I shove my fingers past the waistband anyway.
And immediately encounter the silicone cock.
My knuckles press against the smooth, body-warm prosthetic, and I pause.
Bells watches my face with those honey-gold eyes, her grin turning wicked. "Phoenix…" She leans in, her lips brushing my ear. "You obviously don't mind cock. And mine's silicone."
My face catches fire. "That's—I?—"
She cackles. Full, delighted, completely evil.
I shove past the prosthetic.
It takes maneuvering. The leather pants leave zero room and my hand is approximately the size of a fucking dinner plate, but I work my fingers alongside the silicone, wedging past it until I feel the fabric of her underwear. Thin cotton, already damp.
Bells's laughter dies in her throat, replaced by a sharp intake of breath.
I push the underwear aside.
She's wet. Soaked, actually, slick coating my fingertips the second I make contact. Her hips twitch forward, grinding into my hand, and the sound she makes—this quiet, bitten-off whimper that she'd never let escape if she wasn't caught off guard—goes straight to the base of my spine.
"Fuck," she breathes.
"Good?"
"Don't fish for compliments. Just—" She rolls her hips. "There."
I find her clit with my thumb. She shudders. My index finger slides lower, teasing, circling her entrance until her nails dig into my shoulders through my shirt.
"Phoenix, I swear to all the gods, if you don't?—"
I push two fingers inside her.
Her whole body clenches. Her forehead drops against my shoulder and she exhales hard, her breath hot through the fabric of my shirt. My fingers curl inside her, pressing up, searching for the spot that made her scream at the hotel.
"Right—right there?—"
Found it.
I work her slow and deep, my thumb circling her clit while my fingers press and curl. The leather pants creak with every subtle movement. Her hips rock against my hand in tight, controlledrolls. She's trying to stay quiet, trying not to alert Rex and Raf in the next room.
She's failing.
Every few seconds, a sound escapes. A gasp. A bitten-off moan. The kind of noises that would carry through the thin walls if anyone were listening.
Which they probably aren't. Rex's guitar is still going in the main room. Raf's bass rumbles underneath.
Butprobablyisn'tdefinitelyand the risk makes everything hotter.
Bells's hand slides down my chest to my belt. Her fingers curl around the buckle.
"Nope." I catch her wrist with my free hand. "This is about you."
I add a third finger.
"Fuck—" She bites down on my shoulder to muffle the sound. Her walls clamp around my fingers and her hips stutter, losing their rhythm. I can feel her getting close. Her breathing fragments, her nails gripping my shirt like she'll fly apart if she lets go.
"That's it," I murmur against her hair. "Come on."