Page 147 of In Somnis

“That I probably won’t be able to make a mess of your jeans.” The color that floods her cheeks is extraordinary, a deep pink, all the way to her ears, and under any other circumstance, I would find it purely delightful, but right now, she is shrinking, folding herself smaller in real time, and I hate it.

“And I don’t know if I’ll be able to come,” she continues. “On your thigh or… or anywhere, really, it just… it takes a lot, and sometimes it doesn’t happen at all, and I know that’s probably boring and⁠—”

“Did you enjoy what we were doing?”

She blinks but doesn’t open her pretty mouth.

“Just now,” I prompt. “Did you enjoy it?”

“So much,” she breathes out, then her eyes drop again. “But I don’t know if it’s even good for you, because I’m not really… I’m not doing much, and you seem like you have a lot of experience. I mean, sure, I’ve had sex before,” she adds, and a wholly inappropriate spark of jealousy ignites at that.

I do not want to think about anyone having her.

I am aware that it is irrational.

“But it was never… not like this. It’s not anything like this, and I mean it’s not even sex, we’re just… I’m just riding your thigh. Oh my God, did I say that out loud?” She puts her hand over her face. “I’m probably doing it wrong, and I⁠—”

“Eyes on me.” I reach up and slide my hand into her hair. My fingers curl at the roots, and I tip her head back until she has no choice but to look at me.

I hold her gaze, making sure I have it. Then I take her free hand and guide it, slowly, giving her every opportunity to pull away, and press her palm against the front of my jeans. She feels me, and her eyes go wide, and the sound I make when her hand makes contact is not something I’m proud of.

“You feel that?” I ask, my voice rougher now. “That’s what you do to me.” I keep her hand there for one more second, then I lift it away and bring it to my mouth. I press my lips to the center of her palm while she stares at me. “You don’t owe me anything,” I tell her, against her still-scraped skin. “That’s not why I did that. I just needed you to know that I’m very much enjoying what we’re doing as well.”

Some of the shame seems to loosen, and then she shifts on my leg, a tiny, restless movement, almost like she can’t help it. “So, can we… do it some more? Even if it doesn’t result in a wet spot⁠—”

I cut her off with another kiss, and she kisses me back with both hands now gripping my shirt.

“You’re so sexy,” I breathe out against her lips, between kisses, because I need her to hear it, need it to stick, need it to be louder than whatever voice in her head has been telling her otherwise. “You have no idea. I’m losing my mind here.” I pull back far enough to see her. “You’re so beautiful. You’re stunning.” A kiss to the corner of her mouth. “Do you know that I have not been tempted once, not a single time, in five years? Five years,” I say. “And then… there was you.”

She reclaims my lips and makes a breathy sound against my mouth, and her hips shift forward again. The primal, entirely unreasonable part of me takes the information she has just given me and does something unhelpful with it.

She’ll never be left wanting with me.

I know that’s not how it works. I know bodies are complicated, and none of this is about wanting or trying hard enough. I know all of that with the rational part of my brain, which has a doctorate and understands psychophysiology.

The other part of my brain is simply and completely determined to prove itself.

I want to learn exactly what she needs and give it to her until she stops bracing for disappointment and starts expecting to be taken care of. I want to hear every one of those soft sounds again, and again, and again until they stop surprising her too.

But my thigh alone isn’t going to be enough.

I break the kiss, and she makes a small protesting sound, her hips still moving, chasing the friction. I have to close my eyes for exactly one second. “Let me take care of you,” I say against her mouth. “Can I do that? Will you let me?”

She hesitates, then nods.

I take her hips and guide her back over my lap so she’s straddling both my thighs properly, and then I take her chin between my fingers, holding her face, keeping her eyes on mine.

“Yes?”

Her pupils have blown so wide the blue has almost disappeared. Dark and wanting, nodding into my hand, her whole body leaning into the hold.

“Yes,” she breathes out.

I give her a soft approving peck and pull back. “Good girl.”

Then I reach under her skirt, find the seam of her stockings, that single line running straight up the center, pulled taut against her, take the fabric in both hands, and pull.

The sound she makes when they tear open is a gasp so loud it fills the whole room.