26. And More Sedona
NICKY
“Well,” I said as tiny ripples of aftershock moved through me, “you really only have yourself to blame for that.”
My comment was lazy and satisfied; Ian’s reaction was the exact opposite. From near comatose, he came alive, muscles quivering. He lifted himself onto his elbow and shifted so he wasn’t lying on my leg. His face, wrinkled in concern, startled me.
“Why? Did you not want that? Did I push too fast? Did I hurt you? Nicky, I’m so sorry!”
“Stop!” His response was too much. I put a light finger against his lips. “You misunderstand. I’m sorry. I did want this, and you did not hurt me. Far from it.”
He relaxed. Marginally. “So . . . what am I blaming myself for, then?”
His concern was sunshine flooding into my soul. I smiled and caressed his face, admiring the sight of my skin against his skin. “Well,” I said, trying to put my thoughts in order. “See, I’ve never done that before.”
He reared back in horror, his hands stretched out as if testing the edges of a force field that pushed anything six inches from my body. “What?”
“No!” I pulled up to him and kissed him silent. “I’ve done that before. Shit, I am not explaining myself well at all!” I tugged him back down onto the bed, and he let me. But he was wound up tight.
“Jesus,” he muttered. “I thought I’d really hurt you.”
I tucked myself into his side. “You couldn’t tell from my reaction that I was or wasn’t a virgin?”
“Just clarify for me.” He rolled over, putting me on my back and watching my eyes carefully. “Because if that was your first time, I was way too brutal.”
“It was not my first time,” I said soothingly. I looped my arms around his neck and relished the feeling of his chest on mine. “As it happens, I’ve had three boyfriends and two ought-to-have-been boyfriends that didn’t work out.”
He sagged in my arms. “Thank god,” he murmured. Then, since he was down there anyway, he kissed my neck.
I laughed as I stroked his skull. “And I’ve always pretty much enjoyed sex. I mean, it’s supposed to be fun, right?”
I felt his grunt of acknowledgment as much as I heard it.
I went on, “But I have never before—” I stopped, overwhelmed by the memory of the heat, the tightness, the urgency I’d discovered in my own body. He lifted his head to find out why I’d stopped speaking.
“Never what?”
I was sure I was blushing. But this was Ian, not somebody else. I could say it to Ian. “I’ve never . . . touched myself. In front of a guy. And certainly never done it because it turned the guy on.”
His lopsided smile was less uneven than before. “I have to say, that technique was remarkably effective.” His arm tightened, drawing me closer to him.
“I could tell.” I shifted against him for the pleasure of feeling his nudity. “I liked it. A lot.” He was watching my mouth, and my breath was growing short again. But that wasn’t why I’d spoken, and I snapped back to my original point. “So that’s on you. You turned me into some kind of wanton . . . sex kitten.”
“Meow,” he said, biting his lip. “And how did I do that? More importantly, can I do it again?”
I laughed. “It’s because . . . stop that, let me get this out . . . oh, Ian.” He was nuzzling my neck and moving down toward breasts that were newly sensitive again.
“Keep talking,” he said, not stopping. “I’m listening.”
“Oh, god. Do you want to hear this or not?” I was no longer sure what I needed to say.
He lifted his head and looked at me. “I want to hear everything you have to say,” he said seriously.
I was swamped with tenderness.
I cupped his cheek. “It’s because I’ve slept beside you for all these nights, and I never have nightmares.” His forehead wrinkled in confusion. “You protect me.”
“I want to protect you. I want to keep you safe.”
“I know.” My lust had shifted to something slower and warmer. “And so when you held my hands over my head and wouldn’t let me fight out of the shirt . . . I liked it. Because I trust you.”
He inhaled, breathing in the same rich, naked scent I was breathing: the fragrance of the two of us together. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. And because I trust you, I discovered some fantasies I didn’t know I had.”
He was biting his lip again in concentration. “Like, maybe having your hands held? Because that got to me a little too.”
“Yeah. Or touching myself when I knew you’d be watching. Wanting you to watch. Wanting to drive you mad. Wanting to hear you moan?—”
His mouth stopped my words. He kissed me senseless. I slid my hands across as much of him as I could reach, reveling in his shoulders, his arms, the sweeping line of his back. Wishing I could reach more of him but not being willing to give up the weight of him on me to get it, the heat and intimacy of his kisses.
