her chair, used the wrap of it to draw her up close and put his mouth on hers. His breath had been fragrant with the hops and warm with desire. When he'd broken the kiss, he’d cocked his brow and given her a smile that had curled her toes. “Always best to go to the source,” he advised.
His seemingly limitless desire to give her pleasure left her only one choice—to embrace it. He drove her to the edge of ecstasy and beyond as often as possible. He could also be very demanding about the when and where of it, keeping her body humming, anticipating.
Her favorite way so far was when he had her straddle him in his chair, his hands on her hips, him inside her. His gaze would lock upon her like nothing else in the whole world was more important than watching the climax take her over. When he pulled raw screams of crazed pleasure from her, his avid brown gaze would devour her every reaction. Those responses only goaded him to do more things to tear helpless cries from her. When she finally came down, he would band both arms around her, suckle her breasts, sending hard aftershocks through her as strong as the climax itself.
He let her pleasure him too. While she eagerly embraced the ways he taught her to do it, she watched his reactions to her touch just as closely as he watched hers. She learned to take it even deeper, give him more than he expected. Though his cock would harden in her hands, it was the ways she used her mouth and touch on him above the waist that intensified his own response. When his body shuddered in the grip of his own release, his brown eyes flashing with fire and loss of focus, she cherished it, exulted in what felt like a victory. It reminded her of what Marguerite had said about power, and all the possible things she could have meant.
Afterward, after he did the necessary things to clean up, he’d return to her bed and usually spend the night there, holding her. He left her just before dawn to go home to shower and get ready for work. When Elaine went on her church trips, she’d stay at his house. Rory explained that while Elaine knew they were adults, and accepted they’d share a bed in the house when she wasn’t home, she was traditional enough to discourage that arrangement when she was there. Not when they weren’t married.
Daralyn understood that. With all the care Elaine had shown Daralyn, she’d never want to do anything to disrespect her feelings. She also liked that Rory had that kind of respect and love for his mother.
Before she and Rory had become involved, when Marcus and Thomas were in New York, Daralyn would often join Rory and Elaine for an evening meal. That hadn’t changed, either. Though she and Rory would go back to Daralyn’s house afterward, Daralyn still came over for dinner at least every couple of days.
Sometimes they’d stay to watch a favorite TV program or movie with Rory’s mother. Or Daralyn would help Elaine with a quilting project. They might go through garden magazines and discuss potential projects.
While he channel-surfed, Rory would put in his two cents. Other times he tinkered with his wheelchair in the shop adjacent to the house, making adjustments to it. After Daralyn helped Elaine, she’d go perch on a stool in the shop, reading, watching him work with his hands, secretly stealing glimpses of that intent look on his face she had mentioned to Amanda.
During one of those nights they stayed after dinner, Elaine’s position on the two of them spending the night together under her roof unexpectedly changed.
It was during one of Elaine’s favorite programs. The day at work had been a really busy one, such that Daralyn found herself nodding off while on the couch. Rory had transferred there from his chair so Daralyn could lie against his side. He’d nudged her to a more comfortable lying down position so she had her head on his thigh, fingers curled underneath it. As he rested his hand on her hip and back, stroking, she dozed. She was vaguely aware of Elaine in her recliner while she and Rory exchanged comments about the program.
Elaine’s preference was to turn on the subtitles and keep the volume low. That worked better for Daralyn, too, but even as she drifted off, she knew she shouldn’t fall asleep.
Never