By tiny degrees, she slid down over him. The heat of her felt electric, sending shocks of pleasure through his balls and up his spine. He gritted his teeth and resolved not to come. She was exhausted, wrung out emotionally and physically. She needed comfort, not the rough, greedy fuck his body required.
Her eyelids still fluttered softly, lashes brushing her flushed cheeks. She draped her body over him, pressing her breasts against his chest. He allowed his hands to hold her then, to stroke her sides in uneven, soothing gestures—though it was really him being calmed, a backward caress. She rolled her hips, setting up a sleepy rhythm that had him ready to shoot in three subtle strokes. Heat raced down his spine. The need to come felt like pinpricks all over his skin, but no, he wouldn’t. Not while she needed him, not yet.
She nestled her nose under his chin, resting her face against his neck. Despite the torrent of sensation in his cock, he felt her breath against his skin. He rocked his hips up to her, meeting her on every stroke. Better than anyone, he knew about the bone-deep relief that could accompany sexual release. He would give that to her, even if it killed him.
Use me,
he thought.
Take me. Fuck me.
He forced himself silent, and she was quiet, focused. The only sound was skin pushing together, her cunt sucking him in and the insides of her thighs over his hips. He couldn’t see straight, could no longer think with the intensity of her sex surrounding him, her slight weight blanketing him. He was lost in a haze, a fog of pure bliss.
He felt her orgasm clench around his cock. Her hips slowed to a stop, shuddering on a final, lingering thrust. He didn’t have the fast friction he needed to come, so his cock remained hard and throbbing within her. She stopped moving and made a contented sigh against the side of his neck. He realized she had drifted off to sleep again. With him still intensely aroused.
Tense, and drowning, he could still feel the velvety walls of her around his cock. Just thinking about her made his cock flex. But she was completely still over him, her breathing steady and slow. Gingerly, he moved her just enough to slip his cock from her slick heat, wincing at the cool sandpaper sheets on his sensitive flesh.
He couldn’t bring himself to push her off him, though, even if it meant she’d sleep more comfortably. He swallowed, forcing back his desire and failing. It was going to be a long night, but even if he could, he wouldn’t have changed a thing.
* * *
Erin woke up
with a long, lazy stretch, hearing the gentle clink of pans and dishes in the kitchen. Rumpled sheets twined around her ankles, leaving a bare expanse of bed beside her. Which meant Blake was out there with her mother. A jolt of alarm went through her; what would they talk about? Would they get along? Her worries quickly dissipated. Blake was the most competent, charismatic man she’d ever met. She suspected he could charm a bird out of a tree if he put his mind to it, or in this case, charm a wary, protective mother into giving her blessings.
After throwing on jeans and a T-shirt, she stumbled into the kitchen to find Blake standing at the stove and her mother chatting away with a conspiratorial smile. Oh yes, the overprotective bird had most definitely left the tree.
“Telling all my secrets, hmm?” Erin asked, sitting at a place that had been laid out with a chipped plate and glass of orange juice.
“Of course not,” her mother denied, the barely suppressed amusement belying her words. “Just that time in fifth grade when you had discovered Robin Hood.”
Erin groaned. “Oh God. That’s even worse than I expected.”
“What? It’s cute.”
A smile played at her mother’s lips. It was good to see her enjoying herself, even if it was at Erin’s expense. “Can we just show him pictures of me as baby instead? That would be less embarrassing.”
“You were adorable with your hair pulled up into that felt green hat. Those neighborhood boys didn’t know what to make of you. You should have seen them staring.”
“That is not a compliment, Mom.” She sneaked a glance at Blake, who watched the byplay with undisguised amusement.
“I’ve heard there was a bow and arrow,” he added, his voice teasing.
Her mother sighed with pleasure. “The arrows had glittered feathers glued on.”
“Okay, look,” Erin said, finally rising to her own defense. “They were taking money out of the community center’s donation box. It’s not right. You can’t fault my motives.”
“I wouldn’t dare,” Blake said solemnly. “Not with you armed and dangerous.”
