“Put a third one in me.”
He doesn’t pause, and that makes me happy. He wants this, even if he says he doesn’t. In the next moment, he pushes into me harder, and I wiggle around the feel of those three fingers. Definitely bigger, but not out of the realm of what I can handle. I’m so slick from his come and my own juices that I feel I could handle anything right about now. He pumps them into me cautiously, watching my face.
Time to get a little theatrical. It feels good, but to win over Rafe’s reservations, I need to act like it’s the greatest goddamn thing I’ve ever felt in my life. “Oooh, yeah,” I moan, and squeeze my * around him again.
“You like that, baby?” He thrusts into me again.
“God, yes.” I bite my lip and groan, pressing my arms against my sides so my tits thrust up a little higher, a little more noticeable with each grind of his hand into my *. Thing is, I had a boyfriend once who was the nicest guy and lousy as hell in bed. I’m a champion at faking how good something feels. And I bet I can get Rafe over his hesitation. “Spread your fingers inside me, Rafe. Push me to my limits.”
He does, and I bear down on them even as he thrusts again. My *’s making wet, sloppy noises against his fingers, and the sound fascinates him as much as it embarrasses me. But the wetness is a good thing, because we’re not stopping at fingers.
“Feel good?” he asks, voice husky and so full of want that it makes me ache.
I nod. “I still want more, Rafe. I want you.”
“Can you take four fingers?”
Yeah, I’m gonna have to, I think, but I nod. If he needs this before we move to the next round, I’ll give it to him. “Do it.”
He pulls back, and when he pushes deep into me again, everything feels tight and tense despite our efforts to loosen me up. “That’s good,” I tell him, bucking against his hand. “Keep doing that.”
“You’re fucking swallowing my fingers in that gorgeous cunt of yours, aren’t you?” He pushes into me again, then out, then begins a slow, wicked rhythm that makes me forget that I’m supposed to be working him. I feel my nipples tighten in response, and the low, delightful pressure begins to build in my belly again.
“You feel so good, Rafe.” I raise my hips, trying to chase the orgasm that’s building. “I need that big fat cock of yours, baby. I want you inside me when I come.”
A hiss escapes him and he grunts. His hand slides free of my *, and I feel weirdly bereft. I look down to see him working his cock with his hand. It’s gleaming with my juices and his come, and as I watch, another jet of semen fountains from the purple head of his huge dick.
“You came without me.” I sit up on my elbows, a pout on my lips.
“Not done,” he grits out, working his cock. His intense eyes gaze up at me. “Never done with you.”
“Mmm.” I reach between my legs and trace a finger over my clit. It’s slick from our mingled juices, and I suck in a breath as I feel my orgasm start to build again. “You’re not going to make me finish myself again, are you?”
“No.” He pants, still working his hand over his cock. “Just . . . need a moment.”
“Take your time,” I say sweetly and continue to touch myself. Not much, just enough to keep my body feeling pumped and the orgasm close by. Minutes pass, marked only by Rafe’s rasping breath and my occasional gasp as one touch takes me a little too close to the edge.
Then, quicker than he should be ready again, he leans in and begins to kiss my thigh, his mouth hungry and full of need. “I want you again, Ava.”
“You want to touch me?”
“Fuck yes.” His mouth moves to my *, where I’m touching myself.
I shield my flesh with my hand. “Then I want your cock inside me.”
He shakes his head. “Lemme just eat your *, babe. You taste so goddamn good.”
“I’m making the rules now,” I tell him, scooting back on the bed and sitting up. “Didn’t you get four fingers inside me?”
“Yes,” he says, and his hand goes to his cock. It’s like he can’t stop touching himself at the sight of me, can’t pace himself.
“Don’t you think your cock is about four fingers?”
“Bigger,” he grits.
“Well, I can take bigger,” I tell him. I wait until his gaze catches mine and then I deliberately slide my fingers to my *, where I’m still wet and needy. “Don’t you want in here?”
Rafe groans again, a sound like pain. There’s sweat on his brow. “I don’t want to hurt you, Ava.”
“You won’t,” I tell him. “Why don’t you let me be on top? We’ll go as slow as we need to that way.”
He hesitates again, but I know I’ve won. Most men love the mental picture of a woman on top. I slide a hand to my breasts and begin to tease my nipples as he gives it some thought, and that decides him. With a muffled curse, he turns and flings himself onto his back on the bed.