By the time his fingers reached her wrist she was trembling openly. Her thighs pressed so tightly together she could feel the slickness between them, the way her folds had parted and grown slippery, the way her clit throbbed with every slow pass of his fingers even though he had not come anywhere near it.
Phei circled her wrist and wrapped his hand loosely around the narrow bone, thumb settling directly over her pulse point.
The simple act of holding her there, of feeling the frantic, fluttering life beating against his skin, made something dark and satisfied uncurl in his chest.
"Your pulse is racing," he said, conversational, as though he were commenting on the colour of the morning sky rather than the proof of how completely she was coming undone beneath the lightest touch he could offer.
"Should I stop, Cat?"
"N-no — don't — please —"
"Please what?"
