Tease her some more

I pulled my hand away.

Megara let out a sharp, frustrated noise, almost a whine. Her hips bucked forward instinctively, chasing the pressure she had just lost. She opened her eyes, hazy and confused, looking at me with a mix of need and accusation.

"Why?" she breathed, her chest heaving against her bodice. "Don't tell me you're having second thoughts."

"Never," I said calmly.

"You aren't an enemy, Meg," I said, my voice dropping to a low rumble. "And you aren't a fragile doll that needs to be handled with care. You deserve the real thing. You deserve to feel me."

Her eyes widened slightly. It was a small gesture, just a few things I know she desperately wanted to hear from a man, but to her, in this moment, it was an unveiling. It was an act of raw intimacy that stripped away the "Master" and left just the man.

"Then touch me," she whispered, her voice trembling. "For real."

I reached down again.

This time, when my fingers found her dripping pussy again, it was electric. The heat of her body was scorching against me. I could feel the slickness of her arousal. I ran my thumb over her clit. She was swollen, incredibly sensitive.

"Oh... gods..." she gasped, her head falling back against the bark with a thud.

The difference was night and day. I could feel every twitch of her muscles, the way her heat radiated outward. And she could feel the roughness of my skin, the strength in my fingers.

I didn't rush inside. I circled her clitoris with my thumb, coating it in her own juices. She was dripping.

"You're so wet," I murmured, leaning in to kiss the line of her jaw. "Hercules clearly doesn't know what to do with all this fire."

"He... he talks too much..." she stuttered, her hips beginning to grind against my hand of their own accord. "He asks... if I'm okay... if I'm comfortable..."

"I'm not asking," I whispered.

I slid my middle finger down, finding her entrance. I pushed in. She was tight, gripping me instantly, hot and velvety. I slid in up to the knuckle, then the second. Then all the way to the palm.

Megara cried out, a long, drawn-out sound that echoed in the quiet garden. Her fingernails dug into the bark of the olive tree, scratching at the wood.

"That's it," I praised her, curling my finger inside her, hitting that sweet spot that made her knees buckle. "Take it."

I established a rhythm. My thumb working her sensitive pearl, my finger fucking her deep and slow. It was a simulation of what was to come, a promise.

She was a mess in the best possible way. Her carefully constructed persona, the sass, the cynicism, it was all melting away under my hand. She was biting her lip so hard I thought it might bleed.

"Please..." she begged, her voice ragged. She reached down, her hands fumbling with my belt again, more frantic this time. "I need... Ray... I need you closer. I need you inside."

I watched her face. The desperation was beautiful.

"You like that?" I asked, adding a second finger, stretching her just a little.

"Yes! Yes, dammit!" She hissed, shuddering as a pre-orgasmic tremor ran through her thighs. "Stop teasing me! Fill me up!"

I smiled. She was ready. More than ready.

I pulled my fingers out. They came away glistening in the dappled sunlight. I wiped my hand on her thigh, marking her with her own scent.

"Alright, Meg," I said, reaching for my belt buckle. "You've waited long enough."

The sound of the metal buckle undoing was the loudest thing in the world.