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)
“I know you will. I’m still anxious, though. It’s been a long time since I’ve been with any man. And this is different than our playing.”
His fingers move over the ropes, gently looping one over my wrist and then the other. His actions are so careful, so precise. He’s doing his best to ensure that I always remain comfortable. “It is very different than our ‘playing,’ as you call it. After today, if you still wish to see more of me, I would like for us to not call it ‘playing’ or ‘fooling.’ To me it is no play or foolishness. It is me adoring my mate. It is me pleasuring her. I would not downplay it for anything.”
I hadn’t realized my choice of words bothered him, but it’s clear from his somber tone that he’s thought about this a lot. “All right,” I say softly. “If we go through with this and we still want to look each other in the eye, we’ll rethink our relationship.”
“You will rethink,” he corrects, his tone sweet. “I have said from day one that I am madly in love with you.” His hand smooths over the ropes and I realize he’s knotted them while we’ve been talking. “Give it a tug?”
I do as he asks, testing the makeshift bonds. “They seem fine.”
“And you cannot move your hands?”
I shake my head.
“Not even if I do this?” He glides his knuckles along the inside of my arm, watching my face.
I squirm, suddenly ticklish. “Still trapped.”
“Or this?” He boldly caresses one breast and strokes his thumb over the tip, and fire shoots right to my belly.
Breath explodes out of me, and I shake my head.
“And you remember our word?”
“Buttermilk,” I whisper.
“And you’re mine? And you’ll let me take control and give you all the pleasure you deserve?” His eyes are heated and intense as he continues to cup my breast, his thumb moving back and forth over my now-stiff nipple.
I manage a shaky nod.
“Good, because I’m going to touch you all over until you come.”
“You should know I’m nervous, and if I’m nervous, it makes it that much harder for me to orgasm.”
“I’m not worried.”
Well, that makes one of us. I just don’t want to disappoint him. It’s our first time together like this and if he can’t make me come, I could shatter his ego. It could destroy any intimacy we have.
No pressure.
“You’re thinking too much,” he tells me, moving in close so he can lightly kiss my lips. “Stop it. Just enjoy yourself.”
Like it’s that easy? I make a face at him. “Oh sure. Now that you’ve said that, I’ll definitely just turn my brain right around and—”
My words end in a squeak as he leans over and kisses the underside of my bare arm. I had no idea I was that sensitive there, but his kiss sends shockwaves through me.
“Soft,” Aithar murmurs. “You always look so soft to me and now I know you really are. It’s going to be impossible keeping my hands off you after this.” He leans in and brushes his lips over my elbow and then travels back down toward my armpit. He avoids it (which I’m strangely grateful for, because I don’t find them erogenous) and moves to my quivering breasts, then presses a kiss atop each one.
I suck in a breath, and my body pulses in response. My breasts feel tight, and the throbbing between my thighs feels stronger. I’m fascinated as I watch him move over my body. He holds himself upright over me, his weight propped up on his hands as he gently kisses his way over my torso. He moves over my shoulders, across my breasts, plants light kisses atop the peak of each one, then moves back over to my other shoulder. The underside of each arm is given light nips, and he reaches up once to tug on the bonds, as if reminding me that they’re strong enough to keep me in place.
“Are you still all right?” he asks between kisses. “Still enjoying?”
I nod, because I truly am enjoying myself. It’s nice to let him worship me—because that’s what this is. Aithar has made it clear that there’s no part of me that he doesn’t adore, and he wants to kiss every bit of me, stretch marks and all. “You can keep going.”
“Excellent.” He kisses along my breast again, then moves a tickling path down to my belly button. “This is a navel, yes?”
“Yup.” I’ve learned through my own explorations that he doesn’t have one, which was unnerving the first time I saw it. Now I just think it’s fascinating. I can’t picture how a’ani are created if they have no navel, but I guess there’s no need for an umbilical cord if you’re just cloned in a tube. Thinking about it reminds me of how different we are in our backgrounds, and it just makes me ache to love him more, because someone should. He deserves to be loved with fire and intensity, because he has so much love of his own to give in return.