He made her do that for him for several minutes before getting involved, playing his fingers over her cunt, dipping into it, stroking, tugging on her clit. Spasms bucked her up into a deeper arch, her thighs trembling and fingers clutching him. Her hair was wet and sleek against his shoulder.
As he stroked and played, whispered to her, she was losing her mind, pleading without words.
It made him feel even less merciful.
“Did you touch yourself when you were away from me? Bring yourself to climax?”
She shook her head.
“Tell me. Say it out loud.”
“No…no, sir.” Her voice elevated as he flicked her clit, a more aggressive touch. Another ripple went through her.
“Did you want to?”
“Yes…a lot.”
He concealed his fierce satisfaction as she didn’t get hung up over the words, too aroused to be snagged by it. Like the night she’d said she wanted the ropes. “Why didn’t you?” he demanded.
She sent him a desperate look, and he tightened his grip. “Yeah, I know you’re having trouble talking because of what I’m doing to you. Which is exactly why I’m making you talk. Answer me.”
“It felt…wrong. Without your permission.”
“Right answer.”
He pushed it as far and as long as he knew he could, and then he tipped her over that edge. He gave her every ounce of pleasure she could handle and then pushed her past that, demanding she go even further. Just as he’d promised, he made her screams echo off the bathroom walls, refusing to let her hold anything back. Her movements became so violent he had to cinch his arm harder around her waist to hold her still.
There was a God, because the shortness of breath and coughing didn’t hit him until he’d finished her the way he intended. By then she was limp in his arms, draped back against him. It did a hell of a good job restoring his sense of himself, no matter how caveman that sounded.
She’d kept her arms wound loosely around his neck, and so stroked his nape and whatever else she could reach as he held her, coughed it out, caught his breath. Before she could marshal enough strength to say anything herself, try to turn and check on him, he brushed his fingers over the tender, sensitive lips of her pussy. He cherished the little quiver that went through her, the tiny sound that escaped her throat.
“I’ve missed that,” he said. “Missed holding you and touching you.”
“Me too,” she whispered. “So much.”
Reluctantly, he let her go, though he kept his hands on her, steadying her until she stepped out of the shower, found them both a towel.
His body let him know in no uncertain terms he’d exceeded his limits, and he’d aggravated that pressure sore under his thigh some, but he wasn’t going to regret any of it, not while she had that dazed, soft look to her face. She kept touching him, random, impulsive caresses, and he did the same, neither of them wanting to go without touching for more than a blink of time.
Eventually, though, he needed to handle the bathroom stuff and tend the sores with ointment before he could lie down. “Go pick out one of my shirts to sleep in,” he told her. She hadn’t brought nightclothes, and he didn’t want her to be cold. The farmhouse could be drafty.
When he emerged, she was perched on the edge of the turned down bed, waiting for him. She’d chosen his Tennessee bike marathon shirt. The faded design indicated it was one of his favorites, and seeing how the soft, worn fabric molded to her shape only increased its status.
He pushed himself to the side of the bed, hooked an arm around her waist, nuzzling the tip of her breast through the cotton as he smoothed a hand over her backside. She threaded her fingers through his hair. Lifting his head, he gave her a lingering kiss, and felt her touch on his beard, now clipped and groomed again.
“Wanting you is going to kill me,” he said. “And I’m okay with that.”
She gave him a half smile, but as he coughed on the end of that statement, he saw her worry. He wasn’t going to put up with that. But he was aware his exhaustion was showing. He was having trouble sitting up straight, not slumping in the chair.
“Nothing wrong with me now that can’t be fixed with rest,” he said. “Come to bed.”
She did, as soon as he transferred himself over to the