Page 57 of Spark
“Tell me how you touched yourself. Did you play with your needy clit?”
“Yes,” I pant.
“Is that what you like? To have your clit rubbed until you’re dripping?”
“I don’t know,” I admit. “I don’t…I haven’t…that was the first…” My words dry up before I can admit that today was the first time that I’ve touched myself, and the first orgasm I’ve ever had.
“The first time?” he says slowly. “The first time what, amore mio?”
“The first everything,” I blurt.
“The first time you touched yourself?”
“Yes. Well, sort of.”
“Sort of?” he questions.
“I…when I was younger, I…but not like…” I can’t say the words.
“Was this the first time you touched yourself to make yourself come?”
“Yes.”
“I missed it,” he growls angrily.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t fucking apologize. I should be the one apologizing. You told me you were a virgin, but I didn’t think…”
“That I was this pathetic at twenty years old,” I scoff.
“I don’t like you talking about yourself like that, amore mio. You’re fucking perfect for me. I just hate that I pushed you?—”
“You didn’t push me,” I interrupt. “If I hadn’t wanted to, I wouldn’t have done it. I’m not sorry that I did, it felt?—”
“How did it feel?” he asks, his voice dropping to a seductive rasp.
“Good, it felt really good.”
“Fuck, Verity. Did you push your fingers into your pussy?”
“I tried, but it didn’t feel right. It was okay, but…” I trail off, not sure how to describe it.
“That’s because somewhere deep inside of you, your body knows that putting things inside of you is my job,” he says, amusement lacing his tone. “From now on, you should only play with your clit. When I get home, I’ll show you how good it feels for me to fill you up. I’ll start with fingers, then my tongue, before I stretch you around my cock.”
“Okay,” I agree, heat filling my cheeks with sudden embarrassment.
A loud siren bursts to life, and Warrick growls. “Fuck, amore mio, the alarm just sounded. I have to go. Go get something to eat and spend the rest of the day in my shirt and nothing else, that way I’ll have something good to think about while I work.”
“Bye, Warrick.”
“Bye, Verity,” he says and ends the call.
The next two days feel endless. Every conversation with Warrick only heightens my newly discovered arousal, and by the time I crawl into his bed on the night before his shift ends, I’m so restless and needy that I have to stop myself from pushing my fingers into my body again to see if I can soothe the ache that seems to have taken up residence in my sex.
I’m not so oblivious that I don’t know that I’m turned on. But it’s still surprising to me that my body is reacting like this after so many years of nothing but disinterest in sex or arousal.
I feel it the moment that he gets home. I don’t know if the air feels heavier, or if after years of being alone, my built-in alarm has simply alerted me to the second person in the house. But either way, the moment I hear him start to climb the stairs, tingling heat sparks to light between my legs.
