Page 19 of Wanted
Folding his arms that much tighter around her, Marcus rocked her. “I’m sorry too,” he finally replied. “It was a test, honey. You’re going to get a lot of them. But how else are we to know where to mend, if we don’t first discover the places he broke. It’s okay.” He rubbed her back. “You did exactly what I thought you’d do.”
A test, and she’d failed it. Obviously. Miserably.
She crumbled in his arms, burying her face into his soft shirt and letting it absorb the last of her tears. She must have found her limit of them, finally. They stopped altogether then. She waited, feeling the heat of him, breathing in the faint spice of whatever deodorant he used, her hands limp at her sides, for him to let her go now. But he didn’t.
Stroking her hair back from her face, his hand brushed the softest caress down her back from her shoulders to her waist.
Her breath caught, a tiny hitch no different from all the hiccups she’d gasped into his chest between sobs. Except this one was different. Nothing had changed. She’d still failed his test; she’d failed a lot of things today, this week... this year. And yet he was touching her, touching her hair, her shoulders, caressing his hands down her arms from the balls of her shoulders to her wrists, caressing her hands, even her fingertips.
Her breath caught again, her fingers erupting into tingles as he so lightly stroked every part of them—fingers, thumbs, the backs of her hands, her palms. Like he was reading her like a blind man read braille, holding her so close to him, unable to use his eyes and so he was using touch.
It was strange.
It was heaven.
A part of her itched to step back, to keep this from becoming stranger still while she figured out what he was trying to do. But that errant part was overridden by the rest of her, all the other parts that were coming alive in now flashes and champagne sparkles as his warm, rough hands moved back up her arms to her shoulders. He started all over again, shifting that starting point to her back. Laying his palms flat, he caressed straight down her back, sweeping over her shoulder blades, down her ribs, to her waist.
Her nipples pebbled. She didn’t mean for them to, it just happened, and he was holding her so close that if she didn’t move away now, he would soon begin to feel them, brushing against him as she breathed.
Move...
She didn’t. Moving risked him stopping this... whatever this was and she couldn’t.
So she stood there, tiny shivers raking her as he reached her waist. Pausing, he let his hands rest on her hips, lightly massaging, before again up his hands came, settling once more on her back, just off her spine now. Down they caressed, and the shivers grew in intensity. Nerves she didn’t know she had anymore were all coming sharply back to life. All were rejoicing. All were aching for him to touch them next.
Her right knee tried to buckle, but she stiffened her legs, fighting the weakness as his hands came back to settle on her shoulders.
“It’ll be okay,” he said, the head of his fingertips following the nape of her neck up into her hair. He alternated, stroking and massaging her scalp, weakening her all over again. “Say it with me, Anna.”
“It’ll be okay,” she whispered, adding her quivering voice to his stronger one. He touched her ears, smoothed his thumbs down over her cheeks, the heat of his breath breathing life into the cold void that had been living in her so long she was barely aware of it anymore. She felt it now, only via the contrast of the warmth of his touches.
“It will get better,” he said, drawing back just far enough to touch his forehead to hers. “Say it.”
“It will get better.” She trembled, heat unfurling in her belly, in her breasts, in her face where he was touching and between her legs. Heat upon heat, upon throbbing aching heat licking through the furrow of her sex until it reached her clit. He didn’t caress her there, but he touched her face, letting his braille-reading hands follow the line of her jaw, the bow of her lips, the curves of her narrow cheeks, even the bridge of her nose.
She could have cried when he slowly let her go and stepped back.
He took her hand, she looked down at it, watching as if it were happening to someone else as he started down the hall, gently drawing on her lightly imprisoned fingers until she stumbled into step behind him.
He was taking her to her bedroom.
The heat in her clit became an eager pulse. Her nipples were tight as beads and the soft shirt she wore now felt as course as burlap everywhere that natural movement made it brush and tease her breasts.
He was going to take her. Electrified need shivered through her pussy, jolting all the way up to her womb.
She wasn’t so desperate as to think he wanted her, but he was a man and she was a woman. More, he was a dom and she a submissive. All he had to do was want something and she was here. For more of these touches, she would happily give him anything he desired.
It had been so, so long...
Her knees were shaking by the time they reached her door. He pushed it open, revealing the vacuum, noisily running next to the closet where he’d put it after cleaning up the mess she’d made. The room smelled faintly of lavender and soap. He took her to the vacuum first, turning it off before leading her to stand at the bedside.
Her knees almost buckled again. How would he want her? On her knees, serving him with her hands and her mouth... hers was watering already. Would he lay her on her back on the bed, or turn her around and bend her over it? Was he even erect, she didn’t dare bring herself to look and though her fingers twitched to touch him, she wasn’t brave enough to do that, either.
Letting go of her hand, he drew the bedcovers and motioned her to get in.
She looked at the sliver of waiting mattress as he held up the blankets, waiting.
Tiny twitches of disappointment cut between the heated pulses still throbbing hopefully between her legs, but she crawled into bed. She lay on her back, not at all understanding when he covered her over and tucked her in.
