“We should talk about that,” she started.
He gave that glorious piece of flesh he obsessed over a nice hard smack. “I’m not doing it tonight. I am going to do something else.” He slid his hand to her thigh. He’d noticed the tightness in her eyes. She could use a session, but again, his go bag was floggerless—another oversight. He had to take care of her in a different manner. He’d studied up on her type of injury. She was a stubborn girl and neglected her body, preferring to use that big brain of hers. She needed a good rubdown, but likely found it far too intimate.
If there was one thing he was going to do, it was give her what she needed.
He slid his hand over her hamstrings, giving her firm pressure as he stroked down her leg.
She squirmed a little. “Hey.”
He gave her another smack. “Hush unless you want me to stop.”
A groan shuddered through her body as he squeezed her calf. “What are you doing, Weston?”
When she was trying to distance, she always called him Weston. He wanted her purring his Christian name before the night was through. “You’re in pain. I’m trying to make sure you can walk in the morning.”
“Oh, oh. I shouldn’t let you, but do that again.”
Yes, that was what he wanted. He wanted her purring. He ran his thumb over a tight muscle, finding the pressure point and pressing down. She groaned again, but after a moment the knot relaxed and he moved on to the next one.
She wasn’t leggy like her sister. Charlotte was tall, but Chelsea was more average height. Her legs weren’t long, but he liked being bigger than her. He could take her entire calf and engulf it in his two hands. She seemed to relax further every time he did it. Over and over he rubbed, finding the knots and working them out. He slid her socks off and rubbed her feet.
“God, Simon. That feels so good.”
“Aftercare. Or in this case simply care. It’s what I always wanted to give you.” The one time he’d been her chosen Dom, she’d called for her sister after he was done. She hadn’t known he’d carefully prepped an aftercare room. He’d borrowed an aromatherapy machine and poured lavender oil in it because it was supposed to be relaxing. He’d made sure the sheets on the massage table had been warmed and he’d stupidly laid out a single, perfect, chosen-by-hand rose. He’d made a complete idiot of himself.
And she’d called for Charlotte.
“Simon, I’m sorry about that day. I was…scared. I don’t know. You want more than I can possibly give you.” She sighed as he pressed his thumb into the arch of her foot.
He wanted everything from her, but he had to be patient. “We’ll take it slow. Are you ready to give me your knickers?”
“No.”
He would have to try harder.
“You don’t think they’re ugly?” Chelsea asked as his hand moved across the longest of her scars.
This was why she’d always held him back. He knew it, but it was ridiculous. There was nothing ugly about her body. She just had a few scars and so did he. “I think you have beautiful legs, Chelsea. There’s nothing at all wrong with you.”
He straddled her and pushed her hair out of the way so he could get to the nape of her neck. He put his mouth there, nipping and kissing and licking his way down her spine. He loved the way she shivered when he licked the back of her knees. When he’d given her back the full treatment, he flipped her over.
He went straight for her neck, burying his face there while he let his hand find its way down to her pussy. He slid his fingers under the band of her knickers and right across her clitoris.
Chelsea nearly sat straight up.
He eased her back down, his mouth playing at hers. “You like that?”
“Oh my god.” She shook slightly and her eyes flared every time he circled her clit.
“Do you know how much better it would feel if it was my mouth sucking at your clit? I want to taste you, Chelsea. I want to shove my tongue up your cunt and suck down all that glorious juice it’s making for me. Do you want me to kiss and lick and suck at your pussy?”
“I don’t…god, I can’t think…that feels so good.”
He pulled his hand away. “I told you what I wanted. Are you going to give it to me or should I turn over and go to sleep?”
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.
Damn it all. He’d overplayed his hand and he couldn’t go back now. He should have gotten her hotter, tried harder.
If he went back on his word, he would never be her Dom. He would always be the boy she could do whatever she wanted with and that wasn’t what she needed.
“All right then.” He rolled off her and got to his feet. “Go to sleep, Chelsea. I’ll wake you when it’s time to move.”
He’d gambled and lost. He turned away and walked back to the small, dilapidated desk. He would sit and watch over her since that seemed to be all she would allow him to do.
It was going to be a long night.
* * * *
When had he become such a drama queen? She’d hesitated for a half a second and he’d gotten up. And she was the martyr? He was turned away from her, his hands on his hips. His head was down and he was breathing heavily.
She had two choices. She could do exactly what he said and turn over and pretend nothing at all had happened and maybe they would be on a better footing in the morning, or she could get him to do that thing he’d said he would do to her girl parts. That thing had felt amazing when he’d done it with his thumb. She couldn’t imagine what it would feel like if it was his tongue touching her there.
Of course it could be a truly awful experience. What if she tasted horrible? She’d showered and done all the hygienic things a girl should do. Hell, she’d even shaved, not because she thought some gorgeous British god of a man might want to inspect her lady bits, but because she hated all that hair. At least she was fairly certain she was clean down there, except that she was ridiculously wet, but that kind of seemed to be the point of the exercise.
A weird Venn diagram formed in her head. In the A bubble was her pride and in the B was her curiosity. She quickly placed peace of mind and safety in A and orgasm in B. Yep, she was seriously curious about that orgasm. Then there was that place where the bubbles overlapped. Her knickers. She could keep them and her pride or she could give them up and potentially get an orgasm. That was kind of wrong. She would be pretty damn proud if she actually had one, right? It wasn’t like this was a game and if she gave in to the Dom she lost. She got a potential orgasm and proof positive that her parts worked like other women’s. Circle B won.