He transferred himself back into his chair as she sat up to don the shirt. Going to her dresser, he found a drawer full of cotton underwear in a variety of pastel shades. He chose pink, and returned, laying it on one slender leg. “And these.”
Surprise crossed her gaze, no doubt because he was having her put on clothes. But that was because he liked the look, a woman in his shirt and a simple pair of panties. When she complied, moving onto her knees to make it happen, her long hair fell forward over her shoulders. The neckline of his shirt revealed the curve of her breast. She’d only buttoned the two buttons in the middle. When she was done, she hesitated, then lay back again, the way he’d originally put her.
“Good,” he said, warm approval in his voice. “Put your fingers inside the panties, on yourself.” His gaze flicked meaningful in that direction. “Don’t move those fingers. You just rest them there. Think about how I’m going to touch you, put my mouth on you, put my cock inside you, when I come back.”
“Rory…” His name was a breath on her lips.
“You are so goddamn beautiful,” he said. “Nothing you want is wrong, you know that? And if you could be inside my head, you’d know that, down to the soul.”
He gestured before she could get uptight about his fierce tone. “Do it now. Put your hand where I told you to.”
She wet her lips, that erotic anxiety that captivated him. Her hand slipped into the panties and he bit back a groan of pure want, seeing a tiny blot of moisture against the panel already. “Keep your fingers where I told you,” he reminded her. “Don’t move them. Tell me you understand.”
“I do. Yes.”
He felt her eyes on him as he turned and went into her small bathroom, which had just enough room for him to close the door. He took a long, steadying breath and turned his attention to what needed to happen.
While he’d had no intention of this date ending in sex, he thanked God he’d prepared for it. In the pack that hooked to the back of his chair, he carried extra catheters, but also a silicone cock ring in a small plastic lubricant pouch, ED meds, and condoms. He dry swallowed the pill first. When they reached the point where it was needed, he’d be ready. As he’d said, he could take his time, do a hell of a lot for her, and her for him, before she closed her wet heat around him.
Moving around in that small space was precarious, but he took care of what was needed, washed his hands. He removed the rest of his clothes and draped a towel over his lap.
Before he emerged from the bathroom, he took a look at himself in the small mirror over the sink. At first, he’d avoided looking at himself in mirrors, not able to handle what he was, what he looked like. Maybe that was why he’d noticed how rarely Daralyn looked at herself. Just furtive looks to ensure she looked presentable. Not a full-on meeting of one’s eyes, facing the person in the mirror.
He could look at himself now, and that ability was an important self-care message. When he looked at himself, he was sending a message to his reflection.
Be what she needs, and be who you are. Deep down, soul level, both sides of that equation.
He left the bathroom. As he came back into the bedroom, he stopped at the foot of the bed to let himself look, because it was an incomparable view.
Any worries about whether this was the right course or not vanished. The instincts that had told him what instructions to give her had had better results than he’d expected.
She was trembling, and not from fear or cold. Having her put her hand on her sex, forbidding her to move it, meant the ripples of sensation had built and spread outward. Her body quivered with three hundred horsepower sexual urgency. Her gaze was back to that feverish heat, her face taut with it.
He moved to the side of the bed. “Give me your fingers.”
She withdrew them from the panties, her arm shaking. He gripped her wrist, nuzzled her fingers, nostrils flaring at the scent of her arousal. As he licked the tips, teasing her, a little sound came from her throat. “Nice as that is,” he said, “I want a taste straight from the source.”
Keeping his grip on her wrist, he reached out with the other hand and molded it around her inner thigh. With the pressure of that touch, he guided her to slide in his direction, bringing her pretty backside to the edge of the mattress. He positioned her feet on his push rims, the chair locked in place. Then he slid his hands beneath her thighs, cupped his palms under her buttocks and lifted her up to bring his mouth to her cunt.
He answered an urgent mewl of female need with a pleased male growl. He played with her over the cotton of the panties, rubbing his tongue over the cushion of petals beneath, the swollen bud of her clit. Her buttocks tightened in his grip and he squeezed, hard enough to have her gasping.
“Unbutton my shirt,” he said against her flesh, and reveled in how she fumbled to obey him in her dazed state. He attacked her cunt even more passionately, his tongue pushing against the cotton, lips sucking.
The shirt fell away from her, exposing her upper torso, the rise of her breasts as she twisted. Her toes gripped his push rims, her thighs locked against his shoulders. He paused to remove the panties, enjoying the way her ass pressed into his lap, her legs coming together and rising in front of him so he could kiss the backs of her knees before he spread her legs on either side of him again. He dropped the panties to the side and discovered her wetness up close and personal.
As he slid his tongue inside her, she didn’t climax, but she did come apart, in all the right ways. A harsh, surprised noise came from her, a ripple that made her body undulate in his grip. He saw her eyes flash toward him, and she was clawing the covers.
They’d never done this to her. He’d bet his life on it. Because this was all about her pleasure.
“Rory…” made it past her lips, once, twice, and then she was moaning his name over and over as he took her up, closer to that pinnacle, but not quite there.
He’d pushed the towel off his lap when he brought her to the edge, and now he shifted his grip to her waist, let her hips ease down to his thighs. The opened shirt got left behind, falling off her shoulders and onto the edge of the mattress, so he held a fully naked woman in his hands.
She was already reaching for him with eagerness. He’d intended to get her lost in that desire she’d tasted earlier in the night. She now had the tentative confidence to grip it in both hands, and he wouldn’t give her any breaks in those waves of pleasure to doubt herself, introduce all the worries about what her responses could and couldn’t be.
Everything she saw and felt from him would confirm what he’d told her—nothing her body or mind or heart wanted was wrong. Not with him.
Unconditional acceptance. He’d never understood what that meant. Now he did. He knew her heart as well as his own in this moment.
He’d tucked the ring into a side pocket of his pack. After sheathing himself in the condom, he removed the ring from the lubricated pouch to slide it onto himself, all the way to the base. She watched, and he saw her fingers twitch with the desire to touch him. They were on the same damn page on that. He guided her hands down between them, her thighs straddling him. “Touch me,” he murmured. “Stroke me in a way that tells me how much you want me inside.”
He dipped his head to watch her hands close over him, explore, stroke in a jerky way that told him her desire was continuing to affect her coordination. Savage satisfaction speared through him.