The Bacelor: Make A Sex Deal

But when I opened them, his were on me.

His lips parted.

I couldn’t exactly read the expression on his face, but it reminded me of anger and frustration and hunger.

Does he want to touch me?

Is that driving him mad?

But he wouldn’t touch me because this wasn’t about what he liked, what he needed, what he wanted.

This lesson was for me.

I was the star.

The only thing was, I wasn’t acting.

The sounds that swished out of my lips, the strain I was using to keep my legs open-that was all real.

Especially as my pointer finger began to circle my entrance.

“Fuck yes,” he roared.

My breathing turned heavy as my palm moved to my clit, giving my finger more freedom to dive in.

I didn’t go in far-I never did-just the distance of a tampon, stopping when I reached my middle knuckle, and that was when I pulled out.

“Let me see your finger.”

His demand almost startled me, his voice ringing in my ears.

I lifted my hand, completely abandoning what I had been doing, and I held it out to him.

“You’re so fucking wet,” he hissed.

I thought the next order was going to be to return to those same spots I had been in before, but that didn’t come. What came instead were his lips, opening around my nail and sucking the wetness off of it. He then lowered to my knuckle and lapped up the wetness that was there.

When he finally left my finger, he leaned back, almost like he no longer trusted himself to be so close. “Oaklyn, goddamn it. That taste … it’s fucking amazing.”

I leaned up on my elbow, pleased with the glare in his eyes. “Shall I continue?”

“Yes. Now. Quickly.”

With skin that was dampened from his spit, I went back to that place, focusing on the top of my clit and my entrance, giving friction to both. That second intrusion caused another moan to leak from my mouth and, “Ahhh,” to follow.

I didn’t know if it was his presence.

If it was the fact that I had an audience.

Or if it was that it had been several days since I’d had an orgasm and I was starving for one, but the intensity was already flaring.

Threatening.

Erupting.This text is property of Nô/velD/rama.Org.

“Oh fuck.” I reached up behind me, grasping the first thing I came into contact with, which seemed like the corner of a pillow, and I squeezed it in my hand. “Yes!”

My back lifted, my weight going into the heels of my feet.

And my hand moved faster.

I wasn’t watching him; my eyes were closed again while I rode toward the peak of this roller coaster.

But as I got nearer to the top, there were so many other aches in my body.

More needs.

Rippling fires that needed to be extinguished.

“Oh, yes,” I cried out and released the pillow to clutch my breast, thumbing that hardened bud in the middle.

I rubbed back and forth against it, pressing harder, swiping faster, giving myself just enough that it added to what was already ablaze inside me.

“Fuck,” I heard in a low, raspy breath.

A breath that wasn’t mine.

But I still didn’t open my eyes.

I centered my attention on the feeling that was rising, a feeling that was like a bullet, firing from my legs and darting toward my pussy and up through my stomach.

“Oh God!” With that shot came a vibration. One that ricocheted across my navel, over and over, causing a shudder to move through me. “Fuck!”

My eyes opened.

My head leaned back.

My legs caved, my ass lowering to the couch since it had lifted off, and I rubbed out the rest of the desire since it had already reached its highest point.

This was the comedown.

The period where I turned into a pool of mush, where there was nothing left, not even a breath.

“That was …” I swallowed. “Wow.” My finger very slowly slid out, my palm moved off my clit, and my feet dropped to the floor, the coldness from the wood below shaking me awake.

As I connected our gazes, I almost couldn’t fathom what was looking back at me.

His untamed eyes.

His feral mouth.

How his hands were wringing together, like he was stopping himself from reaching for me.

This was a side of Camden I hadn’t seen.

I quietly searched for a blanket, a throw pillow, anything to cover myself up and not feel as exposed.

But there was nothing.

“Oaklyn …”

“Yes?”

It took him a while to respond. “I didn’t see that coming.”

“No?” I filled my lungs. “What did you think was going to happen?”

His eyelids narrowed, his hands releasing the lock they had been in, and he briefly traced the inside of my knee. “Not that.”

Because that, his eyes told me, had impressed him.

Because that, his mouth showed me, had proven to him that I could handle this.

Even silently, the honesty on his face radiated in a way I’d never experienced from him before.

But there was something else behind that gaze.

Something that made me say, “Is this the end of the lesson?”

Air came out of him as though he were blowing through a straw. “Unless you want to do that all over again, which I have no objection to.”

“No.” I laughed, the thought ridiculous. I couldn’t come again-there was no way. “I was asking for a different reason.”

“Which is?”

I sat up a little taller, moving my hair to one side in case it was looking a bit wild. “I want to make you feel the same way I just felt.” My arms wrapped around my stomach, the shyness creeping back in as I nodded toward the extremely large tent in his sweats. “You know, I could try and take care of that. With your direction, of course.”