“I know what you mean about wanting to make me moan. I like to hear those sounds you make, Nicky.”
“You do?” I had no control over my logic. My life consisted of skin and nerves and tingles, not words. But he kept murmuring as if to demonstrate that he could still think. Show-off.
“Yes, I do. And my pride is on the line.” He shifted lower on the bed, drawing that long body even further from my reaching hands. “I feel very strongly that I need to prove to you that I do have self-control.” He blew a stream of warm air over one nipple but refused to touch it. “That I can last for more than two pumps. That I can”—he switched to the other breast and just barely scraped his teeth over the tip, making me tremble but denying me the full sensation—“make you moan.”
“Ian,” I said, trying to keep a tone of begging out of my voice, “you have nothing to prove.”
“Oh yes, I do. And now I’m back in charge. Not that teenage kid who totally lost it a bit ago. You know, I think this would look even better if it was wet.”
He swiped against me, deliberate and hard and hot, and I jumped in his arms. But he refused to follow up and went back to blowing on my prickling, puckering skin.
“Could you do that again, with your tongue—” I tried, but he ignored me.
“If you knew how many times I’ve jacked off while thinking about your breasts, Nicky. You made me absolutely adolescent.”
“If you knew how many times”—I tried to string the words together—“I got turned on thinking about you jacking off?—”
He stopped teasing on my breasts and shifted his attention up. “Seriously?”
I managed to get my eyes to focus. “Seriously. I don’t know why it gets to me, but it does.”
“Huh.” He rested his arm across my ribs and held his chin in his hand. “Like when you touched yourself?”
I summoned the energy to let my grin out. “Yeah. Like that.”
“Interesting. I really liked seeing you touch yourself. Do you want to watch me? Not now. I’m busy right now. But sometime?”
I stroked his fuzzed skull. “We could watch each other.”
“Together,” he said thoughtfully. “I like it. I like it a lot.”
God, he was sexy. “I’ll start a list.”
“I will too. Where was I?”
“Teasing me. Cruelly.”
“Oh, honey. This isn’t cruel. We haven’t gotten to cruel yet. You might as well lie back and relax. This is going to take a while.”
“Ian,” I protested, but he was running the blade of his nose along the crease of my breast and sniffing, the devil, and the words leaked out of my brain again.
This was a man who could play scales for hours without interruption. I never should have doubted his commitment to detail. By the time he finally fastened his lips over the nipple, I was writhing under him.
“Ian,” I gasped. “Are you hard?”
“I am,” he said contentedly. “Could you possibly doubt it?”
“Let’s do something about that,” I said, but he shook his head while still sucking on me. I gasped.
“Not yet.”
“Ian, come on. Please?” He hummed his negation around my nipple. I unclenched from the pillow and pushed against his shoulder. “I need to come, Ian! Please don’t tease me anymore!”
He lifted his head. “I’m not done. But you can show me how you use your fingers, so I’ll know for next time. Go on, Nicky. Touch yourself so I can see. So I can learn.”
He cupped one of my hypersensitive breasts with one callused hand and slid down my body to watch.
Only the first reach was embarrassing. Once I had that knuckle over my clitoris, I lost my shame.
“That’s good, Nicky. That feels good, doesn’t it? You’re deep pink down here, and slick. So gorgeous. I have to taste you—keep touching yourself. Make yourself come. I want to taste you.”
His tongue, hot and hard and soft and wet, landed on my finger and on my folds. I gasped, shivering from the tension. His fingers pinched my nipple as he pressed my knuckle down harder with his tongue, and I exploded, shoulders coming off the bed with the force of my orgasm.
“Wow,” he murmured as I came back down. “God, you’re spectacular. That was incredible. Thank you for that. You’re so lovely.” He stayed still as I rippled through the time of exquisite sensitivity, but he didn’t stop crooning to me. “That’s twice now that when you came, your hand was on your clit. Now, I’m all in favor of equality. You do what you need to do to come. But I’ve been paying attention, and I’m going to see if I can make you come without you helping. When you can, move your hands up over your head, will you? That’s good. You don’t have to keep them there. You can use my head to steer, if you want. But let me try to make you come without your help. Okay with you? Just rest there. Let me do some exploring first. See what I can learn about you.”
