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“Yes, beautiful?”
“I could never kick you out. I’m too used to your raves in the kitchen.”
She smiles as I slip out to give her time alone.
Exactly one hour later, I return to wrap her in my arms so she can listen to my heartbeat.
So she knows she’s always safe here with me.
So I can take away the hurt and replace it with the feelings growing inside my chest.
Chapter Sixteen
Paige
BRODY SWEEPS HIS HAND OVER the sex toys laid out on his bed. “Well, what do you think?”
I puff my cheeks. It’s like staring at an art piece titled Deconstruction of Orgasm. There are toys I don’t even recognize. Or know what hole they go in.
He scratches the back of his head. “Maybe I bought too many. I had a coupon. The female employee highly recommended this one.” He holds up a pink vibrator with bumps and grooves and antennae sticking out near the base. The front antennae must work the clit and the back…tickles your butt? I don’t like tickling. Especially in my butt.
“I wanted to get you a good selection.” He grabs a butterfly-shaped device that goes in panties and vibrates. When I stare instead of responding, he deflates next to me. “Yeah, I bought too much. I’m sorry.”
I’m fresh from the shower, hair slightly damp, and I tighten the sash on the robe I’m wearing. I kiss his cheek.
He stands taller and sets the butterfly back with its comrades. “Any you want to try?”
“Or whenever.”
I contemplate the selection. I prefer Brody’s touch—his fingers, mouth, and other parts—but I’m open to toys if they’ll solve my problem. I only tried a basic dildo in the past, and the art exhibit before me offers so many shapes and colors. Something has to work. This past week has been a blur of different sex positions and Brody’s hands all over me. I’m sore in places I didn’t know got sore—in a good way—but I haven’t orgasmed yet. I was right about Brody, though. He’s experienced. Patient. His touch is better than anything I’ve known. He understands my limits and listens to me.
It’s eating me up inside.
I point to a clear vibrator that’s shaped like a veiny dick.
“That one it is,” he responds. He clears the bed, returning the other toys to a shopping bag. Then he takes off his shirt—I told him I prefer him topless—and eases me back onto the bed.
We kiss, and he runs his hands over the robe, tracing my curves through the thin fabric. Even though we’ve done this at least eight times now, he always gazes at my naked body like it’s the first time. His eyes wander over my skin as his mouth curls in delight. He spreads my legs tenderly and licks his lips. Then he kisses his way up my body, stopping near my ear to whisper, “What does my goddess want today?”
It’s a routine we’ve fallen into. After he whispers, I’ll suggest how to begin—grind me, fondle me, lick my inner thighs—whatever new approach we haven’t tried. I’ll calculate what to do, as if my body is a Rubik’s cube. Manipulate it the right way and I’ll solve the puzzle.
Before Brody can open my robe and expose me this time, I kiss him to break the routine. For each of our ‘sex sessions’, he gets so painfully hard. Precum soaks his jeans. Or he’ll enter me, only to groan and pull out to stop himself from coming. I know the look on his face well—the frustration and yearning to finish. I’ve felt it my entire adult life.
His discomfort and pain are my fault.
I lift my phone.
He kisses along my jawline, his thumb running over my nipple. “I’m getting plenty of pleasure. Trust me.”
He shakes his head. “I haven’t earned it yet. When I come, I want it to be because you’re satisfied and enjoying the entire experience one hundred percent. That’s when I’ll fill you with everything I’ve been holding back.” He groans softly and says under his breath, “So worth the wait.” His fingers roam between my legs and, sure enough, I’m wet. His words and the way his voice wraps around them always get me wet.
