“You know you want to come,” he whispers in my ear.
Tosser, bugger, prick!
I shrug. “It would be nice, but since you’re not inclined…”
“Who said I’m not inclined?”
“You, clearly, since you decided to torture me.”
His chuckle makes my nipples harden again, goddammit.
His hand flattens on my belly, and I feel so self-conscious.
Does my back fat look weird at this angle?
Slowly, torturously slowly, he drags his fingers down my belly. His fingertips graze the very bottom of my belly.
“Tate,” I whisper. “Please don’t. I can’t deal with more torture.”
“Sure you can.”
Without warning, he strokes between my legs, and I knife up in response, I’m that ready to climax.
He chuckles again, a manly sound that makes my nipples go hard again.
“Noooo,” I whisper. “I can’t hold off. Don’t, please—”
“Maybe I won’t let you hold off. Maybe this time I’ll let you come.”
He strokes again, and I’m on the verge of climax again, so quickly it feels like he’s lit a match beneath me.
“Oh, God,” I moan. “I’m super sex-deprived, you know.”
“I didn’t know. Why are you sex-deprived?”
“Because the last person I was with cheated on me, and I haven’t been able to trust anyone since. And contrary to popular belief, taking care of business yourself leaves a lot to be desired.”
He sighs. “I’d give fucking anything to watch you do it, though.”
“You’ve got the filthiest—Oh, God.”
He’s somehow touching me all over the place, my arse, my throbbing clit, my aching entrance. I need him in. I need to come. I need, I need.
“And what will I get if I let you come?" I don't know if he’s serious or teasing, but I answer without thinking.
"You get to watch me. "
He takes me seriously. "There's nothing in the world I’d rather fucking see,” he growls. “Come for me, Fran. Let yourself go. Show me how gorgeous you are when you climax.”
I’m so in my head, I can’t come at first, can’t let myself go, and when I don’t do exactly what he says the second he demands it, his voice coaxes me.
“Relax. Show me, gorgeous. Show me how you come, and I’ll forgive what you’ve done.”
And then I’m shattering into release, my mind a haze of utter bliss. I can’t breathe or think, my entire body engulfed in flames as he sends ripples of pleasure coursing through my body.
I come until I’m boneless. Until I can’t even open my mouth to speak, much less move. I can’t even think.
There's nothing but me, Tate, and bliss, all wrapped up in a bubble. I come until every drop of pleasure is rent from my very soul. Dramatic, maybe. But it sure feels that way.
"Now, are you going to do what I tell you? "
"I don't know.” I grin. “Maybe you ought to do that one more time just to be sure… ow!”
I squeal when he tweaks one of my nipples. He shakes his head from side to side. “You’re fuckin’ incorrigible.”
“Me? You’re the one who teased me on the edge of orgasm for days.”
“Dramatic much? It was like ten minutes.”
“Days!”
He reaches for a blanket and shakes his head, lifting it up and tucking it in over me.
“We’ve had an exhausting few days.”
“Tate… we don’t have to fuck, you know. I can… well, there are lots of things I can do to take care of you, too, you know.”
His eyes darken, and he sobers, all traces of humor gone. “Trust me, babe. I’m well aware.”
He pushes himself out of bed, and I can’t help but notice his rock-hard erection. “But there will be time for all of that. Get some rest.” He strolls toward the bathroom, glorious and beautiful and utterly masculine wearing nothing but faded trousers and a massive erection. “We’ve got work to do tomorrow.”
He pads off into the bathroom and a few seconds later I hear the shower turn on. I want to stay awake until he comes back for me, but my eyes are so heavy. So, so heavy. The blankets are warm, and it’s cozy in here. I close my eyes and drift off to sleep.
I wake the next day to the scent of coffee and woodsmoke. There’s a fire in the hearth, just a small one. It looks as if it’s dying down. Was I that tired that I never heard him build it?
I look beside me, and he isn't there. There's no sign that he ever spent the night in this bed last night, although I was so exhausted, I probably wouldn't even know. It makes me a little sad that he didn't sleep beside me. I mean, this is his bed after all, and I saw no other beds in here. I can’t imagine it was comfortable with his huge body sleeping on a sofa.
That isn't what makes me sad though. I don't like that there's a distance between us. I don't like that there could be so much more, but that my choices and our statuses are the only things that are keeping us apart.