Chapter 15
Lindsey
Fuck, I was so mixed up I didn't know if I was coming or going, emotionally. Dane was wreaking havoc on me, emotionally, mentally, and physically. One second, he was getting me all worked up emotionally, and then he made me come and had me saying "Yes, Dane," like some sort of…I don't know what.
Fuck, it was hot, though. I've never been that girl. I've never even considered being that girl. Because I mean, what man would I ever trust enough to put that kind of faith in him?
This man, apparently.
Dane Badd.
He stood outside the tub in his tight black boxer briefs, the outline of his cock bulging and straining against the fabric, a hint of the pink tip sticking up over top of the elastic.
My heart was pounding wildly from the exertion of orgasm, and I couldn't believe I'd not only let him put his finger in my asshole, but I'd begged him to.
My nipples ached, standing hard and turgid and sensitive in the hot water, and my pussy was slick and hot and aching emptily.
Yet, despite my physical, sexual arousal, I was still an emotional mess.
He'd said a lot, and it all rattled around in me like marbles at the bottom of an empty coffee tin.
I use sex to avoid my feelings? Okay, first of all, rude.
Second, I do not.
Do I?
I…
Fuck.
I totally did.
A riptide of past occurrences zipped through me like a movie montage of Lindsey being a thirsty, emotionally-avoidant slut: guy after guy that I went on a few dates with, got to know a little, slept with, and then as soon as I sussed out that he was starting to actually get near my spiky walls of emotional defense, I'd hop on his cock and distract him from investigating those feelings any further.
And then I'd bolt.
Dump him and run—usually to Mom and Pop Rigby's for emotional support and repair.
Yeah, that was a pattern.
So was the fact that I avoided facing my emotions. I stuck with being funny or horny or annoying instead of letting the fear or pain through the walls.
He saw me; he saw me.
It was fucking terrifying.
He saw that I was vulnerable and scared, and he didn't shy away from it.
He accepted it, leaned into it. He didn't push me to another emotional breaking point, though.
He gave me the physical release I needed and took the burden of decision from me at the same time.
He took charge and showed me that I could trust him, that I could sort of…
turn off, mentally, and just relax into his care.
I hadn't realized that's what was happening, but that was the downstream effect, whether he'd done so on purpose or not.
He loved me.
He’d proven that multiple times and in multiple ways.
So, I lay submerged in the tub, considering all this as I gazed at him. His posture was relaxed but alert, watching me, waiting for me. The ball was in my court, now.
Did I want sex? Did I want emotional intimacy? Both, somehow? I wasn't sure how both could exist—they never have, in my world.
It's what I wanted, though.
Not just sex.
Not just "Insert Tab A into Slot B and repeat" for a few seconds or minutes of feel-good time.
Not that that's what it had ever been with Dane, but still, I knew there was more than that between us.
I held his eyes as I rolled toward him in the water, holding onto the rim of the tub with one hand and hooking my fingers in his underwear with the other.
I pulled his underwear away from his body and tugged them down inch by inch, running my hand from left hip to right without touching his cock, easing them past the hard swell of his taut ass until they slid free and dropped to pool around his feet.
My first instinct was to put my mouth on him—his cock was just so fucking pretty. So long, so thick, so straight and hard, standing ramrod stiff against his belly and begging for sloppy wet kisses.
I examined myself, and I recognized, in a wild burst of brand-new self-awareness, that I was too emotionally on edge for that. I'd get triggered and break down, fuck everything up.
So…no. Not yet.
I decided to be nice to myself. Don't push the envelope just yet. Maybe in time, when I was more settled into whatever this was or would be with Dane, I could experiment.
Instead, I focused on what I could do, what I could enjoy.
I clasped his cock in my fist, rested my chin on the back of the hand gripping the tub's rim.
He hissed, jaw tensing. "Linz—""I won't do anything triggering," I promised him. "This won't."
He gritted his jaw. "Linz, I…"
"Shush," I whispered. "Let me have a little fun."
He hung his head, breathing with slow intention as I caressed his length. "Do your worst, then."
I giggled, biting my lower lip. "Careful what you ask for, big boy. You really want my worst? Or my best?"
"I, um…" he broke off with a groan as I twisted my hand around the plump head of his lovely cock. "Fuck, that feels good."
"What if my worst involved teeth?" I asked.
