None of it compared.

I reached for him automatically, but his hand snapped out, capturing my wrist and halting me.

“Touch yourself first.”

I balked. “Wh-what?”

Clay moved my hand to my stomach, pushing it down under the hem of my sweatpants as my eyes fluttered at the sensation. He wasn’t even touching me yet. It was my own damn hand.

But his was on top of it.

He lined up his fingers with mine, the pad of his pushing into my nail, and he ran my hand along the length of my vagina, slipping one finger between the folds.

“Are you wet?” he asked.

I nodded, unable to form words.

“Coat yourself in it,” he instructed. “Slick your hand with your wetness, and then let me feel it.”

My next swallow was rough, like I’d taken too big of a bite — and maybe I had. Maybe I’d bitten off entirely more than I could chew, but God did it feel good to have his eyes on me, his hands, his mouth.

I’d debate the consequences later.

I did as he said, and my body heated more and more each time my palm slicked over my clit. Clay helped my hand glide back and forth, drenching my fingers and palm, and then he removed our hands from beneath my pants and moved them over to him.

I leaned up on my elbow, watching as he wrapped my hand around his base.

The second I touched him, he groaned, squeezing his eyes shut and falling back into the pillows.

I ripped my hand away. “Oh, God. Did I hurt you? Did I fuck up?”

“No,” he panted, grabbing my hand and moving it back. “It feels good,” he breathed, and then a soft curse left his lips as he helped me slide my fist over his shaft. “So fucking good.”

I lit up under the praise, mirroring what he’d done. I ran my slick palm up to his mushroom tip, applying light pressure as I slicked it all the way down to his base again. Another moan of satisfaction rewarded me, and he flexed his hips into my touch.

“More.”

I squeezed tighter on the next roll down, and he cursed, nodding and flexing into my hand again. He was so thick I could barely get my hand all the way around him, and the thought of taking him inside me both excited and terrified me.

“The tip is really sensitive,” he tried to explain through his panting, his chest heaving with every new roll of my hand over him. “You want to touch it, yes, but not too much, not too aggressively.”

I nodded, taking mental notes as I slicked his head before moving to his shaft.

“Just like every girl is different, every guy is, too. Some want it slow, some fast, some like light pressure, others like harder.”

“What about these?” I asked, dipping my hands down beneath his shaft without warning.