Chapter 22
CHAPTER
TWENTY-TWO
AVA
I send Myles to take a shower while I make the fire and brew some coffee. It’s not actually cold enough for a fire, but somehow it feels comforting watching the orange flames lick at the grate.
The machine has just finished sputtering when I hear the click of the bathroom door.
A rush of steam escapes first, and as it disperses I can see Myles standing there, wearing only a pair of dark blue sweatpants.
He’s rubbing his damp hair with a towel, and there are beads of water running down his ridged chest.
“It’s hot as hell in here,” he says, looking at the fireplace. “Do you feel cold or something?” He sounds almost normal. The shower must have sobered him a little. Hopefully caffeine will do the rest.
“I knew you’d be walking around the place half naked.” I shrug and pour out a coffee for him. “Here you go. No creamer. You need the hit.”
He lifts the mug to his lips then winces. “Christ, that’s hot too. Do I have some kind of fever?”
“You need to sweat it out,” I tell him. “It’s all that alcohol running through your veins. Go sit down.”
He lifts a brow but does as he’s told, and I really try to not look at the defined muscles on his back as he leans over to put his coffee on the table, then collapses into the sofa.
“You sure I can’t get you a t-shirt?” I ask him.
“No. I’ll soak it in ten minutes.”
“Okay. I’m just going to put on something more comfortable,” I tell him, because I feel completely overdressed now. And as much as I love this gown, if I’m going to be taking care of Myles Salinger, I need something more flexible on.
It only takes a minute for me to change into a pair of pajama pants and a tank top. When I walk back into the room he’s leaning forward on the sofa, his hands clasped, his elbows resting on his thighs. He seems to be staring at something in the fireplace. Or maybe just lost in his thoughts.
“Right then,” I say, hoping to pull him from wherever his mind has him. “Let’s start with a massage.”
“You’re really going to massage me?” he asks.
“Yep. You need to loosen up. Seriously.”
“You want me to lie down?” He quirks a brow.
“It’s okay. I’ll just do your shoulders.” I open the lotion I grabbed from my toiletry bag and spread some on my hands. “This works better with oil, but I don’t have any.”
“Next time.”
His words send a shiver down my spine. Ignoring it, I place my hands on his shoulders, my fingers spread out at the base of his neck. I dig them in, squeezing gently as I lift the muscles, frowning when I feel how stiff they are.
“That feels good.” He gives a low moan that shoots straight to my thighs.
“You’re so tight,” I whisper. “Try to relax.”
“This is me relaxed.”
I chuckle and start the massage properly, leaning forward as I dig into his muscles, using my fingers and thumbs to ease the knots in them.
“There. Right there.” He groans. “Jesus, where did you learn to do this?”
“My mom took me on a retreat once. There was a masseuse who took pity on me.”
“You should do this for a living,” he says. “Actually, no. You should do this just for me. Every day. Whenever I click my fingers.”
It takes ten minutes for me to get him to relax. Eventually I feel his muscles soften, and his shoulders spread, his breath more even as I finish the final muscle. But when I go to pull away, he grabs my hand, pulls it around him, until my palm is against his chest.
I can feel his heart beating. It’s slow and steady. Unlike mine.
“I’ll make a bargain with you,” he says, his voice gritty. “You want my pleasure? I want yours first.”
He remembers that conversation? I blush. “You’ve drunk too much. You should go to sleep.” I kiss his shoulder, his neck, but when I go to pull away, his hold is too tight, and I don’t try very hard.
He threads his fingers through mine, moving them until my thumb brushes his nipple. He lets out a soft sigh, and it hits me right in the groin. “We’re not supposed to do this tonight, remember?”
“We’re not supposed to have sex. There are other ways to give pleasure,” he tells me. There’s no slur to his words at all. Even his gaze is steady. He’s all control again and it’s tantalizing.
“But if you…”
“Full sentences please, Ava.” Oh yes, he’s back. And bossy as hell.
“If you come then you’ll be annoyed.”
“I wasn’t talking about my pleasure, I was talking about yours. About making you come.”
My face flames. “Oh.” I pull my lip between my teeth. “But you want to have sex with me soon?”
“Yes,” he says, his voice gritty. “I want to fuck you seven ways ‘til Sunday. I want to keep you in my bed and do it so many times that I’m certain you’re knocked up.”
“Wouldn’t you rather use a cup and syringe?” I tease.
“I’d rather chop my right hand off than jerk off into another cup.”
My breath catches. “That’s good. Because I want to have sex with you, too.”
His hand tightens over mine. “Jesus,” he breathes. “I’m hard as a fucking rock.” He tugs until I’m leaning over him and the sofa, then turns his head to brush his lips against mine.
I let out a soft moan and the next minute he’s standing and lifting me over the back of the sofa, laying me down on the cushions. I start to laugh. “I could have walked around.”
“Would have taken too long,” he mutters, as he climbs back onto the sofa, brushing the hair away from my face before he kisses me long and hard.
I kiss him back, my fingers threading into his hair, my legs wrapping around his hips. He wasn’t lying, he’s hard as steel, and my body pulses and buzzes in reaction to the feel of him.
“Definitely… not… having … sex… tonight…” I gasp as he slides his hands down my side and buries them beneath my tank.
“Definitely not,” he agrees, his voice tight.
He scoots back to push my top up, revealing my naked breasts and aching nipples.
He dips his head and captures a nipple, sucking it until my back is arching from the cushions.
He pushes me back down with a firm hand, then slides his palm over my stomach, his fingers reaching for my waistband. “Can I touch you though?”
