It didn’t.
Not when he started moving them.
Slow at first. Deep. Curling. Making me rise on my tiptoes and arch my back and bite down on the inside of my cheek so hard I tasted blood.
“You like this?” he whispered, breath hot against my ear. “You like being fingered like a little slut while my mother watches?”
“Oh my goddess,” I whimpered. “Stop talking. Stop. Talking.”
“You’re dripping down my hand.”
“I hate you.”
“You’re close.”
“I swear to the Moon, I will rip your throat out if you stop—AH—f**k, don’t stop!”
I was grinding on his hand like I’d lost my mind. My body was moving on its own. My thighs were shaking.
My breath was coming in shallow, ragged gasps, and I knew..knew..I was going to c*m right there against the wall if he didn’t stop and that thought alone made my eyes
