Listening to my ragged breaths, Brody softly warns, “Don’t make me ask you again to tell me what you see.”
“I’m so wet I’m glistening. My p***y lips are plump, pink, and very . . .”
“Very what, baby?”
“Voluptuous? Provocative? I don’t know the right word. They just look . . .”
He hisses, “Like they need to be fucked.”
“Oh.” It’s hardly a sound from my mouth, just a little breath of startled air, forced out by the sudden, violent urge to feel him inside me, to have his c**k and mouth and hands possessing me, bending me to his will.
“Stroke your c**t, Grace. Pinch it between your fingers and stroke it.”
My fingers glide through my wetness. I pinch my c**t as he instructed, moaning because it feels so good. My hips start to rock in time with the strokes of my fingertips.
“Faster,” he
