Page 18 of Dirty Sweet Cowboy

I follow his instruction, moving my fingers in slow, deliberate circles around my clit. The pleasure is immediate and intense, making my hips rock forward, seeking more.

"Look at me," he demands. When I meet his gaze, he continues, "Want to see your face when you make yourself come for me."

I maintain eye contact as I continue to touch myself, the dual sensation of physical pleasure and the intensity of his gaze making my heart race. His hands rest on my thighs now, thumbs stroking small circles on my skin, encouraging without taking over.

"Add a finger," he instructs. "Push it inside. Feel how tight you are."

I slide one finger into my entrance, moaning at the feeling. It's not the same as when he does it—his fingers are thicker, longer—but it's still good. My inner walls clench around the intrusion, hungry for more.

"Another," he growls. "Stretch yourself for me."

I add a second finger, feeling the slight burn of the stretch. My palm presses against my clit as I pump my fingers in and out, building a rhythm that makes my thighs start to tremble.

"Fuck," Wayne breathes, watching my fingers disappear inside myself. "Look at you. So fucking perfect."

His praise washes over me, making me bolder, hungrier. I increase my pace, chasing the pleasure building at my core. My free hand continues to play with my nipple, pinching and rolling it the way I've learned I like.

"That's it, angel," he encourages, his own breathing becoming heavier. "Show Daddy how good you can be. How well you can pleasure yourself."

His words push me higher. I'm close now, that familiar tension coiling tight in my belly, my inner walls clenching rhythmically around my fingers.

"Wayne," I pant, hips rocking against my hand. "I'm getting close."

"I know you are," he says, voice dark with desire. "I can see it in your face. In the way your pussy grips your fingers." His hands tighten on my thighs. "Are you going to come for me? Show me how pretty you are when you fall apart?"

"Yes," I gasp, rhythm faltering as the pleasure builds to an almost unbearable level. "Yes, please."

"Do it," he commands. "Come for me now. Let me hear you."

The order pushes me over the edge. I cry out, back arching as the orgasm tears through me, more intense than when I'm alone, heightened by his eyes on me, his words in my ears. My body contracts around my fingers, wetness flooding my hand as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over me.

"That's it," Wayne praises, his voice a low rumble that extends my pleasure. "Such a good girl. My good girl."

When the last aftershock subsides, I slump forward, forehead resting on his shoulder as I struggle to catch my breath. His arms come around me, holding me close, one large hand stroking soothingly up and down my naked back.

"Beautiful," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to my temple. "So beautiful when you come."

I feel boneless, satisfied, yet somehow still hungry for more. For him. I can feel his hardness pressing against me through his pajama pants, a reminder that he's still unsatisfied.

"What about you?" I ask, voice muffled against his skin.

"Tonight was about you," he says, echoing his words from that first night under the oak tree. "About showing you how to please yourself the way I like to watch."

I pull back to look at him, surprised by my own boldness as I say, "I want to please you too. Want to learn how."

Something flares in his eyes—hunger and possession and something deeper that makes my heart stutter. "You will, angel. All in good time."

He shifts, lifting me easily as he stands. I wrap my legs around his waist instinctively, arms looping around his neck as he carries me to the bed. He lays me down gently, following me down to cover my body with his. The weight of him is delicious—grounding, secure.

His mouth finds mine in a kiss that starts gentle but quickly deepens, becomes hungrier, more demanding. I can feel the hard length of him pressing against my thigh, and I shift restlessly, wanting to feel him closer, inside me.

But he pulls back, as he always does, restraint evident in the tight clench of his jaw, the careful way he puts a few inches between our bodies.

"Soon," he promises, reading the question in my eyes. "Very soon."

I believe him. And as he gathers me against his chest, as I drift toward sleep wrapped in his arms, I know that when it happens—when he finally claims me completely—it will change everything. Will make what I feel now seem like just a prelude to something far more powerful.

And I can't wait.