"Please," she murmured, not entirely sure what she was asking for. It didn't matter. He had her well in hand, and after tugging the shorts down, he urged her to sit on the edge of the bed.
"Lie back," he ordered, and she obeyed willingly, biting her lower lip when he pulled the shorts all the way off of her feet, then spread her legs wide, exposing her fully to him.
"Tyree," she said, shifting a little, both aroused and shy. The shyness faded, however when she felt his lips brush her inner thigh as the pad of one thumb teased the back of her knee. It was as if she was a sensual instrument, and he was playing her to perfection. He moved slowly, his mouth and tongue tasting and exploring but never reaching her core.
His fingers danced lightly on her other thigh, moving higher and higher until she arched up in surprise when his fingertip flicked lightly over her clit. "Please," she said, as his lips moved higher, the brush of his close-trimmed beard rubbing her inner thighs in a way that was making her seriously delirious.
And then--oh, dear God--he closed his mouth over her, his tongue teasing her clit as his fingers slid into her. And she was wet--so incredibly wet--and the feel of him was almost more than she could handle. And yet at the same time she wanted more, and she shamelessly bucked her hips, squirming a bit as his mouth worked serious magic on her, taking her higher and higher until before she knew it a firestorm of electricity was crackling through her body, radiating out through her fingers and toes.
It had been so long, so damn long, and she couldn't remember ever coming this hard. Her body shook and she cried out. And the cliche was true because-- oh, yes--she actually saw stars.
When her body quit shaking, she realized that he'd maneuvered her all the way onto the bed, and his body was straddling her, his huge erection brushing her lower belly, and making her crave even more. She wanted to feel him inside her. She wanted the connection, the power, the submission of being claimed by this man who had been a part of her for decades, even when they'd been separated by miles and years.
"Kiss me," she demanded, then tasted her own arousal on his lips when he complied. She clutched his back pulling him closer. Her nails scraping, her teeth nibbling. She wanted to be taken and she begged him to thrust inside her. "Please. I'm on birth control and I'm clean. Oh, God, pleas
e."
She closed his eyes, arching up as she spread her legs, felt the weight of him on her, heard his moan of passion as his cock teased her entrance.
And then she heard his low, anguished cry. "I can't." The words seemed torn from him, and the same force then launched him out of bed and had him pounding the wall with his fist, his erection gone. "Goddammit, Eva, I can't."
"It's okay." She sat up, the sheet pulled up to her chin. She felt for him, and, yeah, she was disappointed, but it was hardly the end of the world. "Honestly, Tiger, it happens."
He made a scoffing noise, then seemed to deflate. He reached down and tugged on his briefs, then sat on the edge of the bed. "I should have told you. But I thought--well, with you I thought it would be okay. But it's not. Hell, I think it may actually be worse."
He met her eyes, and she couldn't find a single word. She was too confused. Too troubled by the way he seemed to be drowning in a pain that seemed bigger than the actual problem.
"I'm sorry," he said. Then he got up and left the room.
And since there was no way she was ending the conversation on that note, she slid out of bed, grabbed her robe from the hook on the closet door, and followed him into the living room.
She found him on the couch and settled in beside him, then put her hand gently on his knee. He turned to her, managed a tiny smile, and then slid his arm around her shoulder.
Relieved, she leaned against him, thankful that the huge gap that had filled the space between them in the bedroom seemed to have disappeared. But she couldn't let it go. She knew she ought to be hurt by his words--how did she make it worse?--but mostly she was worried about him.
She needed to understand, and he was the only one who could explain it to her. And at the risk of bringing it all back to the surface, she dove back into the quagmire, and asked him very softly to tell her what was going on.
For a moment, he said nothing, and she thought he was going to ignore her. Then, slowly, he began to speak. "I've dated three women in the seven years since Teiko died," he said, obviously considering each word. "Not so much because I wanted to, but friends thought I shouldn't be alone. And, honestly, dating isn't entirely accurate. We went out a few times. Played the get-to-know-you game."
"And sex," she guessed.
He nodded. "Sometimes it's just about the contact. The connection. Even if there's nothing real underneath."
"I know. I get it."
"I got it, too. So did they. We just wanted--release." He let out a frustrated breath. "Which they got, but I didn't. Since she died--since I lost Teiko--I haven't been able to really make love to a woman, and no pill, no toy, no special oil advertised on the internet makes any difference at all."
"I'm sorry. I'm sure that's horribly frustrating. But if you're worried about the way I feel, you don't have to be. I just want you beside me. Don't get me wrong, it would be nice--I remember how nice it was--but mostly I just want to be with you. The intimacy of us."
He bent and kissed her head. "Baby, I--I know. And I believe you. And honestly, I would have told you before except that I thought it would be better with you."
"And instead it was worse."
He nodded.
"You loved her very much," she said. "It's hard to let go of someone you love."
His eyes widened in surprise. "How did you--"