MorganBefore I can reconsider, I draw my shorts down my hips and my c**k springs free. Isla sucks in a sharp inhale, her eyes glued to my crotch. I stand here like a statue, unable to move, unable to even breathe, except for the shaking, halted gasps leaving my lungs.
“Oh, it’s…”
She doesn’t finish that sentence, but what she does do makes my toes curl. Running her palm lightly against my steely shaft, she traces her thumb along the crown.
Jesus.
Jesus. “How do I…” she starts.
“Wrap it in your fist.” If I’d been uneasy at first, you wouldn’t know it. My voice comes out rough and commanding, and like a good little student, Isla aims to please, curling her hand around me firmly. Even tentative, her touch sends heat rioting through my veins. One simple touch shouldn’t feel this good.