“Please,” I breathe, and the next moment he’s dipping his hand inside, groaning when he feels how wet I am for him. He touches me lightly – too lightly – and I buck again.
“Be still,” he tells me. “Stop squirming.”
“I can’t help it. You make me squirm.”
His thumb circles me and a strangled sigh escapes my lips. He kisses me again, and I can feel his smile. “No sex,” he reminds me. “But you’re definitely going to be coming on my fingers.”
“That’s not fair,” I say as he tugs at my top and throws it on the floor, then follows with my pants. I’m naked in front of him again. I’d be embarrassed but the way he’s looking at me makes me feel so safe. So warm. “I’m supposed to be taking care of you.”
“You are.” He kisses my breast. “This is what I need, beautiful. You beneath me, warm and full of need. Letting me make you come.”
“But I’ll be one up on you.”
He kisses his way down my stomach then looks up at me, his eyes dark. “I told you, it’s an exchange rate. One for one.”
“So I get yours tomorrow?”
“If you’re ovulating.”
“And I won’t come?”
He laughs. “Oh, baby, you’ll come again. That’ll be a down payment for the next round.”
“I feel like we’re negotiating a business deal,” I say, my words turning to a gasp as he kisses my inner thigh. I’m aching for him. My whole body feels like it’s on pause, just waiting for his touch.
“This isn’t business. It’s strictly pleasure.” He reaches the apex of my thighs and blows softly on me, making my muscles contract. “Do you know how good you smell?”
“I need to shower…”
“Oh no you fucking don’t.” His face is right there. He slowly parts me with his fingers, and a low sound rumbles from his throat. “So damn pretty,” he says. “Everything about you. But especially this.”
I open my mouth to respond, but then he’s kissing me there. Not just kissing. Worshipping. Devouring. Adoring. He takes a long lick, then swirls his tongue, his fingers digging into my thighs to keep them apart.
“So good. So good.” He sucks at me and a whole new pleasurable sensation melts at my nerve endings. Then he slides a finger inside me, circling at my core, his tongue licking and loving, making me cry out his name.
“More,” I beg, and he adds another finger but it’s still not enough. I’m not sure anything could be – anything but the part of him I can’t have. He curls his fingers and they hit a spot I didn’t even know was there, making me scream out and buck until he’s pushing me down again.
“I’m so close,” I tell him hoarsely.
“I know, beautiful. Give it to me.” He licks me again, but his eyes are still capturing mine. It’s all kinds of dirty and I love it.
“I want you to kiss me when I come,” I tell him. “I want you naked on top of me.”
“Your wish is my desire, princess.” He doesn’t pull his fingers out of me, just shucks off his pants with his free hand and slides over me, his thumb taking the place of his lips as he circles and teases and takes me higher than I ever thought I could go.
He kisses me and I taste myself on him, his tongue licking and sliding until my whole body is a mess of need.
“I need to feel you.” I reach for him, circling my hands around his cock. He mutters a low oath.
He moves over me as I circle my legs around his hips once more, his body aligning with mine. His hard length is sliding against me, and he has to pull his fingers out before he strains his arm. I cup his face, kissing him hard, then whisper, “Let me feel you inside of me.”
“I can’t,” he whispers desperately. “I can’t come. I need to wait.”
“I know. Just for a minute. Just the tip.” I’m almost begging now. But I’ve never wanted anything as much as I want Myles Salinger.
He winces. “Do you know how much I want you? How long I’ve thought about this?” I feel him move against me, thick and hard.
“I’m getting the idea.”
“Okay,” he manages. “Just the tip.” Then I feel him push against me, parting me, and I’m so close to orgasming it isn’t funny. I clutch his biceps because if I don’t I think I might fall. They flex as he slowly pushes into me, and my eyes roll into the back of my head.
I’m on fire. Exploding. Cries escape my lips as I spasm around him, pulling him deeper, calling out his name, my body bucking beneath his weight. My legs clamp tight and he kisses me, swallowing my cries, then his eyes go wide and he practically leaps off me, his erection bobbing as he jumps back.
“Fuck fuck fuck.” He looks around wildly. “George Washington, John Adams, Thomas Jefferson…”
Pulses of pleasure are still wracking through me. I stare dizzily at him. “What are you doing?”
“James Madison, James Monroe, John Quincy Adams,” he chants.
“Are you trying to conjure the former presidents?” I ask sitting up, my skin flushed. I feel like I’m floating on a cloud of pleasure. “Like Beetlejuice?”
He rakes a finger through his hair. His erection is still impressive, bobbing in front of him. “Andrew Jackson, Martin Van Buren, William Henry Harrison, John Tyler...” He lets out a mouthful of air as he slowly deflates. “I think it’s okay. Damn, that was close.”
“Your knowledge of our founding fathers and presidents is impressive,” I tell him, my body suffused in a warm, post-orgasmic glow.
“I was trying to take my mind off things.” He frowns. “I nearly came inside you.”
I widen my eyes and I slap my hands to my cheeks. “Oh no! I could have gotten pregnant.”
“Smart ass.” He shakes his head. “That’s the last time I let you persuade me to break my rules.”
I blow him a kiss. “I’m sorry.”
“No you’re not. And nor am I.” He pulls his pants back on, and I already miss his beautiful body. “But I’m not coming inside of you until it’s time.”
“Well let’s hope that’s tomorrow then,” I say, because I’m not exaggerating when I say I need this man. I want him, I desire him, I ache without him.
I want to have sex with him until he loses control.
“Let’s hope so,” he agrees, pressing his lips sweetly to mine. “Otherwise, I’m going to have to crack out the English Kings and Queens.”