It’s been weeks since we were really intimate together. Our one time when Neena busted in on us was the last time. We’ve kissed and held hands since then, but there’s been so much going on I don’t think either of us has had the energy for anything more.
Clara’s nervous. It’s written all over her. Her fingers are knotted together, her lower lip between her teeth. The last thing I want is for her to feel pressured. Hell, I don’t mind just being her human pillow for the night.
“Nothing has to happen tonight,” I tell her. “I didn’t plan the slumber party or anything.”
Clara lets out a long sigh. “I want to. It’s just . . . been a long time.”
My heart pounds faster. She wants to. She wants me. I step toward her and see her tremble slightly. Her nervousness is sexy as fuck to me. She remembers what we’re like in bed. We’re liable to claw at each other like animals.
“I don’t want you to feel pressured.”
“Paul.” She lets out a lengthy breath. “I need this. I just feel so . . . unsexy. I’ve been in mother mode for years. It’s hard to turn it off.” She closes her eyes and takes another deep breath. “I’m not what I was when we were together years ago. My body is different.”
“I don’t know what you see when you look in the mirror, Clara. But I see a woman that has danced in and out of my mind for the past thirteen years. A woman that no matter how hard I tried, I could never replace. I have never wanted another woman the way I want you, then and now. And here you are, beautiful and nervous. No more holding back. I need you. I. Want. You. I didn’t think there was anything that could make me want you more . . . love you more. But I was wrong.”
“You were?”
“Not only are you the sexiest woman to me. You’re the mother of my child, Clara. Your body and my body joined together and made that beautiful little girl. You carried her; my baby. Inside of you.” I struggle for a beat, swallowing hard, and rub my cheeks as the emotion overwhelms me. “You can’t understand how much that turns me on. I want you to feel what you are. I want you to see what I see.”
Her chest rises and falls as she watches me. “I don’t know if that’s possible,” she utters softly. “Just . . . I need you to guide me. I’ll overthink everything if you don’t.”
A strong wave of nostalgia washes over me as I remember the woman that wore an exterior of fearlessness and determination. She came off intimidating to most men. Maybe even to me at first. But alone, naked, in bed . . . she was something else. She let go, gave in, succumbed completely. And it was so fucking beautiful. She was the kind of lover I never knew I wanted until I had her. To have someone place so much trust in me; to let me give and take the way I needed to because pleasing me was her pleasure. She was steel and titanium to the world, but in the throes of passion, she handed over her power, like a gift, trusting me with it. And I treasured it. She was submissive and no woman has ever made me feel like more of a man in bed than she did. I will make her remember that woman; I will make her see what I see.
“Come here,” I order her, my voice automatically deep and husky.
Her tongue darts out and runs quickly over her pink lips. But she does as I say and moves in front of me. “Take my shirt off,” I rasp.
Her blue eyes dart to mine, a flicker of fear mixed with excitement in them. Her hands shake slightly as she reaches up and begins to unbutton my shirt from the collar down. When she’s done, she brings it up and slips it over my shoulders so it falls to the floor. She’s softly panting as her hands brush over my chest, her eyes fixed on her delicate fingers as she reacclimatizes herself with territory she once knew well.
“Arms up,” I tell her. Hesitantly, she raises her arms and I tug her shirt off and fling it away. She lowers her arms to her sides and as I reach around to unhook her bra, I kiss the crook of her neck and shoulder. She lets out a hiss, her chest arching toward me, pressing to my body. So beautiful. Stepping back, I watch in awe as she lets her bra slip from her breasts and down her arms. Her pink nipples are budding, the swelling making her desire evident. She’s always had the softest skin, perfectly creamy and soft.
“Turn and look at yourself in the mirror.” She blinks a few times, the uncertainty in her eyes begging me to stop this, but does as I say. She’s facing her full-length mirror, in the corner of her room, as I move behind her, pressing myself to her ever so slightly. She’s shaking.
“Look at you, Clara,” I growl as I run my fingers down her arm. “This perfect skin, those beautiful breasts. Look at how beautiful you are, baby.”