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Well, that worked, too.
“I’m here for you to fuck, whenever, however you want, Mistress.” His voice was rough as their surroundings.
You’re damn right you are.She could say things like that in her head, just for herself. Fortunately her inability to speak kept her from blurting out things she’d regret later. Usually she thought that was the right thing, a saving grace from making sexually-driven emotional faux pas.
But she found herself wishing he could have heard that thought. She would have liked to see if it elicited an answering flare of possessiveness in his eyes.
A good way to set herself up for disappointment. Instead, she’d focus on what would definitelynotbe disappointing. Ontop of finding out she liked kissing him, she’d discovered she liked fucking him.
Shelovedfucking him.
As she squeezed down on him, she threaded her hand through the longer hair on the right side of her head, released it so the wisps brushed her shoulder. She dropped her other hand to shape her breast, play with the nipple. She was devoured by his eyes, immersed in the energy coming off his taut muscles and in the lift of his hips to drive into her, meeting her downward motion.
He had his feet braced to help her with the impact, the depth of their coming together. He followed every movement of her hands upon herself, telling her with the set of his mouth, the fire in his eyes, he wanted his hands on her, to be the one to give her that pleasure.
When the rippling pleasure of a climax came closer to taking her, his tension against his bonds broke the tie on his right hand. He replaced its hold with a death grip on the creeper, showing her it wasn’t the zip tie that held him. It was her command.
She liked that, too. Some things could just make a girl’s heart beat faster, no matter how civilized she considered herself. Even with that climax so close, she managed to convey it, her feverish gaze sliding to his other wrist.
Reading her wish, he snapped it free, sending another wave of ecstasy through her. Now that hand gripped the creeper as well, no restraint on it but her will.
He knew to lower his gaze, because she didn’t permit him to look at her when she climaxed, but the reluctance in his expression, the longing to do so, was so evident, she almost gave in to it. But not today.
She dropped her head back as the climax grabbed her. She rode him hard through it, and then, when it finally started toebb, she tapped the base of his throat, telling him he could lift his gaze, and mouthed the order.Come.
He let go with a groan. It was a good thing he’d locked the brake on the creeper, because it still scraped a foot or two across the floor from his feet pushing against the concrete. She braced her hands on his chest and the side of his throat, the best holds to ride this bronc. She dug her fingers into his flesh like spurs, urging him to buck harder, deeper.
The aftershocks washed through her, an endless pleasure. Only when the climax had passed through him and his dazed eyes cleared did she stop that sensual rocking. When she gave him a thoroughly satisfied, approving look, he chuckled. After he caught his breath.
“I’m on the verge of making an incredibly cheesy comment about personally handling your oil change and service today. I’d say sorry for it, but it’s your own fault. You scrambled my brain and shot it back to puberty.”
She gave his chest hair a harder yank, but she was smiling. His cock twitched inside her, sending a little twinge through her lower vitals. Reluctantly, she slid free of it. Though normally he would do it, she brushed his hands away and removed the condom herself, setting it aside before tucking him back into his underwear. She also zipped and buttoned the jeans herself, cupping him through them with a more proprietary touch than her norm.
When he sat up, she stayed on his lap. He put his hands on her upper arms, his attention sliding to the breasts brushing his chest. With a notable effort, he shifted his gaze away. Toward her clothes. “Can I return the favor? I’d like to.”
At her nod, he helped her up. She tucked the jewelry in her bag and set it aside to don them later. Bemused, she noted Tiger used his fingertips to pick up the panties and held them that way as she stepped into them. When he brought them up to herhips, he smoothed his touch over the band and her sensitive flesh before he retrieved the bra. He threaded the straps over her arms and deftly hooked it when she presented her back to him. Wherever he touched her, her skin practically sighed with pleasure, wanting more.
Picking up the blouse in the same careful manner as the panties, he held it out for her. After she slid it onto her shoulders, he gave her an appreciative look. “Fuck, you in an open shirt over your lacy stuff…you’d fit right in on my pinup calendar.” When she tilted her head to look up at him, he ran his knuckles over her cheek. “But if you’re determined to button it, you better handle that. All the calluses and burrs on my hands make a mess of soft and silky stuff.”
As she performed the task and put on her skirt, he glanced toward the wall, drawing her attention to the calendar he’d mentioned. A woman with a 1940s hairdo and painted lips sent the viewer a teasing look as she bent low beneath the raised hood of a red vintage Chevy pickup. She wore lined stockings and teetering red pumps.
“I’ve always had a fantasy of putting on a woman’s stockings, but a mechanic’s hands would shred those.”
She disconnected her phone from the speakers and typed a response. “You would look fabulous in fishnets.”
“Put them onher.” He shot her a look. “You know, when Maryshka acts like a smartass, I threaten to spank her.”
Skye arched a “Do you feel lucky?” brow and he chuckled, holding up both hands and taking a step back.
“Have you had any lunch? I made some stew last night that turned out pretty good. I have enough to share. Plus biscuits.”
He cooked. That was enough to pique her interest. Plus she was hungry. She hadn’t stopped for lunch after she left the office. When she accompanied him to the rear office, she noted the less scorched pictures dumped in his guest chair had been put upon the walls. Insurance paperwork was organized on the coffee table in front of the worn leather couch. He also had a new answering machine, one with a transcript display screen.
He noted her glance. “Yeah, I’ve been going through the stuff the doc gave me. The answering machine seemed like a pretty good idea. You know, until something changes.”
Though the last statement sounded hollow, it didn’t detract from the positive signs of him moving forward. As long as he was taking advantage of resources to help him in his current condition, there was no reason he had to accept his hearing loss would be permanent.
For one thing, there was no way to know if that was true. He’d likely searched the Internet and stumbled on the rare stories of deaf people getting their hearing back after a much longer time than would have been expected. More realistically, there were plenty of partial hearing return stories, too, usually a few months after someone had lost it from a trauma like he’d experienced.
