Her eyes dance down my body, then widen as she looks at me, where I’m so hard, my cock is curved up against my belly.
I start to ease onto my side, but she stops me, holding me over her. Then she sets her hands on my chest, her touch smoothing across my muscles, tracing my nipples. “Christopher,” she whispers.
“Yes, Kate.” My voice is tight, my hands making fists with the blanket on either side of her. I have never felt so raw, so hungry, so desperate to touch and be touched.
She drifts her knuckles down my stomach, watching in fascination as the muscles jump beneath her touch. “You are very, very lovely,” she whispers.
“So are you,” I tell her, forcing myself to stay still, to let her learn me like I promised myself I would.
My breath comes rough and ragged as her fingertips trace the line of my hip, the muscles knitting my groin. Tentatively, she strokes a palm up my thigh, then higher, testing the weight of my cock along her palm, curling her fingers around it.
“Whenever we’ve been together,” she says, “you’ve known how to touch me.”
“You’ve told me how, too,” I tell her. “You’ve shown me.”
She nods, a furrow in her brow as she touches me so gently, experimenting with how I feel, how the skin moves over my length as she strokes it. “Can you show me how to touch you?” she asks quietly.
I reach past her for the nightstand and pull out lube. Then I open her palm and pour some in. She squeals quietly. “This feels delightful,” she says.
I snort a laugh. “It feels even more delightful when it’s being used on you.” Lying back, I take her hand, wrap it lower, at the base of my cock, then stroke up, rotating her wrist, working the lube around me inside her hand, then dragging it back down. Heat bursts through me. My toes curl into the blankets.
She watches me move her hand in fascination, then falters when I let go. “Why?” She peers up, anxious. “Why’d you stop?”
“You know what to do,” I tell her tightly, struggling to breathe normally as she eases closer, one leg draped over mine, and strokes me again.
My eyes want to shut. My heart wants to beat right out of my chest. Being touched like this has never felt so incredible.
“Is this okay?” she asks.
I nod quickly, cupping her neck, bringing her closer. “I like being kissed while you touch me, too.”
She kisses me eagerly, open-mouthed, her touch uneven and unsure, but gaining confidence when I start making the kinds of sounds I can’t help, deep, rough gasps that make me crush her against me, make my hips pump my cock into her hand, faster and faster. She takes my cue and moves faster, intensifies her grip. “Yeah, that’s it,” I tell her. “That’s perfect, honey. So good. Just like that.”
She smiles against the crook of my neck and presses a wet, long kiss there.
My body’s tight as I groan and beg for her to keep going, my breathing sharp and short as she pumps me faster and teases my neck, my chest, with more soft, wet kisses.
“I like to kiss you, too,” I tell her, “when we’re doing this.”
“You are kissing me.”
I smile. “More than your lips.”
On a breathy laugh, she falls back on the bed and lets me ease over her, my hand lifting her breast, palming it, teasing her nipple. I kiss below her ear, the hollow of her throat, the place where I feel her heart flying beneath her ribs.
When I suck her nipple into my mouth, she sinks her nails into my back and gasps, her grip on my cock tightening, her pace accelerating.
“God, Kate,” I pant, sucking at her other nipple, rocking my hips into her hands. “I’m gonna come if you don’t slow down.”
“Then come,” she says, pushing me back enough to kiss her way down my neck. When she sinks her teeth into my pec, right above my nipple, and bites, chasing it with her tongue, I shout and come all over her hand, thick and fast.
“Keep going,” I manage, guiding her hand to move. “That’s it. Gentler. Like I did with you. Until I tell you I can’t anymore. Until being touched is too much.” I slow her hand to a stop, easing it away, and drop my head to her neck, breathing roughly. “God,” I groan.
“Wow,” she whispers. “That was fast.”
I bark a laugh and flop back onto my bed, reaching for the towel on the floor that she abandoned from her bath. Kate takes it from me, wiping her hand clean, then carefully wiping me clean, too, before she tosses it aside. She sits upright, staring down at me, her touch softly trailing my thighs, my hips.