Page 60 of Fractured (Not Quite a Billionaire)
I smiled, because itwasdark, and there was no need to pretend anything anymore, not here with her. “Mm. Reckon I could.” I rolled her gently over, braced myself on my elbows, and gave her the kiss she wanted. Long and slow and sweet, sucking on her lower lip, drawing her tongue into my mouth. Her hand was in my hair, she was pulling me into her, and I was falling.
“Too tired?” I murmured in her ear, after kissing my way there, inhaling her floral scent, and feeling her shiver at the touch of my lips on her neck.
“Ah…no,” she said. “Not anymore. I could wake up some, and it would feel…um…it would help, you know? If you wanted to, I mean.”
I could all but see her blushing. She could still be so shy at times, and had been so shocked that I wanted her no matter what time of the month it was, that I wasn’t more squeamish. Even though she’d told me that orgasms made the cramps better, and even though she should know by now that giving her orgasms was just about my favorite thing in the world.
“I want to,” I told her. I ran my fingers slowly down between the tiny double spaghetti straps of that camisole, needing to take it off her, to drown my worries in her softness, to bury myself in her sweetness. “Why don’t you lie back and let me make you feel better, then? Nice and slow.”
“Oh,” she said, a little catch in her breath. “Um…good. I’ll just…” She slid out of bed and headed to the bathroom.
I watched her go, her body shining pale in the darkness, and thought,You’re a lucky man, mate. Luckier than you deserve.It didn’t matter that Karen had left dishes in the sink, that my day had been too long, or even that the threat of Anika still lurked in the shadows. I rolled over, pulled matches from a drawer of the bedside table, lit a single candle, and waited for Hope to come back.
It was going to be nothing but softness tonight. Soft light, gentle words, sweet kisses, and a slow hand. Tonight, it was going to be all about Hope.
Hemi
She came back a minute later, and because I’d lit the candle, I could see her properly at last. Pale-blue camisole, matching high-cut undies. Nothing but pretty. Nothing but mine.
She climbed into bed, shivering in the air conditioning, and I settled the duvet over her, then propped myself on an elbow, traced a hand over her hair and down her jaw, and asked, “What’s hurting?”
She hesitated, then admitted, “Everything. But I’m OK, really. Achy, that’s all. No big deal. Just got all…” She blinked, her eyes shining in the candlelight. “All weepy,” she confessed, the catch in her voice giving her away. “Silly.”
“Nah. Long day. For me, too.” My hand drifted over the bottom edge of her camisole and tugged it up a fraction, so I could trace over her skin, there low on her belly, where the satin trim of the bikinis met the silk of her flesh. I kissed her neck, heard the faint whisper of her sigh, and felt her hand sliding over my shoulder as if she needed me as much as I needed her. As if that could be possible.
“Roll over onto your belly,” I told her. “Let me make it better.”
“Hemi, I can’t do…I can’t…”
I kissed her mouth, then, taking her softness into myself, hit hard by her, as always. “I know you can’t. Roll over, sweetheart. I promise, it’ll be good.”
And when she did it, trusting me, I may have had to breathe a couple times.
When I straddled her hips and eased the camisole over her head, she tensed all the same. But after a moment, when I didn’t do anything else, I could feel her relaxing again. And when I opened the bottle of almond oil, poured some into my hands, rubbed them together to warm them, and began to massage her upper back, she sighed.
“Oh,” she said, shifting under me. “That hurts so good.”
I smiled to myself and kept on. Not going too deep, because she was so tender, but feeling the knots of muscle beginning to loosen under my palms, my probing fingers.
No hurry, not tonight. All the time in the world. I slid my hands down either side of her spine, my thumbs easing gently into the muscle, and she moaned, and that was better.
Over her shoulders, then, fingers and thumbs on biceps and triceps, easing the ache, soothing the soreness. And then, when she was loosening up, relaxing into the mattress, softening under my hands, I finally slid down her body, taking her bikinis with me and dropping them over the side of the bed, then beginning to massage the gentle curves of her bottom, digging in a bit harder here, where I knew she had to be hurting.
More moans, pleasure and pain mixed together in the very best way, a sound of the purest relief. And before I even got to her thighs, I was hard.
How could I have helped it, though? She was boneless with pleasure, and she was so beautiful, so vulnerable there in the candlelight. I may have got off track a bit, too, have had to stop and kiss the back of her neck, to let my hands slide down the arms she’d stretched overhead, have had to circle her wrists with my fingers just to hear her hum out her satisfaction.
But there was time for that, so after I’d tasted it, touched it, and promised myself it was all coming, I sat up again and said, “Roll over, sweetheart.”
“I’m not sure I can. Oh, Hemi. That felt so good.”
“I’m going to make you feel even better. You’ll see.”
She did roll over, and I was picking up the bottle of oil again, dribbling more into my palms and rubbing them together, getting it warm for her.
Her hair was a soft, pale cloud around her head, her body so much more relaxed than it had been earlier, because I’d made it happen. She smiled, sweet and slow, and told me, “I’m going to smell like a cookie.”
“Going to taste like one, too,” I said. “Can’t wait. But I’ve got a few more things to do first.” I drew my hands up her arms, pulling them high overhead, working the sore muscles there again, then taking a wrist in my hand and pulling on each finger in turn.