She narrowed her eyes, promising retribution when her mother wasn’t in the room, but the effect was ruined by her grin. Oh well, it had been funny. Not at the time, when she’d been sure that injustice could be cured with a curved stick and some twine. And somehow, it had worked, because like her mother had said, the boys had been too freaked out by her Robin Hood routine to really argue the point. They’d never touched the donations box again. Though she’d learned later that good intentions and bravery weren’t enough.
The thought stopped her cold. When had she become so jaded? During high school, with Doug? She wasn’t sure, but none of that was true. Good intentions and bravery
were
enough. Maybe that was what had drawn her to Blake. He embodied both ideals. Not even fire could stop him; his scars were testament to that.
He seemed to recognize the change in her mood, because he sobered. The playful light in his eyes gave way to a studied concern. Without taking her eyes off Blake, she spoke to her mother, who was sipping the last dregs of her coffee.
“If you’re done here, I can set you up on the couch. You can watch some TV.”
Her mother huffed. “I don’t need help to make it to the living room.”
“All the same, I’ll walk you there.”
She set her mother up with pillows and a glass of water too. Even with the doctor’s blessing, she worried for her mother. And despite the urgency to return with Blake, she planned to stay until she was sure her mother would be fine on her own.
Her mother leaned on her arm as she stood from the table and crossed the short distance, proving that Erin was needed here for the time being. She found a blanket for her mother’s feet and also a few beloved books for her to look at. She told herself she was just taking care of her mother, but at least partly, she was distracting her. A burning, aching need had formed inside her—to talk to Blake, to hold him, and she couldn’t very well do that with her mother looking on in the small space.
The television roared with laughter and voices as a morning talk show flickered on and captured her mother’s attention. Erin bustled back into the kitchen under the pretense of cleaning up to find that Blake had already done so. He cooked, he cleaned. For her sick mother. God, if she weren’t already in love with him…but she was. Completely, whole-heartedly in love.
He glanced up from the sink of soapy water. “What is it? Why are you smiling?”
She went to stand behind him, wrapping her arms around his solid waist and resting her head against his back. “Just imagining doing this in your house when I get back. In our house.”
He tensed in her arms. “Erin.”
She laughed at the note of warning in his voice. “Unless you’ve changed your mind about me moving in with you.”
“You know I won’t. There’s no need to rush.”
“Good, because it will probably be a couple of weeks until I can come back. I want to stay and make sure my mom is okay.”
He turned around and pulled her in for a hug. His hands were wet and slippery on her arms, her hair, and she didn’t care.
“I can stay with you,” he murmured. “And get a motel room if I’m getting in the way.”
“Of course not. You need to go back and prep for the fall semester.”
“How did you know I was accepting the job?”
“Well, I wasn’t sure,” she admitted. “But I am now.”
He huffed a laugh. “Very nice, my little socialist.”
She groaned, remembering the Robin Hood story. “You’re going to actually call me that from now on, aren’t you?”
“Absolutely. And I might need to see a costume. With tights.”
“Fine, but you’re playing Maid Marian.”
He shrugged. “As you wish.”
She laughed. He probably would go along with that or anything. His masculinity could hardly be threatened when he stood there, so strong and solid, smelling of soap and a faint musk she could recognize in her sleep. And
had
recognized in her sleep, she realized, thinking of last night. A blush stole up her cheeks.
His gaze honed on the color, and he bent to nuzzle against her neck. “Were you serious? You’re coming to stay with me?”
“I couldn’t joke about that,” she said honestly. It meant too much. She
felt
too much. And she’d resigned herself to the fact that it wouldn’t change anytime soon. Love had turned her into a raw, exposed nerve, and the only choice left was to seek the shelter of his embrace.
Tension ran through him, though he was silent. For a long moment, he said nothing, pressing light kisses down her neck and across her shoulder. “I’m grateful,” he said thickly, and she knew she wasn’t the only one who needed shelter. She wrapped her arms around him, barely spanning him at all, but she felt him shudder. Her eyes half-closed, she blindly sought his mouth, finding it warm and firm against hers. She was in a daze, but he guided her, commanded her, until she found the sweet rhythm of their kiss and knew herself to be home—with him, holding him and being held.
