Page 86 of Sexy as Sin
Now, he smiled. Slowly, and her heart squeezed within her, the tenderness trying to take her over.
“Yeah,” she said. “Let’s take a shower first. I’m freezing, and you’re worse. We’ll feel like talking later.”
He wanted so many things. His mind was still all about that quick release, especially when she took off her coat and unzipped her boots. His body, though, wasn’t cooperating. He actually wasn’t sure he’d make it up the staircase, and he was breathing hard and biting back a groan by the time he made it into the master bedroom.
She said, “Yeah. I know,” and started to unbutton his shirt, and when she’d done it, stepped into him, put a gentle hand behind his head, kissed his mouth, smiled into his eyes like the goddess of living things, and said, “I love you. It’d sound better to say it’s because you’re such a good man, giving my mate Jim a job and all, not to mention letting some mad sheila drive the Batmobile.” She dropped to her knees, then, took off his shoes and socks, and then undid his belt. “Of course, it could be your brilliant kitchens, or all those houses. Which you didn’t tell me about, because why would a fella tell a girl he’s trying to impress about his enormous fortune? You’re a drongo. That’s Aussie. Means idiot.” His pants came off, and she picked up his clothes, tossed them on the bed, pulled off her socks with a face that told him they were soaking wet and that she had blisters, and said, “Go get in the shower. Need a hand to do it? You safe?”
“This is some kind of test, isn’t it?” he asked. “Seeing if I’ll accept all this... softness. And I love you, too. If I didn’t know it before, I sure knew it tonight. But I knew it before.”
She seemed to consider that while she pulled the purple wrap sweater over her head. “Well, good. And on the other thing—I think it’s just that I’m dying for a shower, and it’d be too selfish to run in there by myself. Go on. I’m coming.” She was wriggling out of her stretch jeans, and he wanted to watch, but his stamina was gone. He headed into the bathroom, twisted the dial of his most intense showerhead all the way to hot, thought,I need one of those steam things. And a bench,set his crutches against the wall, hopped into the heat, and shuddered all over.
A haze of blessed steam, and Willow stepping in with him, looking like a water nymph putting a delicate foot on a lily pad, then wincing as the water hit her toes and spoiling the illusion. “Oh, bloody hell,” she said, “that stings. And don’t you dare be sympathetic. You’re halfway to death yourself. The doctor said ‘gradual.’ That wasn’t gradual. Lean back against the wall before you fall over.”
Willow, adjusting the showerheads, then putting shower gel on a washcloth and starting to rub him down. He closed his eyes and let the warmth start to ease the knotted muscles. She turned the heat up so it was as hot as he could stand, and he breathed in the steam, felt the rasp of nubby, wet cotton over his chest and down his abs, and thought,Thank you.
“I love this stuff,” she said, washing him for real now, and taking a moment to kiss his shoulder. It felt great. “Smells like your dream man. Cocoa, pepper, and sandalwood.”
“Good job,” he managed to say. “Chef.” His body was cooperating after all. It didn’t take much Willow to make it happen.
“Not really. I read the label. I’m using it on myself, too, even though it says ‘Pour homme.’ Don’t tell.”
“I’ve got some...” He was getting a little hazy. Pain, pleasure, and sheer relief. “Body oil in the bedside table. In... case.”
“We’ll get out in a minute, then,” she said from her spot on her knees, where she was washing his thighs and calves, her hands tracing gently over the tender lines of his healing incisions. “And use it.”
Willow, patting him down with a warm towel, then handing him his crutches and not commenting on the fact that he was managing absolutely zero weight bearing. Pulling back the bedding, and waiting until he rolled himself into it, then finding the oil in the table, pouring a few drops into her palm, and holding it to her nose. “Like walking through a spiced forest,” she said, before she got a leg over him, all the way down near his feet, and started rubbing and kneading her way up his calves.
“That’s what...” he said, and closed his eyes. “What I thought when I came to Australia. That it smelled good all the time. Some kind of sweetness, like, ah...” She’d reached his thighs, had replenished the oil, and gone to work on the left one, where his quadriceps had knotted into ropes. It hurt so good. “Vanilla. Then I thought it was you. The way you always smell so delicious.”
“You’re the one who smells that way now,” she said. “More like cinnamon, though. I could have to lick you all over, except that right now, I’d kill you. Turn over. I’m guessing your back’s even worse.”
He did it. To tell the truth, he’d have done just about anything. And when she got her hands on the knotted muscles around his shoulder blades and set in to work? Ithurt.It also felt like the angels were singing. She had strong hands, and she was willing to use them.
She worked his muscles over like she had all night. Like she hadn’t had a shock, then had him walk away from her as if she didn’t matter, or as if he were still in love with somebody else. Like she hadn’t missed her lunch, been lost, been exhausted and scared and wet and cold, and hadn’t known if he’d care enough to come and get her. He wanted to tell her that he knew all of that, and also that he wasn’t in love with Nia anymore, but he couldn’t manage it. Once his muscles started to let go, they had nothing left to offer. And when she was sitting on his back, her hands stroking over his biceps and down his forearms, kissing his ear, then sticking her tongue inside it like the sweetest, dirtiest girl you could ever hope to have for your own, and whispering, “Turn over for me?”
He did it. This time, she didn’t mess around. Right to the spot, and he had his head thrown back, was shifting under her mouth, her hands, had fallen all the way under her spell.
After a minute, or possibly an hour, she asked him, “Do you want to watch me ride you?”
He did. She kissed her way up his body, then murmured, “Watch this.” And he opened his eyes.
Oh, yeah, she was turning around. He closed his eyes again, because he had to feel her impaling herself on him. And then opened them again, because he loved that view.
You could never get a woman to show you that without some serious asking, as if she couldn’t believe you really wanted to see and hold that gorgeous ass, but Willow had done it. She rode him like his body was there to pleasure her, and she was happy to use it. Slow, sweet, and easy, rocking him like she needed this as much as he did. And when he grabbed her hips and started to move her, she started touching herself for real.
This wasn’t... it wasn’t... She was going up, and it wasn’t how it had to be. He needed to...showher.
Shoving her off of him wasn’t easy. Rolling to one side, though, pushing her shoulders gently down, saying, “Get on your knees,” and watching her do it? That wasn’t easy, either. “Easy” didn’t begin to describe this feeling.
It was awkward, putting most of his weight onto his right knee and his palms. It hurt. And it burned.
Willow, breathing hard now. Willow, starting to moan. Starting to rock, one hand under her face, the other one helping herself out, and her hair spilling onto the white sheets. He got a hand under it, shoved it up so her neck was visible, and said, “I... need... this. This is mine. It’smine.”And heard her gasp and start to spasm around him.
He didn’t have to make her say it. They both knew it.
He filled her up. He took her over. He rode her all the way home.
He was too heavy on top of her, and she didn’t want him to ever get off. His lips were at the nape of her neck, and he was biting her there. Gently, but like he meant it.
