I slide my hand between my thighs and my fingers trace along the outer lips of my p***y and even that light contact makes my breath catch because I’m more swollen than I expected, still sensitive from the motorcycle and the lecture hall and the four days of him sitting in that booth looking at me like I’m something he plans to eat.
The wetness coats my fingertips immediately and I hear his breathing shift above me.
“Open yourself up. Use two fingers to spread yourself apart so I can see how wet you are.”
My face burns but my fingers obey and I part myself open and the cool air against the exposed heat of me makes my hips twitch forward, and he makes this low sound in the back of his throat that tells me he likes what he’s looking at.
“Now find your c**t. One finger. Circle it slow – I
