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"Slow down," she said unsteadily. He did, easing back the speed at which they were approaching his climax. As he squeezed and stroked himself with careful movements, his body was taut, quivering.
"Why didn't you want to tell me about how she punished you?"
"Because I felt like you really wanted to talk about me doing this for you."
"Do you anticipate like that...a lot?"
"Yeah. Lyda says it's part of what gets me in trouble half the time. But only half." He grunted then. "I wish my hand was your cunt, Gen. I want to give you pleasure."
"You are. Shut up."
She slipped out of bed, padded across the hallway. When she emerged from the shadows, his dark, burning eyes were fixed on her, the sensuous mouth tight. She circled around the bed, her gaze sliding down his body. His cock had leaked semen onto his belly. She marked it in her mind as she reached for the lamp. He reached for her with the hand above his head, circling her wrist gently.
"Just one more moment, like that," he said. "You brushed your hair, and it's all curled around your face. And I can see your body through your nightgown."
It was a thin cotton one with a little embroidery at the V-neck. Not outrageously sexy, but pretty. She hadn't worn anything beneath it tonight, more of that same compulsion to be daring. As his gaze coursed down, the light was showing him the shape of hip and breast, the juncture between her legs.
"That's enough," she whispered, disengaging her hand. She turned off the light and caught her hair back, bending down to put her mouth on those few drops on his stomach. "Don't touch me," she added, another quiet instruction. A thrill of power went through her as he became incredibly still, his hand motionless on his cock. As she licked the drops off the muscled terrain, he quivered harder, but he obeyed her. She reveled in the freedom of it, of touching him how she wished without the worry of him trying to take the reins from her, moving too fast or in a direction she didn't want. He tasted slick and salty. Male.
The wrist of the hand holding her hair back brushed the head of his cock, an incidental contact, one she didn't expand further. She finished suckling those drops, then backed off, standing by the dresser. The street lights outside illuminated him enough she could see the pale line of his body. In contrast, she was mostly in shadow again. The fierce desire in his gaze speared her.
"I want to fuck you."
She shuddered at the animal demand. "No. Keep going."
He began to stroke himself, more functional and down to business, the way a man did it to bring himself to the desired goal, just as she'd requested. Though she was mostly in darkness, his gaze stayed on her, stripping her bare, making her quiver and arousal trickle down her leg. He'd said it had been a long time since he'd masturbated solely for his own pleasure. That made two of them. For a lonely woman, sometimes the empty aftermath was too painful to bear.
He was working himself harder, faster. Her gaze clung to the way he held himself, that loose curl, the push-pull of the velvet skin up and down the steel shaft, the thrust of his hips. His throat arched, the loose mane of dark hair spread over her guestroom pillow, where his scent would linger. His muscles were drawn tight, a powerful male animal bringing himself to climax.
"I don't...do this...without permission."
"You can this time. Please." Her voice was quiet, hoarse.
A quick jerk of his head, an acknowledgment, and then his balls drew up, his cock jumping in his hand as ropes of come started to spill forth, painting his abdomen, his chest. His face reflected that rictus that happened during such a moment, and she drank it all in, her palms damp, body locked by the dresser, every nerve ending aware of the touch of the air, his harsh grunts, his musky odor filling the room.
Finally, all that was left were her shallow breaths, his deep ones. As he settled down, she pushed herself into motion. Going into the hallway bathroom, she dampened a washcloth and brought it and a dry hand towel to the corner of the bed. She put them there, neatly folded, within his reach.
"Thank you," she said.
"Gen..." He was trying to see her in the dark. He started to lift his upper body. Fearing he was going to reach for her hand, she backed toward the door. She couldn't bear to be touched. Not right now.
"Thank you," she said again. "Good night."
She fled back to her room, closing the door behind her. If she left it open, he might come to her. He wouldn't initiate sex, not unless she'd given a clear invitation, but in this instance, him curling around her to give her comfort or just hold her would be even worse. Far, far worse.
She crawled back into her bed, holding the pillow hard to her chest with both arms, willing the throbbing between her legs to subside, hoping the ache in her throat and heart could do the same.
She was happy with her life. But deep in her heart, in the place she'd allowed Noah to be tonight, she had an unbearable longing to share it with someone.
*
Because it had taken her so long to fall asleep, it took longer to rise. What woke her was the smell of breakfast tea and frying eggs, potatoes and onions. He must have brought some coffee with him, because she smelled that as well.
Out of deference to vanity, she brushed her teeth and washed her face, pulled her hair back in a tail and added a touch of makeup before she came out of her room, even though she was wearing a pair of paint-stained jeans and a man's T-shirt in size small. Unlike what she'd worn at Tea Leaves yesterday, this shirt was a worn, thin cloth that clung, with a deep V-neck that showed off quite a bit of cleavage. She hadn't bought the shirt for those reasons, but because of its softness and usefulness for dirty house projects. However, when his gaze slid over her, she wasn't unhappy with her choice.
He'd made her a breakfast casserole topped with fresh tomatoes from her potted plant. A glance out the French doors showed he'd moved the tiles she'd stored in the back shed onto the patio and set up the Skil saw, along with grout and other tools.
"I'm late," she said.
