When I don’t move, he strokes again, the same hesitant exploration. Heat flares over my skin. My heartbeat is a drum in my ears, and I struggle to keep still. Because I don’t want him to stop.

He doesn’t. Slowly, his pinky skims over my skin. His touch is so soft, I might have missed it. Only all of my awareness is on him and the progress he makes. He keeps going, and when he grazes the edge of my panties, my thighs clench, my clit tightening as if he plucked it.

As if my continued stillness is a sign of permission, his touch grows bolder. Gently, he draws his fingers over the sensitive skin on my stomach, down, then up. Behind me, his body is rock solid, his breath stilted as if he’s holding it.

And I lie there, pretending this isn’t happening. But it is. A slow tremble is working its way through me as heat licks between my thighs. With each delicate pass over my skin, he covers more ground. I close my eyes, focus on those fingers, how they tickle along my side, trace my panties, then trail upwards over my ribs.

I want to arch my back, push against the large swell of his cock that’s growing hard against my ass. His fingertips graze the underside of my breast, and I stop breathing. My nipples draw tight. He hovers there, just under my breasts, barely touching them.

My mind races. What are we doing? We’re crazy to do this. Everything will change. I should stop this. But I don’t want to.

I hear him swallow, feel the rapid thump of his heart against by back. My teeth sink down on my lip. It’s torture staying still, not begging him to go higher. Because I want him to. So fucking badly my breasts ache. And I want him to go lower as well, stick those long fingers of his under my panties. But I can’t. Somehow, by silent agreement, we’re both pretending this isn’t happening. If we don’t talk, don’t acknowledge it, we can do this.

And so I lie still, breath short, body aching, waiting.

Then he moves, sliding his fingers over the curve of my breast, up toward my nipple. I bite my lip harder, willing myself not to whimper. God, but my nipple throbs, waiting for that touch. But it doesn’t come. The bastard traces under it, slowly stroking my skin, teasing me.

I shiver, my back tensing as I arch just a little bit, silently begging with my body. And he tenses against me, pressing closer. His breathing speeds up, and I know he can see over my shoulder. That he’s watching.

Blindly, I stare forward, but in my periphery I can see his hand, inching up my shirt, exposing me. A small sound rumbles deep in his chest. I’m so hot now, I can barely breathe. I want to move. I don’t. We both freeze, knowing that if he slides any closer, if he touches my nipple, we’ve fully crossed a line.

My chest rises and falls in a quick, light pant. I can’t help myself. And his fingers draw closer. Gray’s body is so tight, he’s shaking. I can’t take anymore.

And then I don’t have to. The blunt tips of his fingers run over my aching nipple. I almost groan, but hold onto it. Gray’s touch grows firmer, moving the stiff nub back and forth. And it feels so fucking good I can’t stand it. My thighs clench. My clit swells, growing wet and needy. It’s almost illicit what he’s doing to me, a naughty secret here in the dim quiet of my room.

His hot breath stirs my hair, the muscles along his arm twitching as he moves. My fingers dig into the sheet to keep myself still.

And then his hand is sliding away. I almost protest, but I’m too distracted by the way he’s gliding over my skin, heading down. He stops at the top of my panties. We both take a slow breath together. I know he’ll go no further. It’s up to me.

Closing my eyes, I ease my thighs apart—just slightly—and the action aches. His breath hitches, because he knows it’s an invitation. His long fingers slip under my panties. The sheets rustle as I edge one leg higher, making room for his hand.

Gray trembles, the wall of his chest flush with my back. His arm runs along my side as he reaches down, and the callused pads of his fingers graze my clit. A tiny whimper escapes me, just as his breath gusts out in a soundless “unh.” Because I’m so slippery wet, he slides right over my swollen flesh. And my entire body responds, coiling with heat that throbs.

I bite my lip so hard it hurts, tiny sounds making their way through my clenched teeth, little whimpers I can’t hold back as he works me over in a slow, torturous circle. My ass grinds back against his stiff cock, and he rocks his erection into me.

Silent, barely moving, we lie there, our bodies trembling, Gray fingering me. Lower he goes, sliding over my sex, down to my opening. I’m panting now, my skin covered in a sheen of sweat. I’m so close to coming, my head spins.

As if he can feel the orgasm rising within me, Gray presses his lips to my bare shoulder and holds me tight as his thick finger enters me, deep. I can’t help it, I groan, my hips canting into his touch. He fucks me with his finger, and everything goes fuzzy. There is just him invading me and the undulating rhythm of my hips. I’m whimpering, my flesh so hot and pulsing. I come on a wave of heat and helpless cries, my body twitching, trapped in the clutch of his arm.

“Fuck, honey,” he rasps. “Fuck.” And then his hand is sliding away. He’s turning me, his fingers threading through my hair.

He looks in pain, his gaze darting over my face as if he wants to say something. But he doesn’t. His attention drifts to my mouth, and, God, I feel him there, as if he’s already kissing me, already taking my mouth the way I know he wants to. My lips thrum with need. I lick them, tip my chin up so I can get closer. I want a taste of him so badly. A tortured sound escapes him, his broad chest lifting and falling on a hitched breath. “Ivy.”