"You like my cock too much to bite it," he said. "Plus, we aren't doing anything that might involve teeth, right?"
"We? Or me?" I asked.
"You know what I mean," he said, and then dipped at the knees, hissing, as I gave his fat, hot cock a nice, firm squeeze.
"Just get in here with me," I said, letting go and sitting up and scooting forward to make room behind me.
He stepped in and slid down behind me, gingerly, so as to not overflow the tub, which was now, with both of us in it, precariously full.
Once he was seated behind me, we gradually adjusted our positions until I was reclining in the open wedge of his thighs, which were conveniently placed to be perfect arm rests.
His firm chest was a lovely pillow, and his heavy, brawny arms draped over my chest, crossed at the forearms, his hands lazily cupping but not quite holding my breasts in a familiar, possessive way that somehow managed to be more affectionate than sexual.
His erection, however, was an undeniably sexual presence pressing somewhat uncomfortably into my spine.
Overall, with the hot water and Dane's embrace surrounding me, cocooning me, I was more comfortable and relaxed than I can ever remember being.
I began by counting moments—not literally counting seconds, just…hyperaware of the moment, of the silence, and more than anything, of the fact that I was luxuriating in the delicious glow and hazy contentment of post-orgasmic bliss.
And he wasn't.
I'd gotten him all rowdy and ready to go, and then abandoned that effort. Guilt over this was acidic and shame-inducing.
"Dane, I…" I was at war with myself—I prided myself on not being a cock-tease, and a significant portion of my being was attuned to his desire, his need, and wanted nothing more than to satiate his desire and meet his needs; yet, at the same time, another just as significant portion of myself was in desperate need of exactly and only this—intimacy without expectation.
He tilted my chin up and to the side, and his lips met mine. "Hush. It's fine," he whispered.
"I'm not a tease, Dane, I promise," I said, hating how tearful I sounded.
The bastard had the gall to chuckle. "You think I don't know that?"
"But you gave me an orgasm, and I haven't—"
"I'm not keeping score, Linz. I did what I did because I wanted to.
Because I enjoy making you come." His lips ghosted over mine, teasing kisses even as he whispered to me.
"I go down on you because I love the way your pussy tastes.
Because I love the sounds you make when I lick your hard little clit.
" His fingers slid and danced and tripped and walked down my torso to my navel, to my pudendum, and then to my clit, feathering soft, gentle touches to the bundle of already-sensitive nerves.
"I go down on you because I love the way you move when you're about to come for me. "
He had me gasping, had my hips tipping forward as he circled my clit, pushing me up toward the peak of yet another climax. ]
"I make you come because there's nothing on this earth that gives me more joy and more pleasure than you," he said, his lips moving on mine, kissing and whispering, touching and sliding.
"I don't need anything from you, my love.
I'm not keeping track. I'll never, ever keep score.
I'll make you come a hundred fucking times and never once stop to wonder if it's fair.” He laced the word with such vitriol as to make it almost a curse word.
"But you're all…” I wiggled against him, rubbing my back against his hard-on. "I know that has to be uncomfortable."
"Sure, a bit, but don't worry about that.
I know we'll connect that way soon enough.
I have absolutely zero doubt that at some point in the very near future, you will show my sad, neglected penis all the attention I could ever want or need.
" He cupped my cheek, brushed my cheekbone with a thumb.
"I ask for nothing. I expect nothing. I'm not sitting here pissed off because I have a hard-on that you're not fixing right the fuck now.
I can handle being hard and not doing anything about it.
And to be perfectly honest with you, any guy that tries to guilt a woman into doing something for him because he happens to have an erection is a sad, selfish, pathetic piece of shit. "
"But Dane, I do want to—"
"I know," he interrupted. "I know you do. But I also know that right now, this is more important."
"All we're doing is laying here, though."
As we spoke, his erection was subsiding, and with it, my stupid sense of guilt that I wasn't doing anything about it.
Which made me realize that I may have a fucked-up sense of obligation. He saw it, but I didn't, until now. He chose to forgo his own release to free me, in a way, from my sense of obligation.
"Exactly," Dane said. "Just breathe, honey. Let me hold you."
Panic took hold, because of course it did. "But I'm…you're…fuck." I couldn't breathe for a moment. "I have to earn it," I whispered, the words tumbling out unbidden.
"Earn what?"