“Yes.”
“Did you like the way it felt? How tight I fit inside you?”
God, he was killing me with that warm seductive voice that was far too calm for the subject matter.
“Yes.”
“Good. Then your shyness is forgiven.” He smiled at me. “Tell me I can have you again…” He kissed my cheek. “…and again…” He kissed my other cheek. “…and again.” He kissed the tip of my nose. “Because I definitely need to see more of this blush and this adorable shyness that is all about those very private things we did together.”
I nodded.
He pulled back, and his thumb kept caressing across my chin. “You were the stuff my wet dreams were made of in high school, and I can’t tell you how many masturbatory orgasms you’ve been responsible for.” He smirked. “Now I’m going to take a quick shower, run to the store and buy those damn cupboard pulls you like, and bring lunch back for us. Will you stay right here, in bed, waiting for me?”
“Okay.”
He pushed up from the bed, and I watched him walk naked from the room.
He was incredibly fit and toned. His buttocks, his back, his legs—strong and tight with muscles. He’d always been fit, but there was a hardness to his body I didn’t recall from when we were younger. I remembered a firmness to his body that I didn’t have, and I remembered the lines of muscles that ran under his skin. But now it was as if this layer of himself had dissolved, and the muscle now ran shallow and more visible than it had back then.
His skin was smooth, tanned and unblemished, but it covered steel and strength in this exceptionally arousing way. The entire time he’d made love to me, I’d soaked in the feel of his muscles working, contracting, and tightening under my palms. It had been rough, but not too rough—not at all. But touching those tense muscles and feeling them work was like touching something that was ready to explode in an eruption of power. He could be too rough with me, and it was likely a very fine line—one he’d flirted with perfectly last night. He could physically damage me. And the tension I’d touched made it clear he was holding back—perfectly restrained.
I listened to the shower run for a few minutes, and I looked around the room. He’d painted. The walls looked clean and smooth, and he’d used a very subtle gray with just enough brown in it to feel warm rather than stark and cold. I pulled the blanket up to my face, inhaling the scent. It smelled like him. Like soap and deodorant—clean and fresh but soft and used.
I sat up to the side of the bed, running my fingers through my hair and looking out at the woods beyond his window. My attention caught on pieces of scattered broken plastic on the floor by the closet, and when I walked over to the mess, I crouched down, flipping over the face plate of the alarm clock that had been sitting on the nightstand the last time I’d been in here. He’d clearly been in about the same mood I’d been in for the past couple days. I’d paced, I’d cried, I’d panicked, and I’d finally broken down and come over here when I couldn’t stand it anymore.
When I returned to bed again, I glanced down into the still open nightstand drawer, and I inhaled sharply as I sank to sit on the mattress. I reached into the drawer, pulling a strand of balls out. They varied in size from as small as a pea on one end to damn near the size of a golf ball on the other. The balls were made of clear pink silicone, and they were connected one after another from small to large with a ring on the end with the largest ball. I set the strand aside, swallowing harshly over a sudden lump in my throat.
When I reached in again, it was to pull out something that looked like a metal bullet. But it was too large to be a real bullet. The ends were rounded, and the metal was smooth aside from a line that ran around the center of it. When I turned the thing along the line, it whirred to life and vibrated quietly between my fingers.
“Oh, fuck,” I whispered as I tried to turn the damn thing back off, and as my fingers fumbled with it, I heard the bathroom door open and the sound of footsteps coming down the hall. “Fuck,” I hissed under my breath.
“Where do you want me—”
I dropped the metal thing on the floor the moment I heard his voice, and it rolled away from me still vibrating. I spun around to see Kane standing naked at the foot of the bed still holding his towel in his hand. He was staring at the floor at the place the thing had finally stopped rolling, and his voice had gone quiet.