Page 52 of Blue

Darts of terror pierced my chest, and I could barely breathe as I flattened my hand against her belly. My fingertips grazed the edge of her panties, then nudged underneath the elastic.

With her lips slightly parted, her delicate pink tongue touched the bow of her upper lip, and she sucked in a shallow breath.

Anticipation saturated the space between us. I touched her moist, soft curls and slid my middle finger along her slit. She whimpered, took a half step wider, and I rimmed the edge of her opening with the tip of my finger, then pushed inside her. Hot and wet, and so fucking soft.

As I swirled my finger, her head tipped back, and a low moan escaped her. Every breath across her lips had my dick responding. Fluid leaked from the slit, and a heaviness throbbed in my balls.

This was the first time I’d touched a woman, the first time I’d had my fingers coated in slippery cream. But inside her tight jeans, I couldn’t get her off.

I pulled my fingers from her panties. “I’m ready to collect.” My voice cut the silence in the room. “Are you going to let me make you come?”

She tugged on her lip with her teeth. “We both won our bets.”

“Yeah, I know.” I fucking wanted her hands on me, I wanted her riding my face, then riding my cock. But I had a huge fucking concern that I wouldn’t be able to keep my mind from sinking into my personal dark cesspool of disturbing memories. I didn’t want my past to color my time with Kiss. She wasn’t the only one addicted to black.

She’d found a way to let go of heroin. But I still simmered in the black murky waters of my past.

“Blue, look at me.”

I refocused on her eyes, so blue and penetrating, like she could see my secrets. I never wanted her to see inside my truth, never wanted her to know the hate festering inside me.

“Stay with me, Blue.” She retreated a few steps from me, slid her hands along her hips, and pushed her jeans and panties to the floor.

Holy fuck. Soft shoulders, full, round breasts, tight cherried nipples. Trim lines of her toned belly led to the flare of hips and a triangle of glistening golden curls. A small gap separated her trim thighs.

“Look at me, Blue. Touch me like this.” With her gaze focused on me, she cupped her breasts and pinched her nipples between her slender fingers. Trekking lower, she splayed her fingers and caressedher skin with a soft touch. “Show me how you want me to touch you.”

I closed the space between us, tugged the elastic from her braid, and ran my fingers through her hair. “Can I just touch you?”

“Yes,” she whispered. “But I want to see you.” She rested her hands on my shoulders and pushed her palms under my cut to take it off.

I reached for her hands, brought them down, and slowly forced them behind her back. “I want you, but I don’t like to be touched.”

She swallowed, and I waited for the questions, the accusations, and then the rejection.

“Can you touch yourself–” She took my hand and pressed it against her breast. “–while you touch me?”

Kiss

I was afraid to breathe, hanging onto an intimate moment, fearing I’d hurt him again. I’d been here before, wanting more than he could give me. The heaviness of arousal tingled in my breasts, radiating heat through me, surging lower as my soaked pussy ached for him to push inside me.

Maybe there was more to his aversion to touch. Maybe he didn’t like his body or was embarrassed by his dick size. I might not understand whatever this was, but I knew him. He was as drawn to me as I was to him. I wasn’t going to pressure him to fuck me. But I still wanted more than what we had.

He’d killed for me. He’d fought for me. I could be patient with him. His being a virgin only made me love him more. And fuck, I did love this man.

“I’m going to take a shower,” I said and spun around, bent over with one hand braced on the edge of the tub and turned on the faucet. I glanced over my shoulder. His gaze was glued to my ass. “The shower is big enough for both of us.”

“You asked me not to give up on you.”

I nodded.

“Don’t give up on me.”

I shook my head, and he stripped out of his cut. We stared at each other. Steam filled the room. Reaching behind his collar, he grabbed his T-shirt and tugged it over his head.

A smirk tilted his lips, and his arms flexed as he unsnapped his jeans. Contours carved his smooth chest. Bronzed skin stretched taut over corded abdominals.

Holy shit. He dropped his jeans and boxers. His cock, oh my god, his cock was perfect, stretching toward his navel. The dome gleamed with pearly fluid, and veins roped the thick length. I ached to have him over me, inside me, completing me. But he had to trust me. We weren’t there yet.

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