Page 34 of Awakened By the Guardian

“Okay?” he confirmed.

She nodded and felt the quick release of her bra. Taking a deep breath, she had to admit it felt better.

“Thanks,” she said, and Gary rewarded her with a light kiss on her neck.

“Anytime.”

He settled in behind her, a furnace if ever there was one. Suddenly she was too hot, so she kicked off the covers. Now she was lying there in her jeans, tee, and unhooked bra, and she was again feeling hot and bothered, an entirely new sensation. Gary’s hand lay flat on her belly, large and kind of nice. She forced herself to relax and blew out a slow breath.

“Will you talk to me now?” he asked.

She frowned. “What time is it? How long were we sleeping?”

“A while, but I think you needed the rest.”

“We both did.”

He murmured an agreement, and she felt him set his head down on the pillow behind her. So, this was nice. They were spooning together, more or less, and he was just holding her as they talked.

“How do you feel?” she asked.

“Uh-uh. We’re talking about you,” he corrected.

“Says who?”

“Says me. And you promised, so says you too.”

“Gary—”

“Do you ever pleasure yourself? To orgasm?”

She felt her cheeks heat. Damn, it was weird to talk about this.

“Embarrassed?” he said, reading her silence. “Seriously? We’ve talked about my bodily issues ad nauseum. Do I need to start telling you masturbation jokes?”

She snorted and then gave in. He was right. If he could talk about using a condom catheter, she could talk about how she’d tried to pleasure herself. “Yes, I’ve done it. You guys just dig in like you’re shoving into a baseball mitt. Then it’s scrub, scrub, scrub, and you think we’re going to explode into a million screaming Os.”

“Wow,” Gary murmured. “You’ve had some crappy boyfriends.”

She wanted to argue, but it was the truth.

“So, when you do pleasure yourself, what do you do?” Gary asked.

Margaret closed her eyes. God, she didn’t want to talk about this. How did she masturbate? She didn’t even like thinking the word. But at least they weren’t facing each other. No way would she be able to have this conversation while looking at his face.

“I’m your best friend, remember?” he said. “That’s exactly what you said to me when you learned how to cath my ‘shriveled raisin dick.’ I was embarrassed and humiliated, and you just picked up the damn tube and said, ‘Show me what to do.’ You wanted to help. You wanted me to be happy and healthy.”

She closed her eyes. He was right. She’d bullied and cajoled and downright threatened until he explained what worked and didn’t work with him. She could hardly cry “too personal” now when the tables were turned.

“Okay, best friend,” she said. “I play with my nipples. Eventually I rub my clit. Gently. Slowly. I take my time with all of it, and yes it feels nice, but all in all, it isn’t that great.” That’s why I’m broken.

“I can see why your crap boyfriends weren’t that great,” Gary said.

“No man is that patient,” she replied. “Not really.”

“Challenge accepted.”

She froze for a moment, damning herself for an idiot. Of course he would take this as a challenge. Of course he would think it was some sort of manly competition to show his prowess, even if she’d never been able to give herself a screaming O, either.