Page 34 of Surrender
I reach out and squeeze the thick muscles that line Gareth’s shoulders. “You like a firm touch, right?” I ask, wanting to ensure his comfort as much as my own as I massage him.
He clears his throat. When he speaks, it seems difficult for him. “Yes.”
“Do you like pain?” I ask, images of last night’s porn binge fresh in my mind.
His shoulders shrug beneath my palms. “I think I might, but I don’t really know.”
I nod thoughtfully. “I’m not sure I’m ready for that anyway. Right now, I’m only interested in the control aspect. Is that okay?”
“Treacle”—he utters my nickname with such reverence it makes my knees weak—“it’s not about what I want. It’s about what you want to give me.”
I inhale deeply. “I want to make you a suit.”
He frowns. Clearly my train of thought is a lot different from his, and I understand his confusion. For me, my time at a sewing machine is when I’m at my most Zen state of mind. The thought of making something for a man as beautiful as Gareth is like sewing foreplay or something.
“I can sew, Gareth,” I state, walking around his kneeling form to stand behind him. “I can sew really well. And while I have only ever bought you designer clothes, I have this fantasy of you wearing something I make with my own hands.” I hold one end of the rolled up tape measure and let the rest fall to the floor. “So I need to measure you.”
Gareth’s chuckle is a gift. “This is like nothing I expected.”
Frowning nervously, I ask, “Is that all right?”
“It’s more than all right.” He turns his head to look over his shoulder at me, and the wicked promise in his eyes gives me the strength I need to continue.
I bend over to grab the bottom of his T-shirt and tell him to lift his arms. He obeys and I toss the shirt to the side, feeling euphoric from the stronger male scent that’s emitting from him. A touch of soap, deodorant, and the heat of his own fragrance. I return to the front of him to enjoy the view of his naked chest. A freaking Tarzan build like I’ve never seen, barefoot in a pair of tight jeans and on his knees for me.
I measure his neck. His chest. His torso length and midsection. His arm length and biceps. Recording each number to memory. With every measurement, I pull the tape extra tight around his muscles and watch the skin pucker beneath it. His deep groan indicates he’s enjoying this quiet exchange.
“Stand,” I state, draping the tape measure around my neck and stepping back to watch his movement.
When he stretches to full height, the erection constrained beneath his jeans is shocking. I know he is large. That night we had together, I figured that out rather abruptly. But seeing it with the mindset to really take it in makes my body hum with need.
Inspired, I step into his space and palm his groin. His arms reach out to hold me, but I tsk in admonishment. Grabbing both of his wrists, I pull them away from me and squeeze them together behind his back.
“Clasp your hands together,” I whisper in his ear.
He obeys as my lace-covered breasts brush against his chest.
I drop to my knees and measure his inseam. My fingers tease around the bulge in his jeans, and I’m so grateful this is my life tonight. He breaks the hold of his hands behind his back when my nose brushes along his length.
“Nope,” I say, pulling his fingers out of my hair despite how good they feel because this control feels even better. “You’re not a very good listener, Gareth.”
His smirk is sinful. “You’re not making it easy, Tre.”
I stand up so we’re face-to-face again and slide the tape measure off my neck. I walk behind him and wrap the long strand around his fisted hands, trussing them into a really unglamorous knot.
He turns to face me so I can admire my work. His pecs are large and protrude with the restraint. His muscles flex and tense. Best of all, his hooded eyes completely lock on me and wait for what I’m going to do next.
I cross my arms over my chest and bite down on the tip of my finger.
Gareth growls.
He actually growls like a caged, feral animal. It’s so freaking savage and sexy at the same time. It’s such an enlighteningly uninhibited reaction, and it makes me feel brave. I can’t help but giggle and move in toward him. I drop down to a squat and stand slowly, sliding my lace-covered breasts over his denim clad erection. The sharp intake of air that he sucks in when I press him hard over his jeans is icing on this oh-so exciting new cake.
He grows even more beneath the heaviness of my palm. When his head falls back with a groan, I reach up with my free hand and yank his jaw down to me. His eyes are hooded on me as he bites his lip.
“Kiss my neck,” I state. He greedily dips his head and runs his tongue from my collarbone to my jaw, sucking the edge of my chin in a dirty, unsophisticated sort of way. It makes me lose my mind a bit. “Kiss my pussy. Kiss it the way you wanted to kiss it our first night together.”
He pulls back and is deathly serious when he says, “I might need my hands for that.”
