Chapter 8: Babe 🌶️🌶️🌶️

Tate slipped his middle and index fingers between her thighs.

That hand — filthy in what it was doing but so careful in how it did it — scraped lightly at her petals, then used his middle finger to press a shallow dip into her tender little slit. Just enough to push inside.

"You're this wet down here."

He talked to her while he fingered her, his mouth close to her ear. The problem was that his face was too good-looking. A boyfriend with a face like that wanting to fuck her was so sexy she could barely stand it.

"I'm not wet."

She turned her head away from the hot breath hitting her ear, but his voice still turned the tips of her ears bright red.

"Not wet?"

Tate laughed quietly. He didn't know if she was trying to lie to him or to herself. His middle finger pressed flat against her pussy and rubbed into the little hole without mercy.

One knuckle went in. Then his ring finger followed.

He pulled both fingers out along the inner wall of her flesh and held them up in front of her hazy dark eyes.

"You're not wet. So what's this?"

Two long, well-shaped fingers were coated in the slick that had come from inside her. It glistened in the lamplight — obscene, shining.

He spread his fingers apart. A string of wet stretched between them and wouldn't break.

Like he'd just pushed his fingers into the center of an overripe peach and pulled them out dripping with the thick, sweet juice — wet and sticky, almost too much.

He'd been tormenting her all night. Normally he never pushed her like this. When she didn't want to face something, he let her avoid it.

She didn't know what to say. She looked away, holding everything in. She looked pitiful — wronged and quiet.

That expression on her face in bed made his head spin. He wanted to drown in her shame. His sloppy kisses wandered from her earlobe to the crease behind her ear, then down to the long, smooth line of her neck.

"Babe, I love you so much."

He said it low, voice pressed down, hoarse, barely above a whisper. The hand that had been gripping her ribs curved downward into the soft flesh at her waist and started kneading her body.

She almost went blank when she heard him say it.

Nobody had ever called her that before.

June had grown up without a mother. Her grandmother had raised her. This was the first time in her life anyone had called her something that intimate — and he was saying it while telling her he loved her.

Even that afternoon when he'd confessed, he hadn't said "I love you" like this.

The breathing between them was heavy, tangled. Their bodies slid and ground against each other. When his mouth and tongue were buried against her neck and collarbone, too tangled up to separate, Tate grabbed his aching cock and pressed it against her.

The upward curve landed right against her pussy. Her soft hair gave him the friction he needed.

"Put your hand here."

"What?"

He lifted both of her feet together and held them up. Then he took her hand and guided it underneath her own thighs.

Her long, slender fingers got repositioned. Her two middle fingers pressed against the edges of her privates. He guided them outward — made her spread herself open.

The position was humiliating. Her hole was completely exposed to him.

But she couldn't see any of it. All she could see were her own knees and thighs.

The two pink little petals were spread apart, pointing invitingly at his cock, dripping with slick. Even the inside of her hole had a string of wet trailing out, running down toward her back.

June was so embarrassed her toes curled. Her fingers kept slipping on the wet skin along the edges of her pussy, fidgeting, wanting to pull them back.

Tate was kneeling on the bed. He straightened up, one hand pressing down on her waist, the other gripping his cock. He looked down at the spread-open hole between her legs and started thrusting his hips — rubbing the shaft of his cock back and forth across her opening. The backs of his ears flushed dark.

His neck was long and fair. His spine curved forward, the knobs of his vertebrae pronounced down the center of his back. His shoulders were broad, the muscle lean and cut. His abs stood out in hard ridges.

He ground his cock hard against her hole without going inside. Her lower belly went numb with tingling — her hips kept lifting off the mattress and falling back down.

Her hole was flooding. The slick ran out in thick streaks, and every pass of his cock made it wetter.

Tate kept feeling like if he just angled his cock down a little more, pushed a little harder, the whole thing would slide right in — follow the path of all that wet and bury itself inside her.