Her heart rose to her throat. For a moment, she couldn’t answer. Need, awe, and fear gripped her. After everything, he still wanted her. Though he doubted she would ever be able to give him what he needed most, he still wanted her. She knew in her heart it was time. Despite the terror, she gave into need hoping it was not the capitulation Bud Traynor said it would be. “I’d rather make love with you.”
She didn’t know if she could, but she was willing to try, willing to learn.
Witt closed his eyes and put his head back. “Don’t do this for me.”
She stroked his chin, then leaned in to kiss the ever-present cleft. “It’s for me.”
When he looked at her finally, light shimmered in his deep blue eyes. “I love you.”
The words tripped a barrage of emotions, fear and horror, desire and warmth. She opened her mouth to answer him. He covered her lips with two fingers. “No. Don’t say anything. I’m not ready to hear whatever it is. Just make love with me, and that’ll be enough for now.”
He still had doubts. He didn’t completely trust her not to lie. Maybe he was right not to do so. Still, nothing had ever felt so right as taking this one small step with him, and for him.
She put her hand to his pants. His face was soft, his body hard. “It was always making love, I just wouldn’t say it.” She’d been afraid. She still was. But Angela’s death had done something to her, opened her eyes. They were sisters. Neither had ever let go of the past. Angela had died for it. Max wanted to live. “I can show you.”
He covered her hand and stroked himself with her palm. “Yeah. Show me.”
She’d been fucked on these stairs not so very long ago. She’d had a marvelous orgasm, but orgasms could be hollow and incredibly unsatisfying, leaving a ménage of conflicting emotions that were better left unacknowledged. Tonight, for now, she didn’t want any conflict. No price tag, no ulterior motive, no power. She wanted to wipe clean the memory of what she’d done in almost this exact spot. She wanted to make love to Witt with her mouth. As scary as those words were.
The rasp of his zipper was loud and exquisite in the night’s silence. She pushed on his chest. “Lean back. I want to take care of you.”
He put his elbows on the step above and gave himself up to her.
She undid his belt, tugged at his pants until he rose and let her pull the waistband over his hips. In her hands, his briefs came with it, revealing all his splendor. Long and thick and hard.
She licked his full length. He groaned and put one hand in her hair, stroking her scalp with his fingers.
“You’re very beautiful,” she whispered.
“A man’s cock isn’t supposed to be beautiful.”
She looked up and smiled. “You are so wrong. This”—she took him in her hand—“is extraordinarily beautiful.”
“Hey, this the real Max here? Sounds like a Pod person to me.”
She fluttered her eyelashes. “I think you should just sit back and enjoy, Pod person or not.”
He stretched, arching, his enticing cock bobbing close to her lips. “Right. Do your worst.”
“You mean my best.”
“You ever heard the only bad blowjob is no blowjob?”
“You have very low expectations.”
“No, Max, they’re very high. Suck it, baby, please.”
“You don’t have to beg. I have every intention.” She caressed the slit at his tip with her thumb.
He sucked in a breath. “Too much talking going on here. How about action?”
She took him all, gliding her lips down his length and swirling her tongue. Drops of pre-cum trickled deliciously, and she slid all the way back up to enjoy the taste.
“Sweet Jesus, you’re killing me.”
She made a noise of assent but didn’t release him. Wrapping her fingers around his shaft, she squeezed his base as she took him all again. The pleasure was hers, her body moistening, heating, her clitoris throbbing without even a touch. She wanted to make him feel good because it made her hot, because his taste was like ambrosia, because taking him inside her mouth was as intimate as taking him inside her body.
She caressed his balls with her pinkie, the rough hair tickling. His scent was so damn good, salty and male. His body rocked to her rhythm.
“Jesus, Max, gonna lose it here. Wanna be inside you.”
No, no, she couldn’t stop yet. She’d tasted him in the car, but she hadn’t savored him. The whole experience had been over too quickly, then his irritation and her own guilty conscience at having power-tripped him stole the pleasure.
Sucking back to his tip, she let him fall from her mouth though she kept up the gentle pumping of his cock with her hand. “Please let me do this, Witt. I need it.”
“I’m no eighteen-year-old with an ever-present hard-on. Don’t think I can make love to you afterwards.” He winked, then groaned as she thumbed his crown. “At least not for fifteen minutes.”
Fifteen minutes, hah. The man seemed to have a perpetual hard-on. But one thing was more important. “This is making love. I want to swallow you. All of you. Please.” As much as she wanted him inside her, this was more significant. This was something she could give him. Sex could be about power. Or it could be about giving pleasure without requiring some sort of capitulation.