Regina Mills

Instead of focusing on the one 'correct' sensation, the one perfect stimulus that would inevitably pitch her over into orgasm, instead of gutting her way through sex to make sure it was satisfying without exposing too much of herself -- none of which was anything she'd had to do with Neil, but 'purpose' had tended to drive her sexuality even with him -- Regina let her awareness go. It drifted from the intensifying, breathtaking suck and pull of his mouth on her nipple, along the electrifying tingle like a silk string tied to both nipple and clit, into the deep heat of her cunt clenching around his fingers, out over the prickle of gooseflesh on her skin from the rising wave of honeyed, needy warmth. Where he caressed, she let herself follow, wander, enjoy and all the while kept a connection to him through her fingers on his arm, in his hair, her nails imprinting (but not quite piercing) deep crescents into his skin.

What she felt was extraordinary, diffuse waves of pleasure, orgasm flowing and then ebbing and not quite cresting but she didn't need it to, as long as it was Neil touching her. It would happen, it might happen a dozen times, but her pleasure wasn't what she wanted. She wanted Neil.

At least, at first she just wanted Neil, but he wanted her, too, wanted her to feel his love for her through his generosity, his tender touches, his patience--and even were she made of stone, she couldn't have resisted him mapping her body with his adoration. So when his fingers twisted and curled to prime her g-spot, she whimpered, "Neil... love..." and buried both hands in his hair to haul him back up to her.

"Kiss me." Her body rocked beneath his touch, but what she needed, or at least wanted, to push her over the edge was the taste of him, burnt marshmallow and breeze-borne embers, on her tongue. "Please?"