One thick finger pushes inside.
I clench around him – can’t help it, have never been able to help it – and he freezes. Waits. Listens to my breathing, checks my face, makes sure I’m still “asleep.”
Satisfied, he starts to move.
In and out. Slow, careful thrusts. He’s learned exactly how to touch me over four years – knows the angle that makes me tightest, the depth that makes me shake, the curl of his finger against my g-spot that makes me c*m.
He adds a second finger.
The stretch is delicious. He pumps them slowly, spreading them apart inside me, opening me up for what’s coming next. His thumb finds my c**t and starts rubbing circles – gentle at first, then harder as he feels my walls flutter around his fingers.
I c*m.
Silent. Still. My p***y clenching rhythmically around his finge
