Total pages in book: 47
Estimated words: 44256 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 221(@200wpm)___ 177(@250wpm)___ 148(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 44256 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 221(@200wpm)___ 177(@250wpm)___ 148(@300wpm)
Michaela sits up and pulls my head against her breasts. “You were amazing, Aithar. Thank you for letting me play with you.”
“Can….can I touch you…now?” I ask, lungs heaving. I don’t know where I’ll find the strength. I just know that pleasuring her has somehow become one of the things I need most in the universe. If Michaela can give me that much pleasure, I want to return it.
But she just cradles my cheek and taps it lightly. “Not today, babe. I’m not ready.”
“That is probably best,” I admit. “I think I will have trouble moving after all that.”
She chuckles, running her hands through my hair. “It was fun though, wasn’t it?”
I make a hoarse sound that might be a laugh or a groan. “If I have more fun like that, I suspect it will kill me.”
Her laughter is sweet, as sweet as the caresses she lavishes upon me while I struggle to catch my breath. “Will you come over tomorrow, Aithar? Same time?”
Nothing would keep me away from her after today.
CHAPTER
SEVEN
ONE MONTH LATER
MICHAELA
Aithar flops down on the bed next to me and groans. I grin to myself, rolling onto my side so I can watch him recover. Every time he comes, he acts as if his entire being is about to fall to pieces. It’s all very dramatic and adorable and I love to watch him and the look of wonder on his face. He scrubs a hand over his brow and turns to look at me, expression utterly adoring. “You are a marvel.”
“Yeah, I’m pretty awesome.”
“Awesome does not even begin to describe it.” His hand slides to his chest, over the tattoos on his heart. “You are the most generous of females. And you never ask for anything for yourself. Truly, I do not understand it.”
I shrug.
In truth, I’m not sure I understand it myself. In the month that we’ve been meeting up—or dating, I suppose—Aithar has come over every day. And every day, I’ve been the one in control. Every day, I’ve been the one that establishes when and where we kiss and for how long. I’m the one doing the touching. I’m the one giving the pleasure. I enjoy it, too. I love Aithar’s sweet and genuine responses to my touch. I love how amazed he is when I make him come. I love how he cries out my name when I suck on his cock, or when I tickle that spot underneath his balls that makes him go wild. In short, I’m giving him everything I can and the only thing I’m taking for myself are kisses…and control.
But oh man, I love that control.
In the past, my relationships have been equal, with my partner giving as much as taking. With Aithar, however, just the thought of ceding my control and letting him take charge has me in a panic. I end up tying him to the bed and giving him strategic hickies until he no longer remembers to ask when it’s his turn to do me.
It’s been a month of fooling around and I’ve been enjoying myself more than I thought I would. I thought after a few rounds of kissing and some heavy petting, I’d get tired of seeing Aithar. I’d seal myself into my isolation once more, focusing on my dairy farm alone and saving up money to buy back my sister. Yet the days pass, and I tell myself that this time, this time, I’m not going to invite Aithar over again the next day.
Each time, we part with a kiss and me demanding that he come back the next day, which he enthusiastically agrees to. And I’m delighted that he’s interested in returning, too.
I should go and visit his friends in town. I should ask about Rafaela. I should move our relationship forward.
But I just…don’t.
We’re stalled, and I know it’s my fault. I’m seizing a little joy for myself and it’s hard to give that up. I’m not sure I want to change things yet. Why rock the boat when things are just fine as they are? I roll onto my back and stretch, pleased with myself. “The flavored butter is working out really well, you know. I sell out almost immediately each time.”
Aithar reaches for me, but I capture his hand in mine and twine our fingers together instead. It’s another way of me keeping control of the situation, even in a small way. “You are doing a fantastic job with your business. How is production?”
“Behind. I should probably be out in the barn right now, getting another batch of butter started.” But I don’t get up from bed. I just lift our twined hands to my mouth and kiss his knuckles.
“I could come help more often. Or perhaps one of my friends—”
“No.” It’s not the first time he’s offered for others to help, or for him to assist to bring my production up to demand. “It’s my job, and I want everything that goes out the door to be something I created.”