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Harvey’s hands never ceased to amaze you. Long and nimble, practiced and steady, displaying a confidence that never quite shone through in his words. Stitching a wound, painting a model, turning a page in a book… his hands were calm and capable, fully able to complete whatever he set out to do.
Tonight, it seemed he was setting out to kill you.
“Harvey…” Your voice trembled, much like your legs did. You were laid out on the bed you both shared, knees tucked up against either side of your chest, hands under your thighs. The position was starting to make you tired, but honestly that was the least of your concerns. Instead, you were far more distracted by the steady, practiced fingers slowly pulsing inside you.
Harvey, for his part, tried his best to comfort you. At least, as much as he could without stopping. “Shhh, it’s okay sweetheart. You’re doing so well. Just feel it, alright?” That pulse. Fingertips pressing against muscle, firm, tiny circles that you could somehow feel in the back of your jaw.
Three. That’s how many times Harvey had made you come already. First on the couch, fingers slipping down the waistband of your pajamas as you watched a movie together. Second on the edge of the bed, kneeling down to bury his mouth between your thighs. Third in the same position you were now, fingers deep in you, thumb circling your clit. Right now it was only his fingers in you, pulsing in a way that kept you on edge without spiraling you up. Probably the closest thing you were going to get to a break.
Probably wouldn’t last very long.
Yup. Spot on. The tip of Harvey’s thumb found its way back to your nub. He leaned over you, supported on a hand by your shoulder, the position letting him move deeper, fingers and thumb working in tandem to feed the pulsing pleasure sweeping through you.
“Fuck,” you gasped, the word the only thing you could think of that could describe the feeling. Awash with warmth, with satisfaction, with the desire to sink back into the bed and let your body give itself over to the support of the mattress. But still, an edge of frustration, an openness to more, a desire to fight through the fatigue to meet the sensations Harvey’s fingers drew out of you.
Harvey, on the other hand, seemed to be having the time of his life. A boyish smile lit his face every time you moaned, and he nodded at you in encouragement as you felt yourself starting to flutter around him. “That’s it, sweetheart. That’s it. You can come again for me, can’t you? I know you can do it. Just let me take care of you, alright?”
You’d nod if you had any ability left to control your response, but for better or worse your mind seemed to have left the premises. All that was left was the way Harvey’s fingers stretched you, the way his thumb never ceased its circling, the way that sensation in your jaw had spread through you, catching you up and pulling you in tight, freezing your lungs as you choked on a moan, trapped in a pleasure that exhausted as much as it elated. Your body went rigid as your crested, muscles shaking, eyes squeezed shut, everything centering in on the feeling that rocketed through you.
“Good job,” Harvey was whispering as your body slowly returned to your mind. His fingers had stilled within you. “You did so, so well.” A soft kiss on your forehead. Another on your cheek. A third on the top of a trembling knee. You clenched around his fingers a final time, then dropped your legs to the bed.
“I think you’re trying to kill me,” you gasped.
Harvey just smiled. “Oh, you’re made of tougher stuff than that,” he said, and laughed at the sound you made as he lowered his mouth back between your legs.