demanding about bringing her to orgasm. Maybe her body had gotten addicted to that. Spending a day with Amanda, who’d coaxed her into talking about the many things Daralyn liked about Rory, while reciprocating with some outrageously blatant things about Marty, had only increased her desires.
“So that was my day,” he concluded. “A bunch of sweaty guys playing on Big Wheels. So tell me more about what you and Amanda talked about while dress shopping.”
“You. And Marty.”
“Oh yeah? Care to elaborate?”
He was teasing her, but she wasn’t sure how he would feel about her thoughts, her wandering hands. She remembered that first time, in front of the mirror, when he’d had her touch herself. But that had been while he was watching.
“I may have done something bad. Or been about to do something bad. I’m not sure.”
“I don’t think that’s possible,” he said. “But tell me what it is.”
“I…I was thinking about you. In Florida. And here. And listening to your voice, and…I wanted to touch myself, like you do. I started to…Rory, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.”
A pause, protracted enough to alarm her. She rushed to fill in the gap. “I’m so, so sorry. I know I shouldn’t have—”
“Stop.” When he used that tone, he was capable of bringing every thought to a halt, all of her centered on him. But she was shivering, abruptly cold and miserable, feeling like she’d failed him. “Hold on,” he said shortly.
From the receding sound of voices and activity, she realized he was moving. He’d likely been in or close to the cabin he was sharing at the Tabor City campground.
“Okay, I’m somewhere private now. Are you at your place?”
“Yes. Rory—”
“I’m talking now. Are you in your bedroom?”
“Yes.”
“Good. You know what a guy loves almost as much as a woman wanting to share a bed with him?”
“What?”
“A woman that puts him front and center in her mind when she’s pleasuring herself.” His voice got husky and thick. “And if you’ll lie on your bed and touch yourself while I’m on the phone with you, this might just be the most perfect fucking day ever.”
She swallowed. “So you’re not mad.”
“Oh, baby.” The heat in his voice was almost as good as him putting his arms around her, because that tone said he’d be doing exactly that if he was there. “I don’t think I could get mad at you about anything. But you touching yourself? That one doesn’t come anywhere close to making that non-existent list. It gets me worked up. In fact…” he paused, and then that huskiness became a growl. “I might just like the idea of telling you that you can’t touch yourself without calling me for permission first.”
Her body liked that too, responding with a strong throb.
“Was that you? That little breath?”
“Yes.”
He muttered a curse that sounded reverent. “I want you in your underwear on the bed. If it’s cold, you can get under the covers.”
She obeyed, leaving her jeans and short sleeved shirt on the side chair as she slid under the blanket and sheet.
“Tell me when you’re there.”
“I am.”
“Put your hand in your panties. Start rubbing yourself. Imagine that I’m sitting by the bed, watching you. Spread your legs out, so I can see better.”
As she complied, more of those erratic breaths slid from her. When he murmured encouragement, she let all those images crowd back in. He seemed to know it.
“Tell me what you’re seeing in your head while doing this.”
“You…watching me. Touching me. Telling me to spread my legs…oh…” A moan caught in her throat.
“You like it when I tell you what to do. I want you to slide two fingers inside yourself. Slide them in and out of that wetness, real slow. Push the heel of your hand against your clit, and use your thumb to stroke it. Lift your hips into the motion.”
“Rory…”
“I’m here with you. I can feel it through my skin, seeing you do this in my head. There’s no way I would ever be mad at you for embracing your pleasure, Daralyn. Not ever. Do you understand?”
“Yes. Thank you.” Maybe he thought her gratitude was odd, but everything good he made her feel made her want to express it. Tears stabbed her eyes, made her voice shaky. He heard it, his voice becoming more soothing, while not losing an iota of its rough demand.
“I’m right here. Take your other hand and stroke your stomach, your sides, up to your throat and around, slow. Caress the tops of your breasts and