Steamy Saturday — Fingering Lesson

WARNING! A Five-Chili Steamy Scene Lurks Below!
If you aren’t ready for your phone to catch on fire, click away.

Beth and Tristan have been trapped in a cabin by a blizzard for three days. They’ll either kill or fuck each other and choose the latter. Late at night, Tristan teaches Beth how to play the guitar while he plays her.

EXCERPT INCLUDES:
🌶️ MF
🌶️ Music Teacher
🌶️ Fingering by the Fire
🌶️ Threats of Punishment

To his surprise, Beth was deadly serious about learning his song. With only the fire to keep time, he had no idea how much passed with his legs enveloped around hers and her warm body leaning against his chest, but he’d guess at least an hour. While the occasional butchering of a song he knew inside and out would bring a flinch to his face, the adorable cursing from the woman holding the strings made him smile.

“Damn it,” she muttered for the hundredth time, restarting the tune once again as if she’d sworn on her own grave that she’d get through it without a dropped note. A foolish endeavor as there was a guitar solo in the middle that he hadn’t taught her, but Tristan wrapped his forearm around her waist and nuzzled the back of her neck. The scent of the forest rested in her hair, pine trees and crackling bonfires, of Christmas in the mountains.

“Mmm.” The strumming slowed, Beth leaning back into him. He dodged to avoid her bump, which thankfully seemed to be deflating. “Is my teacher not paying attention?”

Tristan trickled his fingers from the warm wool of his sweater piled around her belly down to the naked thighs below. There wasn’t much flush skin to find, the rest cut off by his guitar, but the warm pull intoxicated him. “I am enraptured,” he whispered against her nape and goosebumps pricked off her thigh against his resting fingers.

“Good, because I’m going to get this,” she assured him while beginning once again. Beyond Tristan’s natural abhorrence of singing when not at work, the fact that he’d have had to warble the same first verse endlessly kept his lips shut. There was also the delight of pressing said lips to her shoulders, often using his chin to expose the soft flesh below his cruel sweater. His sweater kept her body from him, his guitar her legs. Why were his own possessions in league against him?

Chuckling at the thought, he glanced to the crackling fire. Her lacy bra and panties dangled off the mantel like stockings waiting to be filled by jolly St. Nick. He’d certainly like to fill her panties three hundred and sixty-five days a year.

Fuck’s sake, Harty. What is wrong with you?

Chastised by his own conscience, Tristan tried to focus on the music, but his thoughts of her glistening ass cupped in his hands had an unsurprising effect. Rising as if it intended to strike the stars, his dick found itself ensnared between his thighs and said tempting derriere.

There were two options available to him—release his grip upon her body and pull himself free, or try to picture his old music teacher Mrs. Bellheim in a bikini. Tristan chose avenue three and slid Beth forward on the couch.

“What are you…?” she stuttered, clearly mad about losing the song, when he guided her back. As her rounded cheeks cupped against his erection, she said, “Oh.” Tristan could hear the blush in her words even if the physical evidence was hidden by that damnable sweater.

While there were few sights sexier than a woman fresh from bed and dressed in only his long sweater, he wished he could remove said obstacle and toss it onto the fire.
Her panties were on the mantel.

A lascivious grin wrapped around his lips as he curled his left hand over the body of the guitar. The right found itself at the apex of her thighs, waiting for an invitation inside. “What are you doing?” Beth asked, annoyance in her tone, but as he began to stroke his fingers back across her pubic hair, her breathing increased to a pant.

Placing his chin on her shoulder, he said, “Helping.”

“I can do this,” she insisted, even as he felt the gates to heaven cracking open.

“Of that, I have no doubt,” Tristan purred, his words forming kisses against her neck. “But I’d really enjoy”—he jerked once with his hips, reminding her of the effect she had on him—“fingering along with you.”

“That…” Beth gulped, her beautiful head jerking to a fast nod. “I’d love that.”

“Begin with tab three,” he said. His left hand was on auto-pilot, trailing along to match Beth’s haphazard tempo. His right hand held his full attention, Tristan gliding his fingers back and forth atop the crest of her thighs. Was it his imagination, or were they quivering?

To his surprise, Beth’s quick lesson stuck, her notes keeping him on his toes. As she shifted to the chorus, Tristan slipped a finger straight down through her slit. Curling it back in, he dipped the tip inside, soaking it in her rising wetness before circling around the aroused lips pressing against him.

