Page 62 of The Heart We Guard
“Not a chance,” he replies.
I expect him to keep things moving along, but he seems to be in no more of a hurry than I am.
His hands roam the length of my back, from my shoulders, all the way to my ass. His fingers trace every bump of my spine, and it takes a second for me to remember that sex, when there are two or more people in the bed, is a team sport.
In the absence of any great knowledge about how to seduce someone, I follow his lead.
My palms stroke the planes of his body. For a man in his forties, he’s in great shape. I’ve seen plenty of people on my table who are his age, but in considerably worse physical condition, to know that he isn’t the norm.
His skin contracts and muscles flex as I move.
His erection sits thick and heavy between us as it rouses.
And I have the sudden urge to simply lift a little higher up his body, shift my panties to the side, and ride out an orgasm on it.
But still, Butcher teases.
His lips move to my neck, gently licking and biting and kissing until it feels ticklish, and a delicious shiver runs through my body.
Gently, I nudge Butcher’s shoulder, pushing him down until his back hits the bed and sheets.
“Where do you want to be?” Butcher asks.
“I’m not sure, but over you, I think.”
If he thinks the request is awkward, he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he grips my hips right above the waistband of my panties and lifts me over him.
I place my hands on either side of his head, and my hair falls forward over the two of us.
“I can be a much more active participant this time,” he says. “You did such a good job of putting me back together, Doc.”
Butcher lets his palms drift beneath the hem of the T-shirt, and I take a deep breath as they move higher up my body until they’re cupping both my breasts.
“Mmm,” I say quietly as he slides his calloused thumbs to rub over my nipples.
And, God, does it feel good.
He releases them and quickly drops his hands to my hips, lifting me and pushing me down his body a little so I sit over his boxer brief-covered cock.
The immediate pressure feels so good against my aching clit.
“Fuck,” he groans. “You wanna ride one out like this, be my guest.”
I’m not sure anything could stop me. His cock feels so thick between my thighs. I know we’ve done this before. I know we’ve had sex—wouldn’t be pregnant otherwise—but this feels gratuitous and yet totally necessary.
Nothing is resolved.
We haven’t talked.
This could be catastrophic.
Yet, I explore this man. I want to get to know him physically as well as I am getting to know him emotionally.
I don’t want to hide from him. Hide who I am from him.
I want him to either want me as I am or not want me at all.
Letting my hands drop next to his head, I grind on him. Backwards feels better than forward.
