Some words are coming from his mouth, but he may as well be speaking Greek. "Uh huh." I manage through the haze when I notice he's stopped talking.
Suddenly, he snaps his fingers, snapping me out of this weird trance of arousal. "Is there something I can help you with? Are you okay? You're not even listening to me."
I reluctantly raise my eyes to his. "I'm sorry. I was trying, but you're distracting me."
The corner of his mouth lifts in the slightest smirk. "What? By doing this?" He starts flipping the coin through his fingers again - methodically, smooth movements practiced over hundreds of hours, long, dextrous fingers manipulating the small object effortlessly along its path. Over one finger, under the next, over, under, over, under. I squirm in my seat.
"TJ. Pay attention. I'm trying to get work done."
He's teasing me. I hear the smile in his voice. He knows what he's doing, now that I've brilliantly pointed it out to him, and he's having a good time at my aching pussy's expense. I know what those fingers are capable of. If I close my eyes, I can feel them inside me, stroking, teasing, playing, coaxing me along with skill and precision. My muscles clench while my mind wanders.
My brain snaps back to reality and I blink at him. "Sorry."
"No need. I can see I'll have to do something about your wandering mind so we can actually get something done today."
"What do you have in mind?" I ask with a coy smile. This wasn't my intent, but now that he's on the path, I'm definitely playing along.
"Get the spreader and a towel."
I swallow, pushing myself from the chair. "You want me to bring it here?"
He smiles, his eyes gentle and sparkling with amusement. "Yes, love. Bring it to me."
In a flash, I'm back with the spreader and a towel. I hold them out to him, but he points to my seat. "Take off your pants, put the towel down and sit."
My heart feels like it's going to beat out of my chest, my mouth's a little dry, my pussy is not. I hurry to obey, anticipation coursing through my veins in a heady rush as I sit on the folded towel and he moves toward me.
I watch those beautiful hands with perfect fingers stroke my knee, my thigh, leaving tendrils of fire in their wake. He pushes my knees apart, exposing my dripping folds to his assessing gaze, smiling at my tremble while he straps me into the spreader bar.
"I'm going to fuck you now." He whispers gruffly as he kneels beside me.
"Okay." I whisper back because my voice seems to have failed me.
I let my head fall back on my seat as he slides a finger along my slick flesh before pushing inside, stroking me twice, then back out to play with my clit and lips. Over and over, he repeats these motions. He's slow, steady and methodical, adding one finger, then another, until he's stroking me with a full hand, spreading my juices all around, pushing inside with four fingers, then pulling out for a full-hand rub.
My thighs tremble against the restraint of the bar. I want to squeeze, but I can't. I know I'm making all kinds of incoherent sounds but I don't even care until suddenly, his hand is gone.
"Hands back on the chair."
I didn't even realize I'd moved them, but I quickly return them to the armrests and he begins again. Stroking me with slow, firm, deliberate movements, lighting my entire pelvis on fire until all I want is to come. I beg him to go a little faster, just a little bit more and I'll fall over the edge, but he's enjoying the climb too much. I dig my fingers into the armrests and clench my butt muscles, working to gain traction on the orgasm that's right there, just out of my reach, but it eludes me.
"Come for me."
I nearly sing hallelujah when he starts driving into me. Four strokes, hard and fast, and my whole body clenches before flying apart. As thought returns, I unclench my jaw and sag in my chair, totally sated, riding the aftershocks while he gently brings me down.
"Think you can focus now?"
I give him a lopsided grin while my head lolls to the side and a small huff escapes me.
Those incredible fingers in the photo are my husband's and the photo is mine. No, you can't have his fingers or my photo. He sent this to me when I was on an errand to the hardware store. All I could think about for the rest of the day were those gorgeous fingers and how skilled they are.
So, Thank you, Kayla, for the wonderful prompt that made me think of his hands again!
© Hey, Mrs. Robinson | T.J Robinson