Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 113324 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 567(@200wpm)___ 453(@250wpm)___ 378(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113324 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 567(@200wpm)___ 453(@250wpm)___ 378(@300wpm)
“I could get used to this,” I sighed. I’d read about kink aftercare and how important it was, but hadn’t grasped how much I would need it. I felt like I’d been broken down to the most primal levels and now had to readjust to everything.
It was like lingering at the edges of a drug-induced high, produced from the cleanest-burning drugs imaginable.
He started kneading my shoulders. “I intend for you to get used to it. Tonight, I take care of you.”
I felt his shaft stiffening beneath me and grinned to myself—more of him, this very night? And his massage! Kneading . . . kneading . . . So. Freaking. Good.
Once his big hands had rendered me into a heap of bliss, he began shampooing my hair, massaging my scalp until I was on the verge of drooling for the second time this night.
After rinsing the strands with a sprayer, he worked conditioner through them. I turned to watch him over my shoulder. His face was drawn with absorption, as if he truly wanted to get this right, to bathe me and care for me, just so. That melted my heart.
He caught me staring up at him like a fool. “Are you enjoying this part?”
“I loathe it.”
He chuckled. I’d actually made him laugh? His lips were curling. Still not a full smile, but close.
His lightheartedness signaled so much to me, and I grew even more optimistic about our future. “You never thought I’d go through with it, did you?”
“I admit it.” Finished with my hair, he smoothed the length over one of my shoulders, then grazed bath oil over my sore upper back.
“Any regrets?”
“I decided that if you were willing to go through that—your first real time—then you must want it badly.” His cock pulsed against my bottom—because he was replaying those scenes? “I took you to a place that I thought of as sordid. And you saw beauty everywhere and felt hope. Maybe that club is what you make of it? What you bring to it.”
“I believe that, especially now.”
“I meant what I said earlier. You know your own mind. I’d forgotten that along the way.”
“What do you mean?”
He lifted one of my arms, washing it from fingertips to shoulder before bathing my ticklish underarm. “In Nebraska I witnessed your drive when you set your mind to something. I saw how hard you worked; at everything, you tried so damned hard.” He saw to my other arm. “I wanted to know how you could keep at it, with no guarantee of success.”
“But you couldn’t talk to me to ask.”
“Could only watch you from afar.” He reached for one of my breasts, thumbing my nipple. “Are these sore?”
I could barely keep my eyes open as he stroked me. “A little. But I kind of like it. A constant reminder of the things we did.”
He made a sound of approval. “We’ve established that you’re hot-blooded—and you know your own mind. Yet you were a virgin?”
When he moved to my other breast, my lids slid shut. “I had some bad experiences.”
Dropping his hands, he tensed around me, gritting out one word: “Names.”
My eyes went wide. “No, no, not like that! I had some unfortunate, clumsy experiences, I should say.”
“I don’t understand.”
So I told him about the guy who spooged into his condom. “He fled after that, never to be heard from again. I wasted weeks on that guy.”
“Now that I know what he’d been so close to experiencing, I could almost pity him.”
Awww. “I dated another guy for a couple of months, but I’m pretty sure he was a subbie. There were a few others who just weren’t worth the bother.”
Looking back, I could see that I’d been waiting for a man’s man—one older than me, a lot more dominant, with some rough and dangerous edges. In other words, not your typical UNL student.
“Their loss is my gain.”
I trailed my nails over his forearm. “I didn’t want to be a virgin. Do you know how challenging it was to be sex-positive and progressive on a college campus and still be virginal? At my age? It was like a dirty little secret.”
In a grave tone, he said, “I’m glad I was able to be of service with that.”
Grinning, I turned to face him better, hanging my legs over his outer thigh. “So what’s your story?”
“Story?” He seemed disconcerted that the conversation had steered toward him.
“This is where we trade dating tales.”
He gave me an I-got-nothing look.
“You really haven’t spent a lot of time with women outside of sex, have you?”
“Not at all.” He began massaging my feet, working bath oil up my surprisingly sore calves.
“How did you usually find, well, bedmates? I don’t suppose there were mafiya mixers?”
He raised his brows at that. “I would go to a bar or a scene club and wait for a woman to approach,” he said without conceit, just stating the facts. “I’d stay for the time span of a few drinks; the situation would either resolve itself or not.”
My face flushed when I realized I’d been one of those approaching women. “So when I hit on you that first night, you equated me with them?”
He shrugged.
“You didn’t date any of the women you slept with? No going to a movie or out for coffee?” I couldn’t picture him doing either.
“Never.”
“Aside from our dinners on the road, was tonight your first real date?”
“Yes.” As I hid my surprise, he added, “How am I doing?”
My heart fluttered. “Judges’ scores of ten.”
He frowned. “I shouldn’t have admitted that to you, I suppose.”
“No, you should have. I love”—everything I learn about you—“hearing new things about you.”
“My first date, your first flogging,” he said with amusement.
“I adored what you did to me.”
“Tonight I realized that I can torment you and treasure you. For you, it can be one and the same.” His hands began ascending my legs. “And there’s much more to show you.”
My breaths shallowed. “I want to see it all.”
“I’m having supplies delivered tomorrow. We’ll take it slowly, but be prepared for wherever this leads us.”