“You’re not difficult,” he insisted. “That’s not true.”
“It really is. It’s never happened…and August said…”
Weston took a step forward. “What did he say?”
I swallowed. “Just that…” Fuck, I’d never told anyone this. “That it was normal for girls to not get off.”
“And did he suggest you still had to get him off?” West almost growled.
I glanced down with a shrug. “Yeah, I mean…”
West looked as if he could barely hold himself back as he entered my personal space. I tilted my head up to look at him. Without my heels on, he towered over me.
“Listen to me, everything he told you is a lie. A lie.” Weston held my gaze firm and steady. “I can show you that he’s wrong.”
The words left me stunned. Show me. He could show me.
“How?” I whispered.
I’d had a few drinks. I was a little tipsy. Enough to ask that one word that destroyed any semblance of control I had. But not drunk enough to be incoherent.
“We can call it a teachable moment,” he said calmly. “I’ve taught you about everything else. You trust me, right?”
I nodded.
“Then, I can show you that what he said is wrong. If you want me to do that.”
A pregnant pause followed his words. My core tightened at the thought of what that could possibly mean. What he was offering. I wanted it. I wanted it so bad. I hadn’t been touched in ten long months. My body ached for him to prove to me how wrong August had been about my body. And he was so damn confident about it. Like I’d been led, blindfolded, for most of my life.
I was ready to remove it.
“Okay,” I said breathily.
“It doesn’t have to involve feelings,” he said automatically, as if he had to talk me into this.
“No feelings,” I agreed.
Except there was already something brewing between us. Something that I couldn’t quite put my finger on. But I couldn’t deny it any more than I could stop breathing.
“You’re sure?”
I nodded because I couldn’t say another word with him so close to me, breathing the same air, my heart constricting almost painfully so. He took my hand and drew me back to the couch. I took a seat next to him. I clenched my hand into a fist to keep from shaking with anticipation.
“Okay. I’m not going to kiss you. I’m only going to touch you here,” he said, gesturing between my legs. “You can tell me to stop at any time. Do you understand?”
My eyes met his, and I shivered at the look of lust reflected back at me. “Yes.”
But I wanted him to kiss me. God, I fucking wanted him to kiss me. I wanted to lean in right now and claim those supple lips for my own. I wanted to offer myself up to him on a silver platter. No matter that I’d only ever been with one guy. I never felt like Weston would hurt me. He’d only ever put my own interests first.
I jumped at the first contact against my thigh. “Sorry,” I whispered.
He smiled back at me. “No apologizing.”
I gulped and nodded as his hand slid up my skirt. At the first touch of him against the lace of my thong, I jumped again. I bit back another apology. He hesitated a second, looking into my gaze, waiting for me to tell him to stop. I had no intention of doing so.
He stroked me gently through my underwear, and I squirmed at the heat that built there. His other hand came to my knee. The feel of his hand against me nearly made me groan.
“Open,” he commanded. Then, he spread my legs, inch by inch, baring me before him until I was wide open. “Better.”
I nearly fell apart right then and there. Not orgasming—because that had never happened—but collapsing with desire. Weston Wright was commanding my body, and I was letting him.
His fingers skimmed the top of my underwear. “I’m going to touch you now.”
I bit my lip as he did just that. Those callous fingers skimming over the light hair until he reached my clit. I bucked against his fingers at the first gentle brush.
His voice was hoarse when he said, “Look at me.”
My eyes had been squeezed shut, but I forced them open. I looked into his beautiful face as he moved two fingers between the lips of my pussy and found the slickness there, waiting for him.
His eyes flickered wider when he discovered how wet I was from him. He looked like he was going to say something about it, but he just moved those two fingers through the wetness until he reached my opening.
“I’m going to finger you,” he said, our eyes still locked.
It should have been less hot with him telling me everything before it happened, but somehow, it only heightened every move. I bit my lip harder, waiting. But then I realized he wanted me to say it was okay.
The only word that came out was, “Please.”
He swallowed hard. Then, he thrust forward, inserting one finger inside of me. I couldn’t look at him any longer. I tipped my head backward and arched against the couch.
Oh God, oh God, oh God!
“How does that feel?” he asked, voice strained.
“Good,” I groaned.
Then, a second finger joined it, stretching me easily.
“And this?”
“Uh,” I gasped. “Fuck.”
He started a slow, steady rhythm, in and out. In and out. I could feel my body coiling in on itself. The tempo dragging me closer to the edge. All of the pent-up energy I’d been holding on to coalescing into something primal in my core.
Then, his thumb joined the mix. He slicked it through my wetness and then circled it slowly—so fucking slowly—against my clit. I couldn’t help it; I gasped. My legs shamelessly fell farther apart. I wanted more. I would give him anything at this point. He had to know it, too, because I could feel his own breathing matching mine.
“Are you close?” he asked.
His thumb circled faster and harder. Just like how I did it when I was alone in my room. Only this was Weston’s hand, his thumb, and I had no idea what the fuck he was going to do next.
“I…I…”
He curled his fingers up inside of me as he dragged them in and out. And something about that motion and the faster tempo and him working my clit made everything go fuzzy at the edges. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think. I could barely function at all.
“Come for me,” he whispered hoarsely against my ear.
And I was already there. So close. That, at the filthy words, I broke apart. Everything snapped, and I shuddered, my pussy contracting against his fingers over and over, as if trying to keep him from releasing me.
I made incoherent sounds of pleasure as the climax hit me. And then when I finally came down, I cracked my eyes open and looked at him with sex eyes, my chest heaving from the exertion.
“West,” I whispered.
He slowly withdrew his hand from my underwear—he hadn’t even needed to remove it. My eyes drifted to the sweats he had on. His erection was jutting upward, and he pressed his hand against it to cover it. As if he didn’t even want me to see what my orgasm had done to him.
“There,” he said. “You’re not difficult at all.”
He shot me a small smile and then disappeared into his room, leaving me in a puddle of goo and a swirl of confusion.