Chapter 9 #2
The idea of her jumping him made his body ache. “You haven’t tried anything with me,” he reminded her. “Not really. So before you try walking out of my life for my own good”—he tried not to scoff at that—“try kissing me without being afraid of what comes next.”
“Gary,” she said. It was the exact tone she used when he teased her and she didn’t want to be affected but was. That seemed like a good sign.
“One kiss. We’ll go very, very slow.”
“I’ve heard that before,” she groused, but for the first time, he heard interest. “Then, afterwards, it’s naptime for both of us. Because honestly I’m exhausted.”
“I promise,” he agreed, and he tugged her closer.
Not that he’d sleep after one kiss. He would be awake and dreaming of her, his heart pounding with need.
It took everything in him not to plunder her mouth. But that wasn’t the way to Margaret’s heart. He had to go slow and careful.
He stroked his lips across hers. When her breath caught, he knew he had her full attention and so he did it again, teasing, his mouth tingling with awareness of hers.
He kept at it until he felt her exhale a hot breath that made his belly tighten, then an inhale, her mouth widening just a fraction of an inch in invitation.
He pressed closer, letting his tongue slip in, playing there a moment, stroking across the barrier of her teeth and even touching the inside of her lips.
His heart hammered a thousand times a minute, his blood thumping hard through his veins, yet he held himself back. All he did was tease her lips and her teeth with his own before retreating. Steadily, softly. In, across, back.
And then it happened. She touched her tongue to his.
A single push, a tentative stroke, and his blood rushed through his ears like a freight train.
He held steady for a few more moments, touching his tongue to hers, playing a game of chase and withdrawal until she echoed it.
Back and forth. In and out. It was the hottest kiss he’d ever had, in part because he couldn’t deepen it.
This was teasing, unsatisfying, desperately wonderful, and though he wanted her more than he’d ever wanted any woman, he pulled himself back. He forced himself to stop.
As he withdrew, he glanced down and saw the flushed skin of her chest and the hard points of her nipples.
He had to double check, but, yup, there they were, hard little nubs, and he fought a grin.
She was aroused. But, even seeing that, he had to make sure this was right.
He wanted no confusion between them, nothing but pure acknowledged desire.
“You felt that, right?” he asked when he had his breathing under control. “It was good. You liked it.”
She swallowed and straightened. Somehow she’d ended up half in his lap. Thank God he’d locked his wheelchair or they might have rolled backward into the bedroom. Which, come to think of it, might not have been so bad.
“Smugness doesn’t become you,” she said with mock severity.
“I’m not being smug.” Or, maybe he was. “I just want to be sure you enjoyed that.”
He wanted her to be aware that she enjoyed it.
She glanced away, and he read confusion in the action. “Yes. I…liked that.”
Now he did grin. “Good! Because I did, too. Though the blueballs will kill me.”
She sobered, and how sweet she was to worry about him. So he stroked her cheek. Hell, he couldn’t stop caressing her. He could do just this forever.
“It was a joke,” he said. “I’ll be fine.”
She gave him a wry look then took his hand from her cheek, enfolding it in hers as she rose from his lap. “But can you feel it?” she asked quietly. “The blueballs?”
He opened his mouth to say, “Of course.” Then he realized what she was asking. Did he actually feel what she was doing to his dick? And the answer was yes! Maybe not as intensely as he had once, it was hard to tell, but as he stared down at his erection a sense of elation filled him.
Margaret was staring too, and sensing no disapproval, he finally looked up at her and said, “Forgive me for this.”
She didn’t speak as he maneuvered his pants down.
And yes, right there was his penis: large, thick, and dull red, sticking up hard and proud.
He almost didn’t want to proceed, the disappointment would be crushing, but he did it anyway.
Looking straight into her eyes, pleased when she didn’t seem uncomfortable, he gingerly wrapped his hand around his organ.
And…the pleasure of that made his head drop back.
“I feel that, Margaret,” he whispered joyfully.
