Fingers

I touch her first,

light, teasing.

She shifts,

opens for me.

I slide one finger in.

Tight, wet,

her breath catches.

Another—

she gasps,

hips lifting,

grinding into my hand.

I curl them deep,

press against that spot.

Her cry is sharp,

helpless.

I keep moving,

steady, relentless,

slick heat coating my hand.

Her thighs tremble,

she clutches my wrist,

not to stop me—

to beg for more.

I fuck her with my fingers

until she breaks,

soaked,

coming hard,

shaking in my grip.

And still,

I don’t stop.