aware of me,” she said. “Wanting me.”
“Uh-huh. You’re doing a great job.”
Just as every inch of her was attuned to him, aware of the rhythm of his breathing, and the way the fine hairs lay on the back of his hand, of the scar on his knuckle and the hint of a dimple on the right side of his mouth. She was coming to know him so well, and yet there was so much more she wanted to know.
“Let’s get in bed,” she said. She took his hand and tugged back the comforter with the other. Then she lay back against the pillows.
He stopped to strip off his jeans and the unbuttoned shirt, leaving him naked. “Not that I’m impatient, or anything,” he said as he tossed the clothes aside. “I thought I’d get more comfortable.”
He was very erect. Watching him move toward her she felt a renewed tension between her legs. An aching to have him in her. But not yet. There was more she wanted to know about him, and the intimacy of sex seemed to be the only time he let down his guard enough to say them. For instance, he hadn’t wanted to talk about his time in prison. “Did you think about sex a lot when you were in prison?” she asked.
He knelt on the bed and frowned at her. “Why do you ask?”
“I want to know about you. What it was like for you.” She smoothed her hand down his arm, the muscles hard beneath her palm.
He lay down and pulled her toward him, his head resting alongside hers. She could no longer see his face, but she could feel the heat of his naked body, pressed against her. “Yeah, I thought about it,” he said, his voice low in her ear. “I mean, there weren’t any women around, and when you can’t have something, you automatically think about it more.” He kissed her again, his lips crushing hers, his tongue thrusting deep into her mouth, as if he wanted to devour her, or silence her questions.
She arched against him, reveling in the feel of him, but when his mouth moved to her neck, she drew back slightly, determined to continue the conversation. “Did you have a girlfriend when you went in?”
He shook his head. “No one in particular. No one waiting for me, if that’s what you mean.”
She trailed her hand along his hip, her touch light. Teasing. “So what did you think about doing?”
“What do you mean?”
She raised her head and looked into his eyes. “Tell me your fantasies. The things no one else knows.”
He swallowed hard, was silent for a moment. “I can’t think. All the blood’s rushed south.”
She squeezed his buttocks, and watched his cock jerk in response. “What did you do to relieve the tension. Did you masturbate?”
He choked back a laugh. “Yeah. Guys do that all the time anyway.”
“So do women. At least some of them. I do.” She looked up at him again. “Lately, I’ve been thinking about you when I do it.”
His eyes darkened and his breathing grew uneven.
“That makes you hot, doesn’t it?” She dropped her hand to cover her crotch. “Thinking about me getting myself off?”
“Yeah, it does.”
She wet her lips, and hesitated over the next question. But she wanted them to be honest with each other. For him to know there was nothing he couldn’t tell her. “There are a lot of stories about prison life. About men, locked up all that time together, things they do…”
The muscles beneath her hand tensed into hard ridges. He took a deep breath and she felt him relax slightly. “If you’re asking did I ever have sex with another man, no. Some guys did, but I didn’t. And if you’re worried about disease or anything, I’m clean.”
“I wasn’t worried. Just curious.” She kissed his neck, resting her lips against the hollow at the base of his throat. “You can tell me anything and I promise I won’t judge. I just want to know.”
“Now it’s my turn to ask you a question.”
Her eyes widened. “Uh, sure. What is it?”
He fingered one thin blond braid. “What’s with your hair? Every time I see you lately, you’re wearing it a different way.”
She shrugged. “I guess I get bored with it. I like to change it up. You don’t like it?”
“I like it fine. I just wondered.” He began undoing her shirt again. “I’m supposed to be undressing you, aren’t I?” He followed her lead this time and lingered over