Page 66 of Make Me Want it Too

Why isn’t he saying anything? Should I say something?

“Um,” I stammer, pulling at the hem of my shirt. “Is this okay? Should I take this off?”

He clears his throat. “Do you want to?”

I shake my head.

“Leave it on,” he says. “Come here.”

I step toward him as he comes to me, and we meet in front of the neatly made bed. The room is dim, lit only by the warm glow of the bedside lamps. He looks down at me with a smile on his lips and he smells so good and he’s so pretty, I can’t get over it. He looks calm. That makes one of us.

“How should we—I mean, how do you want to start?” My voice quivers. My palms are sweaty. My heart is pounding.

Wood takes my hand. “We don’t have to do this. If you want, we can just go to bed and forget about the whole thing.”

But I do want to do this. More than that, I deserve it. I’ve been thinking about it all night. I’ve been nervous, but also excited and aroused by the thought of it.

I want the good fiddle sticking.

“I want to,” I say.

He squeezes my hand. “Okay. How about you lie down on the bed?”

I swallow. Then I lie down on the bed. To get serviced. By Wood.

“I have panties on. Should I take them off, or?—”

Wood chuckles softly, kneeling next to me. “No. I’ll take them off when it’s time.”

Is it not time? I thought it was time.

“We’re just going to take it slow and get you relaxed and used to me touching you first.” His voice is low and soothing, like I’m an injured wild animal he’s trying to calm or something.

I am used to him touching me and I am relaxed. Does he not think I’m relaxed? Because I am. I’m ridiculously relaxed.

“Mace, this is all about you. You’re in complete control. If you feel uncomfortable, or you change or mind, or want me to stop—at any time—just tell me and I will.”

“You wouldn’t be mad?”

His smile dissolves, a shadow passes over his face. “Look at me.” He clenches his jaw and holds direct eye contact as he says, “Macy, no. I will not be mad at you.”

I nod.

He brushes a strand of hair away from my forehead and then stands. “Turn onto your stomach.”

I do as I’m told.

Something about the tone in his voice and his serious expression makes my skin tingle.

The mattress dips under his knees as he joins me on the bed and straddles my legs.

My heart beats faster. My face is hot. I bury it in the pillow.

Wood touches my back. His hands are gentle and warm. He applies light pressure as he rubs up my back to my shoulders. He presses circles with his thumbs between my shoulder blades then he moves up, curling his fingers around the back of my neck.

His hands are large and soft and the skin on skin is…nice. I like this more than I ought to.

He massages my neck and then the base of my skull. I’m a puddle on the sheets by the time he moves back down to my shoulders, my arms, around my ribs then down to my lower back.

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