Oh, that man. His infinite patience. His touch—both fingers and tongue—was so soft at first that he never triggered that nasty “I’ve just come please don’t touch me” feeling. But he stayed slow and gentle past the point when I wanted him to get firm. To demand instead of ask.
He was making me pant again.
I’d already had his cock inside me, so I should have been more open, but the single reaching finger that slid into me felt like a delicious invasion. I clenched on his hand and felt his laughter.
The second finger slid in, too, reaching the space inside me that was at the same time painfully empty and clingingly tight.
“The inside and the outside,” he murmured against my thigh. His voice was distressingly pleased. He wasn’t panting at all. “It’s an electrical circuit. We just have to line up the sensors . . .”
The master electrician at work. His fingers stroked deep inside me, and his tongue landed, at last, firmly on my clit.
And he did it. He found the circuit. Turned on the electricity. Sent bolts of lightning frying through the neural pathways of my body and brain.
I came, body bowing under the electrification.
I was screaming. I didn’t realize I was screaming until I stopped to suck in more air. I curled onto my side, trying to hold the expansion in, and he let me turn. When he moved up the bed behind me and gathered me to his chest, I grabbed his arms to pull him more tightly to me.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” I gasped. “Holy shit.”
“I did okay?” He was smiling; I could hear it in his voice. But he was entitled to smile.
“Gah,” I said. It was as much as I could get out. But I trusted that he knew. Still, a thought was knocking on my door, refusing to go away . . . and it was that something was knocking on my ass. “Now we take care of you,” I said.
His arms tightened. “Rest a bit. We can get to me later.”
No. I rebelled at the certainty in his voice. On the nightstand in front of me was the answer. I handed him the condom.
“Fulfill another fantasy of mine. Take me like this, with you spooned behind me. Like we were in the bus.”
“It’s too soon. You need time.”
“Not if you come from behind, and don’t touch my clit. I can bear it. And I’m wondering if I can come again.”
“You can,” he said with thrilling certainty. “This is really a fantasy? You’ve thought of this?”
I was blushing again. “I think about it when I watch you onstage. Isn’t that sick?”
“Fuck. Do you really?”
“Surrounded by journalists and fans screaming your name, and all I think about is how you feel when you curl around me—when you hold me. I wonder, will you stretch my leg back over your hip to get into me? Or pull it forward, up to my chest? How will you fuck me? How will you, Ian?”
He needed two hands to get the condom on, but he was back quickly, pushing his arm under me and around my ribs. His free hand fell on my thigh, and he paused.
“What did you decide? Back? Or up?”
In response, I pulled my knee up, hoping he could get access to the aching, greedy center of me. I curled forward, suddenly rigid with need. “Can you? Can you get to me?”
He didn’t fumble. His hips shifted, his hand wedged between us, and then he slid into me, pushing against the resistance.
I moaned as he slid into me. “So big,” I sighed. “Go slow. Please go slow.”
“Slow,” he agreed shortly, and his invasion eased back. “Okay?”
“Okay.” The position was erotic and powerful. I felt controlled. Taken. Hungry. “Now more,” I panted.
“More.” He moved in me, a slow withdrawal and a controlled return. He wasn’t panting.
“I’m going to make you moan,” I promised. “Later.”
His strained chuckle turned into a groan as he pushed in harder. “So fucking good, Nicky,” he ground out.
“Release your control,” I gasped. “Please, Ian. Let go. Let go and fuck me now. Fuck me hard.”
His response was inarticulate, but his pace quickened. And then quickened again. The arm under me pulled me tighter against him, and the free hand reached for my fingers. He held my hand, our grip almost painfully tight as we strained together.
He was lifting me higher, coiling me up again. The movement inside me, the pistoning of his cock in the slick heat, made me desperate. Again, I thought distantly. I’m going to come again.
“Nicky!” he groaned like a curse. He was close.
I moved our linked hands to my crotch so he’d crush my clit while he fucked me.
He did. He understood. He owned me.
And I whimpered at the bliss of my orgasm.
Ian was trembling behind me, and I held him to me as he came.
Long moments later, he slipped out of me and fumbled for the condom. I wanted to turn into his chest, but I was too wrung out to move.
“Sleep,” he said. It could have been a question, a statement, a demand—it didn’t matter. Wrapped up in his big body, trusting to my safety and joy, I felt his breathing deepen. He slipped into sleep moments before I did.