I murmur incoherent sounds in soft disbelief at how thick he is, how hard and heavy. At how desperately I can tell that he needs this. My touch.
That emboldens me.
I stroke him up and down, ending with a gentle squeeze, my eyes asking if it’s okay.
Graham rewards me with a groan. “Fuck, yes. You got it, Butterfly. Just don’t stop.”
“Are you sure I’m doing it right?” I ask, needing the confirmation again, even though he’s already given it.
He laughs lightly. “I’m positive.” Then his laughter ends, and his eyes darken. “Do it again. Don’t stop.”
As I run my hand along his erection, a worry tugs at me. This man is so skilled in the bedroom. Am I going to put him to sleep with my tentative explorations? I run my fingers down the length of his cock to his balls. I touch them, very gently, feeling inadequate an
d wishing I had done my research on how men like to have their balls played with.
“I’m not going to break,” Graham rasps out, his fingers gently encircling my arm. “Look at me, CJ.”
I do, blowing the hair out of my face with pursed lips.
His eyes hold mine. His are fierce, honest, and a whole lot of hungry. “I promise you, there is nothing you can do that would be wrong. Nothing. You understand? That’s the lesson, CJ. You’re perfect as you are, and your touch drives me crazy.”
“I want to do more than make you crazy,” I say, my fingers tightening around his shaft. I take a breath, gathering up the guts to say what I want more than anything right now. “I want to make you feel as good as you make me feel. I want to make you come, Graham. For me. Because of me.”
Cursing under his breath, he nods. “Do you fucking know how close I already am? I want nothing more than to come all over your hand.”
His words light me up. Electricity races through my body, a wild thrill at the prospect of bringing him to the cliff and then over. It’s dirty, it’s erotic, and it’s all so deliciously new. I want it desperately.
“How do you want me to touch you?” I ask.
He wraps his hand tighter around mine, guiding me up and down his length. Faster, rougher than I would on my own. “That’s what you do. You keep going,” he says, moving my hand even faster. “Up and down, not too hard, probably a little faster near the end. We’re a lot less complicated than women.”
“Easy sounds good to me right now.”
“Trust me. You’re making me look so fucking easy.”
His playful words assuage my worries, and I draw in a breath. I can do this. I can absolutely do this. I grip him harder and follow his direction, stroking faster and rougher. He grits out my name in a twisted curse, and I feel a fresh wave of heat in my body.
“Butterfly?” he whispers.
“Yes?”
“Slide your hand between your legs, and bring some of that wetness to my cock.”
Duh. Of course, he needs lube. Fortunately, I’ve got a more than ample supply thanks to the double dose of pleasure he gave me. I do as he asked then return my wet hand to his cock.
“Hey, look. It slides much easier,” I say playfully as I demonstrate.
He smiles. “Yes, it does.”
Then his smile falters, replaced by a look of intense concentration as I stroke him again. I pump him up and down, finding the rhythm that makes his breath come faster. A little more wetness, a little less friction, and he’s rocking into my hand, thrusting his hips into my fist.
My breath catches and pleasure camps out in every cell in my body as I stare at the two of us, my hand on his hard-on. I’m wildly aroused from watching him, from doing this to him. His eyes squeeze shut, and I gaze at his throat, where the pulse seems to beat faster in his neck. His lips part, and he groans, louder than before. I’ve never heard anything so sexy in my life.
“That’s it. A little faster.”
I up the pace, gripping him even harder.
“Yes. That,” he says on a groan. “Coming.”