Page 24 of Healing Hazel
Her body moved faster, her muscles worked to both stave off her climax and bring me closer to mine as I played with her nipples and when I felt my balls drawing up, I wrapped one arm around her and began to thrust up into her, my other hand moving to find and flick the engorged bud of her clit.
“Oh, fuck!” she screamed. “Please, Master, please!”
“Come, Zellie, come with me,” I commanded, granting her the freedom to come and a key to the door of the cage that had held her submissive for far too long.
My shout joined hers as we came together in a crescendo that rang out like a thousand stringed instruments. My grunt of surprise as she fell forward to land on my chest, was followed by my chuckle as she said, “I think I’m dead.”
“Then we’ll walk the streets of heaven together,” I said.
Her hair swiped my chest as she lifted her head to look at me. “I don’t think I’m capable of walking, Sir.”
I laughed as I wrapped my arms around her, our bodies still connected, but far more importantly, our souls linking as one. “Then I’ll carry you, babygirl. Forever and always.”
Chapter Twelve
Hazel
Funny how the glow of satiation could morph into the blush of embarrassment as I scanned what I’d now realized was a lounge for doctors. Some, like Nigel, had privileges to practice within the hospital but only on occasion and didn’t require anything more permanent or formal like an actual office. That didn’t mean that other doctors didn’t also take advantage of the space when they wished to stay close to make sure they were only steps away from attending one of their patients who might be in crises at any moment. I moved to rearrange a pillow that I was pretty sure had been on one of the easy chairs before but which Nigel had tossed onto the couch where he’d sat with me on his lap in what seemed was a lifetime ago but had only been a few hours.
“What about the laundry?” I asked, thinking of the towels we’d used not only to shower after a marathon of bliss, but of the washcloth I was presently using to wipe down every surface that our naked bodies could possibly have touched.
“Hospital services will take care of it.” He grinned and shook his head. “Babygirl, this isn’t a crime scene where you’re tryingto erase all evidence of our DNA. Nobody is going to know that we were shagging on the floor… or on the divan, on the?—”
“Nigel!” I snapped the washcloth in the direction of his leg but he simply grabbed it and tugged which had me practically falling into his arms.
“—the chair, and let’s not forget that table is the perfect height to spread out a girl before tasting the sweet honey dripping from the petals of the most beautiful garden I’ve ever planted my staff into.”
I could feel my entire body flushing as well as that nectar beginning to pool yet again between my legs. “Shagging? Garden? Staff? You sure use some very descriptive words for my anatomy, Dr. Berringer.”
He pulled me even closer and bent down to bring his lips a breath away from mine. “I might be a doctor, Miss Waltman, but I’m a Brit first, and that slice of heaven between your thighs is indeed a garden. And soon I’ll be tending to that sweet little rosebud hidden between the cheeks of your glorious arse. Unless you have an issue with your own personal gardener?”
How could I even pretend I did when he’d made me beg, scream, cry and plead for his touch, his tongue, his fingers, his cock, his everything as he made me come far too many times to count. I was just about to concur that he could plow my furrows anytime he wished when I remembered that flower gardens came with bees, and bees often hummed their sweet song even while sinking their stingers into your skin. I knew the moment Nigel sensed something had joined in our playful exchange as his eyes darkened and his smile slipped from his lips.
He leaned forward a bit to press his forehead to mine. “Breathe, babygirl. One step at a time until you’re ready.”
But that was just it. My fear of his wanting a Little had finally been set aside, but that had only brought another role onto the stage. Did I now firmly believe Nigel was a Dominantwho wanted a submissive? Yes, I’d only had to read his last text to know that. Was I that submissive? That was the question. Addressing him as Master didn’t make me one. Begging for permission to come didn’t either. Even giving over control and obeying his orders during the sex we’d just shared didn’t give me a right to the ownership of a role that made a true submissive. That required a level of trust and a release of control I wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to offer.
“What if I never truly am?” I asked softly.
“Then we continue as we are,” he said.
Part of me so wanted to take him at his word, to accept that it would be enough. And, for me, perhaps it would be. But that wasn’t fair to him. He was a wonderful man who deserved so much more. A Dominant who would give his everything to his submissive. It was only right that she return the honor.
“Stop,” Nigel said, his finger beneath my chin to lift my head slightly so I had no choice but to return my gaze to his. “We have all the time in the world. I’m in no rush. I’ve waited thirty-three years to find you. I’m going to spend the rest of my life learning every millimeter of your body, the different meaning of all those beautiful mewls you make when you’re beneath me, and how a touch against your flesh brings up thousands of tiny bumps telling of your pleasure. But more importantly, I’m going to listen to your words, your fears, your stories of what makes you laugh, those that make you cry simply because you don’t have the words to describe how something makes you feel. I’m going to spend a lifetime discovering what makes Hazel Christine Waltman the most fascinating woman I’ve ever been blessed to call mine.”
The funny thing was, I so very badly wanted to believe him, but…
Baby steps, as many as it takes…
“Baby steps,” I repeated and his smile returned a moment before he kissed me softly. It would have the most perfect ending to a romantic scene if not for the gurgling that very much blocked out the soft mewl I made as his tongue swept over mine.
His chuckle was followed by his tongue untangling from mine and withdrawing. His teeth then nipped at my bottom lip, the sharp sting causing my nipples to pebble.
“That sound, I do believe, means some girl is hungry.”
“No, that is the rude sound of somebody who hasn’t eaten since, well, since that last bite of hamburger.”
He pulled back, his brow arching. “Not acceptable, babygirl. You need to eat and by that I don’t mean leave a meal half-eaten either.”
