He brought her into his lap, her hair tumbling over the arm he had around her back, holding her securely. He gathered all those thick locks in one hand and twisted them, his knuckles pressed to her neck.
He liked knowing she’d put herself in his hands. What she’d said about Joe and belonging to Rory, he knew there was something wrong there. But he wanted the words to be wholly, perfectly true. Because the gift of her giving herself to him on every level, wanting to belong to him, whether she could say it with words or not, was what he wanted.
Slow. Easy. He was in love with a woman who was unable to say what she wanted. Talk about a minefield.
But he wasn’t going to deny her pleasure because of how her uncle and father had fucked up her head. He slid his thumb beneath her neckline and hooked it under her bra strap to discover cool, soft skin. He caressed her shoulder and collar bone as he met her gaze. “Take off your shirt.”
No hesitation, and no apprehension, only desire in her multi-colored eyes. She straightened in his lap, arched as she brought the shirt off, set it aside. The feel of her skin against his arm was something he wouldn’t get tired of any time soon, so he settled her back into the cradle of it and enjoyed looking at the small curves cupped in pale blue cotton. He tightened his hold to bring her close enough he could brush his lips over one quivering mound. Still steady and slow, not going for the nipple. Just everywhere near it. Her hand had hooked over his shoulder, her fingers digging into his shirt.
He went beneath the loose waistband of her jeans to find the nip of her waist, molded his palm over it and her hip bone, his fingertips against the elastic of her panties.
She started trembling harder as he petted her with a light touch that moved in lines and circles. Over her hip and side, up to her rib cage, around to her bare back. He unhooked the bra one-handed, pressed his palm to the ridge of her spine there.
He didn’t give a damn about getting to the “good stuff,” as his buddies had often called it. It was all good stuff, and he wanted her to know it. He was content to spend his energy studying her every reaction, making sure they were doing all right.
He left the loosened bra where it was and lowered his touch to slip the button of her jeans, trace the edge of her panties below her navel.
She bit her lip, and one hand had dropped to his knee, fingers gripping the seam of his jeans in a sudden death grip, indicating the wrong kind of tension.
“It’s okay,” he said quietly. “Don’t worry. Talk to me.”
“When you touch me,” she said hesitantly, “it feels good. But I’m not sure about…between my legs.”
Not unexpected. “How about taking off the jeans? I just want to hold you in my lap in nothing but your panties. That’s all we’ll do.” He didn’t want to spook her. Make her think he was going to ask too much, too soon. The way she nodded, her expression easing, settled his concerns.
“Good,” he murmured. “I want to look. Feel how wet you are.”
The concerns he’d thought he’d reversed snapped into a full locking of her muscles, so violent she bucked herself off his lap. He caught her before she could fall, but she scrambled away, stumbling over his feet. She was a few paces away in a jarring blink, standing in the doorway of her bedroom.
“I’m sorry,” she stammered. “I’m so sorry. I can’t help it.”
“It’s okay.” He kept his voice calm while his mind sifted rapidly through the past few seconds. When he’d spoken, he’d moved his touch up, his fingertips gliding along and above her navel. Because he’d moved away from the area causing her worry, back toward something she’d seemed to like having him touch, he knew it was his words, not the contact, that had caused her abrupt reaction.
He pushed toward her, wanting to soothe, but she retreated fully into the room, so he stopped at the threshold.
“I…” She closed her eyes, shook her head. Her hands were fisted at her sides. “I thought it would be okay. I’m so sorry…”
“You don’t need to say you’re sorry, baby. You’ve done nothing wrong.”