"I'm... I don't..." Her brow furrowed, some distant, half-formed thought dying on her lips before it could fully take shape.
"You're thinking again." I pressed harder with my thumb, drawing slow, deliberate circles around her clit. "Stop thinking."
"I can't," she managed, though the words came out thin, fraying at the edges.
"You can." I quickened the pace of my fingers, curling them just so on the upstroke. "Feel, don't think. It's the only thing I'm asking of you right now."
Her hands were fisting in the sheets, twisting the expensive linen into pale, crumpled ropes on either side of her hips. Her head tossed from side to side against the pillow, her perfect hair a dishevelled halo.
She was close—I could feel it in the slick heat of her, in the involuntary flutter of muscle around my fingers, in the way her breathing had abandoned all pretence of composure.