Without thought, he started to stroke. He couldn’t help himself; it had been so long.
It didn’t feel exactly like he remembered.
It wasn’t as sensitive. And maybe the pressure didn’t feel quite even.
But, oh God, the pleasure of it was indescribable, it had been far too long, and he had just been kissing the woman he loved.
Margaret. He opened his eyes and saw her own widen in surprise, and that brought clarity to what he was doing. He was jerking off right in front of her! How crass was that? But he didn’t want to stop. And yet, he really, really needed to.
“What’s wrong?” she asked as he slowed. “Why are you stopping?”
He blinked. “Because…um…”
“Feeling shy?” she asked. “It must have been so long for you, and I know how much guys love this. I can go—”
“No!” He gripped her hand with his free one, but damn it, he couldn’t get the words out to say what he really wanted.
He couldn’t voice it aloud; it was too bizarre.
How did you ask a girl who you loved, a girl who denied all sexual feeling, to stay with you while you jerked off?
To stay so you could look at her face while you imagined—
She wrapped her hand around his, the one that still held his dick. Her fingers were smaller, but the heat was incredible. And the brush of her index finger across the head had his breath catching in his chest. And then she squeezed.
“Do you need some help?” she asked.
Heaven. This was better than anything he’d imagined, especially the look on her face. The curiosity. The intensity. The slide and thrust.
He tried to clench his buttocks. He wanted to move his hips, but he couldn’t get them to budge. Apparently only his cock worked, so he had to sit there with dead legs. Still, he felt such pleasure.
She adjusted her position, gently pushing at his hand. “Would you like me to do it?” At his hesitation, she gave a small smile. “I like giving pleasure. If you don’t ask for more.”
“Okay.” The single word burned through his throat, all he had breath for as he let his hand drop away. But then he had to touch her, and he wondered if she would object. He prayed that she was only afraid of displeasing him—something that could never happen—rather than opposed to what came next.
One of his hands reached out and stroked her thigh while his other squeezed her shoulder. She said nothing, staying focused on his cock. All the while, she fisted him, moving her hand in just the right way.
He closed his eyes for a moment then opened them. When he did, her gaze wasn’t on what she was doing but on his face. There was clear delight in her expression.
“For someone…who hates sex,” he panted. “You sure…know what…you’re doing.”
“I really like seeing you happy,” she whispered.
Then she started rolling her fingers up him from tip to base, a steady squeezing that he’d never experienced but holy moly it was amazing.
Heat gathered in him, slightly different than he remembered from before his accident, but it was amazing all the same.
It was anticipation and need and pleasure.
It was tiny bursts of tension, an ever-coiling spring that filled him with delight.
And that delight came from Margaret, her eyes sparkling with a mischievous joy like she was committing a terrible sin but loving every moment of it.
She loved this.
She watched his face, and he watched hers. She looked so beautiful.
“Don’t hold back,” she said.
He wasn’t! He couldn’t. His breath shortened and his belly contracted, over and over as if he were thrusting with his hips, though he wasn’t. And she matched his rhythm. She stroked down and down, squeezing with every pulse.
His whole body tensed and he felt like his toes curled. They probably didn’t, but the sensation was there, the need to release. It had been so long! And then…
She squeezed the tip of his penis. “Hold back. Just for a second.”
“Margaret!” he gasped. Didn’t she know how much he needed this? His dick had been nothing more than dead flesh for nearly three years.
She leaned forward until their mouths were a breath apart.
“Gary—,” she began, but he didn’t let her finish. He slammed his mouth over hers and gripped the back of her head to keep her where he wanted her. The kiss was hard and heavy, his tongue thrust inside her like he wished he could do with his penis.
She released him, leaving his tip burning cool in the wake of her touch. Then, while he plundered her mouth, she stroked his shaft down and down and down.
Yes!
Orgasm. The hot rush of pleasure. A pulsing wave of wonder that repeated over and over, just like the first time. Joy. Release. And every eruption held her name.
Margaret.