Imade her feel like that.
Like I don’t want her, when nothing could be further from the truth.
And just like that, a switch flips.
This isn’t about me.
It’s about Bea.
It’s making her feel beautiful.
It’s taking away her stress and giving her pleasure instead.
It’s letting her know just how perfect she is.
So I give my insecurities a firm shove to the back of my mind.
I recall Bea’s words from just a minute ago.
It won’t be weird. It’ll be perfect.
And for the first time since I woke up after surgery, perfect means something different.
Perfect isn’t having two hands. It’s not hearing with your own ears. Perfect doesn’t mean flawless. It doesn’t mean never making mistakes.
Perfect is what you make it.
And this?
This can be perfect. For us.
“I’mverysure,” I tell Bea. “I’m sorry I made you worry. But I promise you, I want this. I want you. More than anything.”
She studies my face for a second. “More than anything?”
“Anything.” I trace the line of her panties before sliding my fingers beneath them and stroking her satiny slick skin. Her breath catches as I move closer to her center. “I want you more than anything, Bea.”
Her legs spread further. “More than food?”
“Yes.” I find her swollen bud and give it an experimental tweak. Her hips jerk. “Do you like it when I do that?”
Just as she starts to answer, I do it again. This time, she lets out a small moan. Her hips thrust towards me again.
“Do you want me to keep doing this?” I ask.
Bea nods. “Yes,” she breathes. “I like it. A lot.”
Releasing her wrists, I use both hands to pull off her panties and toss them to the side. To my surprise, Bea frowns slightly once her wrists are free. And she doesn’t immediately move her arms from above her head, instead leaving them just as they were.
Desire surges.
Does she like it like that?
Does she want?—
With my left hand, I keep working at Bea’s sensitive nerves, learning what she likes, what makes her hips jerk uncontrollably, what makes her go wet with excitement.
But with my right…
