Swing - Episode 2

He pushes her legs open wider. Her thighs tremble, knees slack, but she keeps them spread like he told her. His fingers trace the wet line between her folds, slow and unhurried. She gasps. That first slick contact shoots straight through her, too much and not enough all at once. He watches her face. Watches how she bites her lip, how her hips twitch upward without her meaning them to. She’s never done this with anyone else. Never felt fingers move inside her like this, curling just so, finding that place that makes her breath catch. "Look at you," he murmurs. "Already soaking." He slides two fingers in, knuckles-deep, and holds them there while she clenches around him. The stretch burns a little. Feels obscene. Feels perfect. She reaches for him, fingers curling around his wrist like she might stop him, but she doesn’t. Can’t. Her body rocks into each thrust of his hand, chasing it, greedy for more friction, more pressure, more of whatever this is. He presses his thumb against her clit and circles it, steady and relentless. Her back arches off the bed. "That’s it," he says, voice low. "Come for me."