You’re Fascinating

When she began to move, he felt himself tense.

Her fingers ghosted over his abdomen, inching lower.

His muscles twitched in anticipation, his breath catching.

“I’ll... I’ll calm down soon,” he mumbled.

But he didn’t stop her.

He let her touch him, let her stroke along his length, slow and deliberate. Her touch was careful, reverent, as if she were handling something delicate.

It felt good.

Too good.

But the moment she lowered her head, pressing a soft kiss to the tip, he stiffened.

“Stop.”

She looked up at him, surprised.

“I don’t want that.”

Her eyes questioned him.

“It feels wrong.” His jaw tightened. “Like I’m making you do something you don’t even want to do. You don’t even seem to enjoy it that much.”

He hated how his body responded to her every touch, how easily he surrendered to her hands.

The pleasure was undeniable, but once it faded, all that was left was emptiness.

But touching her—seeing her respond to him—that was different. That was what he craved most.