lovely and confusing and dirty and exactly what I need. My quiet “yes,” is tempered by a moan as he presses the heel of his palm against my clit. I’m sensitive in a way I’ve never been after the more forceful contact. The pressure of his hand there, the rough way he toys with my nipple, the two fingers he dips inside me, it’s perfect, perfect and then I tip over the edge with the filthiest encouragement from this man’smouth—I catchslutandcomeandminebefore I’m lost to this bed and this room.
Bright and diffuse.
Warm.
I’m falling like stardust, pinpricks of light tumbling through the universe until Daniel grounds me. His hand cups me again, and I flutter against his fingers.
“Too much,” I say while twisting away from his touch. The sensitivity is unreal. “And it’s your turn anyway.”
“Not until I’m done,” he replies, while he slides the pad of his thumb across my clit, in a featherlight touch. “You can give me another.”
I want to argue that I can’t, that I’m spent, that maybe I’m dying and the last orgasm was my final, gasping breath but when he holds his thumb with delicious pressure, my lips won’t open for words. Only a moan.
“That’s right, baby. Give me another.”
Day 13
What is your biggest pet peeve with your partner?
“Oh boy, this should be fun,” Daniel says as he tosses the card to me. We’re sitting in bed, having anticipated another intimate prompt since they’re becoming more frequent. Instead, I’m greeted with the worst question possible.
