A fingertip glanced over her clitoris and she jumped. More of that, please.

He licked her throat and pressed an openmouthed kiss there. He cupped her sex with his hand and she lifted her hips, trying to get him where she needed. “Clay—”

“And when they were alone,” he continued, “the nymph was playful and wicked, the spark of joy his lonely life had been missing.” One finger penetrated her, the thick digit filling her slowly.

“Oh, God,” she breathed and closed her eyes, her head resting on his shoulder. She couldn’t move, couldn’t think; she could only crave. Her legs trembled, the muscles straining for more as he thrust a finger in her channel.

“Finally, the nymph allowed the satyr to touch her and it was the sweetest, most erotic experience of his life.” He pressed his palm to her clitoris, grinding, while his soft, panting breaths brushed her ear. “The satyr was hard, so impossibly hard for her, when she spread her thighs and took him inside her body. He nearly died from the pleasure, she was so hot and tight. The walls of her cunt gripped his cock as he rode her, driving deep to touch her womb.”

Clay worked another finger inside her, and her hips rose to meet him. The pressure felt so good, so necessary. He continued to thrust, faster now, his palm stroking her clitoris. Electricity built in her veins, a storm gathering inside her.

“The nymph came so hard and her nails raked the satyr’s back. She tightened around him, her body milking his shaft for his seed. Pleased he’d serviced her, he let himself chase his own orgasm, pumping his cock until his spend shot from the tip.”

Wicked words and wicked fingers did not relent, and Florence was clutching at him, mindless. Then he curled his finger high inside her and she couldn’t withstand it. The orgasm rushed up and over her, taking her to the highest peak and obliterating everything else. She convulsed, her body dragging out the bliss, until she collapsed in a heap against him.

He nuzzled her neck, his kisses soft and tender despite the obvious erection he still possessed. “Happy birthday, beautiful girl,” he rasped against her skin.

She made a sound that was a cross between a wheeze and a chuckle. “Thank you, Clay.”

“You’re welcome, though that was for me as much as it was for you.” He withdrew his fingers from between her legs and brought them up to his mouth. Pushing the digits past his lips, he moaned, his face slackening as his lids fell shut. Like he was savoring her taste.

She adjusted her limbs so she could angle toward him. Color tinged his cheeks and neck, his muscles tight. He appeared like a man on the edge. Placing a hand on his chest, she dragged it toward his groin. “Should I tell you a story now?”