“Wait for me,” she whispered.
“Forever,” he murmured. “I’d wait for you forever. Though if you came back sooner, I’d make it worth your while.”
She laughed softly before tugging him closer for another kiss.
Three weeks later
D
espite the number
of times Erin had undressed in Blake’s bedroom, it felt strange to do so without his solid, sexy presence. The draft from the air conditioning raised goose bumps on her skin. The slim light from between the closed curtains painted yellow light across her bare skin as she shucked her skirt and top. She paused with her thumbs tucked into her panties. Was she really going to do this? For all she knew, she’d look ridiculous splayed out on the bed. Blake hadn’t, but then his body was hard, masculine, and completely unyielding. Hers, she admitted ruefully, was soft. He seemed to like her curves, but that didn’t mean she needed to display them.
No, what was she thinking? He was far more on display every single day—to strangers, no less. And on that unlikely afternoon when she had caught him masturbating, he had exposed himself to her. His pleasure, his body. His heart. It was only fair she return the favor.
She toed off her panties and unhooked her bra, letting it fall to the floor amid the other puddles of clothing. Half-bending, she almost picked them up to fold them…stalling, of course. Even determined, the urge to delay, to hide, tugged at her. But Blake could pull up at the house any minute. She couldn’t reproduce the element of surprise, considering her repaired car was out front. But she could make the vulnerability real.
Climbing onto his bed, she settled herself back, feeling unaccountably raw. Her nipples pebbled in the chilly air even while her face heated with embarrassment. When she slipped trembling fingers down to her sex, she found her lips dry and curled up tight. Swallowing hard, she shut her eyes. Clearly this required a little imagination. What had he been thinking of that day? She remembered now. Her mouth, his cock. She’d sucked him in that little fantasy, and goddamn, it worked for her too. She loved the taste of him, the shape of him, the little ridge underneath, perfect for hooking her tongue around and making him shudder. Imagining it now, she touched two fingers lightly to her clit, warming herself up through contact alone. No pressure, no friction—just touch.
Letting her mind drift, she fell deeper into the fantasy. The hair on his thighs abraded the sensitive outer curve of her breasts as she knelt between his legs. His hands shifted restlessly through her hair, clenching and releasing as if he couldn’t decide which to do. He groaned on every stroke of her lips down his slippery cock. His whole body drew up tight when she angled the point of her tongue into the slit, and she could almost taste the salty pre-cum.
She imagined him finding her. Would he be surprised? Or maybe not. The things they had done were far dirtier than fondling her clit or pinching her own nipples. And yet, a shaky feeling had begun in her center, warning her, berating her.
Don’t put yourself out there,
it said.
Wait. Just wait.
For what, though? She’d never quite understood. For the man to make the first move. For her mother to direct her safely through life. For Blake to decide she was strong enough to stay.
Well, screw that. Her relationship with Blake may have started awkwardly, and mortifyingly, but she had always been an equal participant. Her mother may have raised her, but these past few weeks, Erin had taken care of her. And she hoped Blake didn’t doubt her anymore, she truly did.
But the important thing was that
she
knew she was strong enough to stand beside him, whatever problems he might face. His physical injuries, which still pained him. The PTSD which probably always would. And the incipient self-doubt that would always lurk in the shadows of this powerful, confident male. She could handle any of it, all of it. She
had
done so for their entire time together, and she’d never been happier. And she knew, without ego or artifice, that he had never been happier either.
Love wasn’t a lightning strike, a sharp point with a definite beginning and an inevitable end. Love was a shelter from the storm, respite from her fears and relief from the reality of his pain.
The air around her shifted, but instead of cold, her skin grew warm. Little sparks on her nipples and aiming down to her core let her know she was being watched. The sense of contentedness that entered her body let her know who it was. Her sex grew slicker under the regard, but she kept her eyes firmly shut. This was for him…and for her. A wintry undercurrent of shame made her arousal burn hotter. Soft footfalls on the carpet drew closer.