Gasping, Beth dropped a note, her fingers scrabbling to keep up just as Tristan glissaded to her clit. That deserved all the attention in the world. Smoothing over the hood, he took his time savoring the rising pulse of the pleasure entrusted to his care. A moan from deep in her chest did wonders for his self-esteem, but it did throw off the song again.

Slowing his left hand, Tristan whispered, “Best be careful.”

“Oh?” Beth gulped, her body trying to rub against his exploring fingers in the tight quarters.

“Dropping a note would lead to punishment by my teacher,” he said, pressing kisses back and forth across the nape of her neck, all while keeping both his hands busy.

“God,” Beth gasped, struggling to shift down the neck of the guitar in time as he ramped up his trilling. The gentle swirls were increasing in tempo, the panting bouncing her ass against his straining cock. One or both of the sensations caused her to drop her hand fully from the guitar, Beth crying incoherently as he dipped back in for another turn.

“So…” She shivered as the final notes of the guitar rang out through the cabin. Swallowing twice more, she looked upon him. “Do you intend to punish me?”

It was Tristan’s turn to gasp, her question freezing him as he churned over the possibility. Hurting her was…he never wished to do such a thing. But if she enjoyed it? “Would you want me to?” he asked, his mouth dry even as he dove to the wettest place on earth.

Beth’s unrestrained moans and gasps provided a distraction, Tristan dipping his mouth to suck on her shoulder. The bite was little more than a pinch, but she clamped tight around his finger, her body trembling. “Perhaps another time,” she admitted, the words struggling to escape as he danced his fingers up and down her thighs.

Pivoting her head, she stared deep into his wild expression. “When I really deserve it.”

Holy hell.

Tristan pulled his hand from the guitar and dove under his own sweater across her warm body. Gliding it up her trembling belly, he curled his hungry palm and kneaded into her breast. As her head dropped back to his shoulder, Beth’s exquisite eyes shut in bliss while he strummed her nipple. All the while she tried to grind on his fingers, the index drifting from her clit to inside. She strained to open her legs wider to let him dive deeper, but they were trapped between his.

Raising his leg from the couch, Tristan twisted his calf around Beth’s and pulled. Her cry of surprise was quickly overrun by a moan as he extended both legs outward. Now he had more than enough room. While plunging first one, then two fingers inside, he danced his thumb against her clit. All the while, he cupped one breast then the other, darting across her nipples in an unending chase.

Beth squirmed to try to match his pattern, their locked-in legs sinking toward the floor to drag their bodies with them, but he wouldn’t hear of it. “God, God,” she babbled, raising her hand from the couch to rustle through his hair. She dug her fingers in, pulling him to her whims.

Dipping down with her yank, Tristan placed another kiss to her shoulder, circling a figure eight over her clit with his thumb.

“Please, please. Fuck, I love that callus!” Beth cried while rocking her hips with him.
Just as he plunged his fingers as deep as they could reach, he bit her shoulder. A hiss rocketed through Beth’s lungs, her nipples straining from between his pinch as she pleaded for more. Or relief. Or salvation. He couldn’t tell as most of it was incoherent.

“Damn, damn, damn,” she whispered, her breath whiffling as she tipped back against him. In an instant, her entire body crumpled inward, her cunt pulsing around his fingers. He slipped out, resting his hand on her thigh as Beth succumbed to her orgasm. All the while she babbled like a woman possessed, her abs crunching her in and out as she did sit-ups on his lap.

“Fuckin’ hell.” Beth finally returned to him, her wild look fading to the warm browns he knew.

Drawing back the hair that had fallen from her convulsions of pleasure, Tristan whispered, “How was that for punishment?”

“I think you’re trying to encourage me to fail.” She laughed, her face radiant as she abandoned that stalwart guitar and spun to lie on his stomach. God, the feel of her breasts pooling on his naked chest, her belly caressing his groin, reminded him of how hard he’d got strumming her.

Tristan tried to shake it off, focusing on the woman stretched out on him. “I’m afraid my teacher credentials are in question…” He began to laugh it off when she scratched her nails along his thigh. His very naked thigh next to his crotch, all without a stitch of clothing impeding her requests. The firelight danced in her eyes and Beth licked the edge of her lips as she began to slide downward.