He kissed me instead of answering. His fingers circled my clit with gentle, steady pressure. Enough to make me wet, but not enough to take it anywhere. A little harder, and I gasped into his kiss when he circled and there was a sharp surge of pleasure. “Right there, baby girl? Okay. We can do right there.”

Focusing on the single spot on my clit, he teased it, pulling wetness up to make it slicker.

“Soft and slow means I’m going to take my time. My pace, my pressure. No matter how long it takes for you to come. You can beg me to go faster if you want to, but it’s not going to make me speed up. I want you to enjoy the journey and not just the climax. Help me.” He lifted his hand up to my mouth and offered his fingers.

I tasted myself on his skin while I wet his fingers, pressing my hips up to meet his hand once more. “So you want to torture me?”

“Oh, I don’t think it’s going to be torture.”

He was moving again, and it was maddeningly slow. And yet, I couldn’t argue with him on the torture. It felt incredible, every brush of his finger letting pleasure seep into me slowly.

It was like falling into a haze where there were only his fingers and his lips. The feeling of his breath and his scent. That haze was pleasure and it built slowly. So slowly you almost didn’t notice until it suffused everything around us.

I needed more. Writhing, I begged him without words. My teeth bit into my lip, trying not to speak and ask uselessly.

“You’re doing so good, baby girl,” he whispered. “Feel it. Enjoy how good my fingers feel on your clit, and knowing nothing you do is going to make them move faster.”

“Fuck.” My voice was a strangled mess. “Avery, please.”

“Mmm.” He kissed the space below my ear. “I like the sound of you begging me.”

The pleasure inside of me was like a lighter trying to start. Every pass over that one fucking spot was a spark trying to catch, and failing. It sank into me, tunneling deeper, until the entire inside of my body was filled with the deep, sharp feeling of bliss which came just before an orgasm.

I was hovering on the edge, somehow impossibly not quite there. There was no way to keep still. I reached for the cushions—blankets, anything to anchor me—and Avery didn’t stop. Just like he’d said, the same pressure and the same speed, my body straining for the one little extra spark to drop me over the cliff.

“You can take it,” Avery whispered, kissing me breathless. “Every inch of you is soaked in it. I can scent the way you want it, baby girl. Let go.”

How could I let go even further than I already was?