Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 104081 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 520(@200wpm)___ 416(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104081 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 520(@200wpm)___ 416(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
That had to be a lot of pressure on Vince.
So I grabbed his hand in mine and tugged him toward the wheel. “Teach me.”
“Teach you?”
I nodded, pushing gently on his chest until he sat on the stool by the wheel. Then, I carefully sat in his lap, rolling the sleeves of my new jersey up several times until they stayed above my elbows.
“I don’t know how I’m supposed to focus on pottery when you’re in my lap.”
“Did I mention I’m not wearing a bra?” I asked, sneaking a peek at him over my shoulder.
He groaned, wrapping his hands around my hips and grinding into me.
I swatted his hands away. “If you want to touch me, you have to teach me.”
His head hit the top of mine on an exasperated sigh, and I smiled, flicking on the button that made the wheel start to spin. Of course, I had no idea what I was doing, and apparently you needed to have your hands ready because the clay began to wobble and spray over both of us and the table and the surrounding area, too.
Vince thumbed it off quickly, laughing and digging his fingers into my side to tickle me.
But then, he trailed his hands up and over my shoulders, palms floating down every inch of my arms until they covered the backs of my hands. He threaded his fingers over mine, moved us closer to the wheel, and started it again — this time, bringing my palms to the clay.
He didn’t actually explain anything, just used his hands to guide me. He’d dip our fingertips in the bowl of water at the station before showing me how and where to press against the clay to shape it. We molded it into a fat, shallow shape before he showed me how to lengthen it, to make it deeper and more narrow.
As always, his French music served as the soundtrack, and the longer we worked, the more I understood.
It was peaceful.
We didn’t make anything of perfection or beauty. Quite the opposite, actually. We’d mold for a while, only to destroy and start again. But there was something magical in that process alone, that we could build and then change our minds, shape and then wipe clean, start over at any point.
Just like the first time I’d watched him in this space, I found myself mesmerized by his hands. They were wet and covered in clay, just like mine, and the way they cupped and pressed against the terra-cotta was so erotic it made me wet without him even touching me.
When he felt like I had the hang of it, Vince removed his hands from behind mine, letting me try out shaping on my own.
But that left his hands with nothing to do.
And so, they began to roam.
He rested them on my knees, marking my bare skin with the cool, wet clay before he dragged it up, up, up, toward the hem of the jersey that just barely covered my thighs. I sighed when his fingertips slid under the fabric, my head falling back against his chest, eyes closing.
“You’re making a mess,” he mused in my ear before kissing behind it, and I peered my eyes open long enough to see where the clay had begun to warp and spray again.
I flicked the machine off, twisting in his arms to straddle him.
“So are you,” I said.
“Of your panties?”
“I’m not wearing any.”
He cursed. “So there’s nothing underneath this,” he said, rubbing his hands on the fabric of my jersey. He used it like a towel, absolutely destroying it in the process of wiping his hands clean.
I hoped that meant he had other plans for them.
“I mean… there’s something,” I teased, nipping at his bottom lip. “Maybe you should explore.”
When his hands were as clean as he could get them, he did just that.
It was a shock of cold lightning, one hand jutting between my thighs as the other reached up and under to palm my breast. I balanced haphazardly in his lap, trying to maneuver to give him more room as he teased my slick entrance with one thick fingertip.
He groaned when he felt me, flicking my nipple and sliding just a fraction of that finger inside me at the same time. Then, he withdrew both hands and smacked the side of my ass.
“Up.”
I jumped off him, and as soon as I was out of the way, he made quick work of his shorts and tore his t-shirt over head. His briefs went next, and then it was just him — tan and toned and gloriously naked.
Vince tugged me back into his lap and caught me in a rough kiss, our teeth clashing when he did. He held me steady with one hand as the other reached down and placed the tip of his cock against my opening, and he pulled my hips down at the same time he flexed hard, filling me with brute precision that made me gasp and see stars.