He chuckled, reaching out and lifting my chin so I was looking at him again. “Told you, there ain’t no right or wrong. This ain’t a test, or a game, or a competition. This is just two consenting adults, alone, doin’ what feels good. Only advice I might give you is, to start out with, don’t squeezetoohard, but I also ain’t gonna break, so you don’t have to act like I’m made of porcelain or some shit.” He crossed his arms again. “This is about you, this time around. Don’t worry about how I feel. You got your hands on me, I’m enjoying it. Promise.”
“Okay.” That actually did make me feel a little better. “I just…I don’t want to hurt you or anything. I know you’re…sensitive, down there.”
He laughed again. “Honey, you plannin’ on kneeing me in the sac or something?”
I glared up at him. “Of course not!”
“Then quit worrying. It don’t bend when it’s hard, and it only stretches so far, but…honestly, just…doit. Touch me. Quit thinkin’, quit stallin’, and just reach out and grab it. I don’t bite.” He glanced toward the ceiling with a shrug. “Well, Ido,but not in this situation.”
I laughed despite my hammering, jangling nerves. “Okay…okay. Here it goes.”
He just stood still, arms crossed over his chest, like a living sculpture of an ancient god or a warrior from times of old, massive and hard and muscular and perfect, with a dauntingly enormous erection staring me in the face.
I started at his thighs, palms sliding upward from his knees. I couldn’t help a detour back to his butt, because it really was incredible, taut and round and hard but yet the skin so soft, with a light dusting of dark hair. And then up to his abs, because what woman could resist touching that stomach, the hard marble blocks of muscle? I traced the V-shaped indents with my thumbs, and let my gaze fix on his erection. I sucked in a breath, blinked hard, let out the breath, and wrapped my right hand around him.
Oh…oh my. Oh mygod.Sobig. Hard, yet silky soft. Springy, yet containing a core of steel. Smooth, and warm. I let my hand travel down, until my knuckles brushed his belly, and wrapped my other hand around him. I glanced up at him: his belly was tensed, and his jaw was ticking and pulsing, and his brows were drawn down, and his eyes were locked on me. He was stone-still, except for the gentle rise and fall of his breathing and the tick of his jaw.
One hand, again. I slid my fist up, slowly, marveling at the feel of him in my hand. I was amazed at myself, for doing this, inordinately pleased and proud, and wildly giddy. I pulled him away from his body, toward me, and then from side to side, testing the range of motion. Rubbed the rounded top part with my thumb, brushing the tiny little slit with my fingernail; he flinched when I did that.
“Crap, did I hurt you?” I asked, somewhat breathlessly, a little panicked, since he hadn’t flinched even when getting punched during the fight or sliced along the arm in the alley.
He shook his head. “Nope. Exact opposite.”
I flicked the little slit with my thumbnail again. “So this…? You like it?”
“Yep.”
I kept my grip loose and light, and slid my fist up and down his length a few times, mimicking what I’d seen on the video. “And this? It feels good?”
His mouth quirked, as if he was restraining a laugh. “Hell yes. Crazy good.”
I used both hands, and let myself enjoy the sensation of just stroking him and petting him, caressing his length, using all sorts of grips and touches and rhythms, experimenting and exploring.
I grinned up at him. “I really like this.”
“You like what, exactly?” he asked, the furrowed ridge of his brows deepening, the ticking of his jaw becoming more rapid, his words coming through clenched teeth.
“Everything.” I watched my hands, liking the contrast of my skin tone against his, the erotic view of his erection sliding between my fingers, the way he seemed to be struggling to contain his reactions. “Touching you. The way you feel. The way you look.” I paused, just watching myself touching him. “I like that…that I can see you physically trying to…I don’t know. Hold back your reactions.”
He grunted wordlessly. “Not a reaction I’m holdin’ back, sweetheart.”
“Really? Then what are you struggling with?”
He made a sound that was part laugh, part grunt. “Everything. I wanna let you just touch me, and take as long as you want, but…it feels so fuckin’ good, Eva. I’m goin’ a bit crazy, here, watching you touch me. You’re so far outta my league it ain’t even funny, but here you are, gorgeous and incredible, and you’re touching me like you’re the one getting all the enjoyment outta this.”
“Because I am.”
He growled, literally growled. “You have no idea what this is like for me.” He sucked in a deep breath, and I could see his abs tautening and hardening. “I’m a real bastard. I know that about myself. I’m a vulgar, violent, rotten son of a bitch, and I ain’t ever gettin’ into Heaven. So I figure this is as close as I’m ever gonna get, havin’ a woman like you waste her time with a piece’a shit like me.”
I frowned up at him. “You don’t think very highly of yourself, do you?”
“Nah, I do.” He inhaled sharply, held the breath, and let it out slowly as I stroked him with leisurely, lazy, slowness. “I’m a good-looking motherfucker. I’m built like a god. I can take a hell of a lot of pain, and I can dish out even more. I can run the hundred-yard dash in a damn near Olympic time. I’m smarter than most people would assume. I’m a good brother, a good friend, and damn good in bed. But am I a good person? Nah. Probably not, and I’m okay with it.”
I caressed him with short, soft, sliding strokes, watching him breathe even more deeply as I did so. “I disagree. I think youarea good person. You’ve been nothing but kind to me.”
“Maybe I’m just using you. Taking what I can get from you.”
“I’m not expecting anything from you, Baxter. That’s not what this is. I don’t know what it is. Except that I’m getting as much from this as you are, if not more.”
