It had felt like utter crap. But touch is healing.
It was always way better when someone was with me, holding my hand, pressing back against the pain, adding their warmth and strength to my struggling body.
Moving in slow pulses, I knead her belly gently, and if the way she lets go a sigh is any indication, it feels good.
“Hell, yeah,” I murmur.
Her hiccupped laugh is barely there, but there all the same.
She curls her left arm and rests her fingers on my forearm. Again, it’s not an objection. She’s not telling me to stop. Her fingertips trace light circles just below my elbow, answering my touch.
I nuzzle the back of her neck until my lips meet skin. I kiss her once and whisper behind her ear, “I want you to feel better.”
“Zach,” the tickling touch turns into a squeeze, “you make everything better.”
Can she feel how my heartbeat just sped up?
I want this.
Every night, I want to lie against her, my face in her hair, her body in the circle of my arms.
And, shit. Can she feelthat?
I inch my hips back so my stupid cock isn’t pressed against her ass.
“Hey.” Greta wriggles her hips. “Where’d you go?”
I huff a laugh. “Um… Just giving you some space.”
She’s quiet for a minute.
“I… I don’t mind.” I hear her swallow. “I like it.”
My hard cock pressed against her?Holy shit.
Okay then.
I close the distance between us, and when she nudges her sweet behind against my crotch, I bite back a moan.
“I like it,” she whispers again.
I hum through gritted teeth. “It likes you,” I grind out.
Her giggle is delicious. “That’s what I like about it.”
I laugh into her hair.God, I love this woman.
I stroke her belly and breathe her in.
Touching her is peace.
Touching her is torment.
I never want to stop touching her.
“Does it feel better?” I ask.
Greta nods. “Yeah. Yeah, you can stop.” She says it like I’m doing her a favor.
