Visibly trembling with excitement, Fish leads me to the bed, where I sit on the edge, barely able to breathe through my excitement.
Fish murmurs something about taking off my bra, so I lean forward, thinking I’m helping him reach the clasp on my back. Unfortunately, though, I’ve moved sharply forward at the exact moment he’s bent sharply down and forward. Which means we knock foreheads, rather forcefully.
“I’m sorry!” I blurt, touching the point of impact. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” He’s rubbing his forehead, too. “You?”
“I’m fine.” I gasp, remembering the video shoot tomorrow. “Is there a bump? A mark?”
Fish scrutinizes me carefully. “No. Nothing.”
I sigh with relief, and he kisses my forehead gently.
“I’m sorry. I was going to take off your bra.”
My chest heaves. “Please do.”
He puts up his palm. “Stay perfectly still for a minute, okay?” When I nod and sit still like a statue, Fish slowly sits next to me on the bed and begins kissing me again. As our kiss ramps up, and my body ignites again, he reaches behind me and fingers the clasp on my back. And fingers it. And fiddles with it. Until, soon, it’s obvious the damn bra isn’t coming off any time soon.
Fish pulls out of our kiss. “How the fuck do you open this thing?”
I laugh. “Sorry. There’s a trick to it. You have to kind of twist it. I’ll do it.” I reach behind my back and easily release the snap, which causes my bra to fall forward slightly at my breasts. “I shouldn’t have worn this bra. It’s like a freaking boob chastity belt.”
He laughs. “No, I’m just stupid.” He looks down at my loosened bra. “Can I . . . pull it off?”
“Yes. My underwear, too.”
He takes a shallow breath and trembles again. And then, slowly, pulls off my bra completely, baring my small breasts to him.
He looks into my eyes. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
He guides me to lie down and pulls off my undies, making me whimper with excitement and anticipation. With a loud and quavering exhale, he crawls on top of me, the same way he did in that greenroom, presses his body against mine, and begins making out with me. We kiss passionately. Grind our naked bodies together. We caress and explore each other. Our hands alternately grabbing and brushing lightly. Until I realize Fish has touched every inch of me, other than the pulsing, throbbing swollen bundle of nerves that’s aching to be touched the most.
“Can I touch between your legs?” he whispers, his fingertips skating across my inner thigh.
I tell him yes in a strained, desperate voice. I beg him to please touch me there. And, in response, he slides his fingers inside me, gently, and slowly begins moving them in and out.
At the sensation of being penetrated for the first time in my life, I moan at the fireworks going off inside me—and then flat-out growl when Fish’s fingers unexpectedly move from my wetness to my aching, throbbing clit and begin moving it around with masterful precision.
Oh my fucking God.
I’ve recently gotten pretty good at touching myself exactly like this, so I thought I knew what it’d feel like for Fish to do it the same way. But, no. There’s absolutely no comparison between my own touch and Fish’s. Fish’s touch is exponentially more exciting, pleasurable, and intense than anything I’ve ever managed to feel on my own. In fact, I literally can’t lie still as Fish works me with expert fingers. I’m not only groaning and shaking and moaning with pleasure, I’m writhing uncontrollably. Gyrating into his confident hand.
“I’ve been fantasizing about doing this for so long,” he whispers into my ear as I moan. “This is so hot for me, Ally.”
His breathing is heavy. His skin against mine warm. And his fingers! Oh, God. Every single touch is taking me closer and closer to the brink of pure ecstasy.
“I’m . . . Ooooh, Matthew.” For a split second, I feel like I’ve looked straight at the sun and am now awaiting the inevitable sneeze. My body feels suspended, momentarily. I feel a sharp retraction inside my womb, ever so briefly. And then, nirvana, as the most explosive, pleasurable orgasm of my life throttles me.
I cry out with my release, bucking and jolting against Fish’s hand. And as I do, Fish growls about how hot I am. How wet he is. How much he loves touching me.
When I come down from my pleasure, I blurt, “Make love to me, Fish.”
He doesn’t hesitate. He scrambles to his nearby suitcase, grabs a foil packet, and covers himself. When he returns to me, his face is a portrait of unbridled lust. I know he loves me. But in this moment, clearly, this man wants to fuck me. And that’s perfectly fine with me.