Not a single sound passed those plump lips.
“Tell me you don’t want my help getting you off.”
This time, she let out a soft, barely audible moan. Her head tilted back more, our noses nearly touching now.
“Tell me, Parker.”
Her eyes moved between mine. “Don’t kiss me.”
My forehead creased in question.
“Kissing is too much, Beckham,” she admitted, quieter this time.
“Is this too much?” My hand bumped hers out of the way, and I fuckingwhimperedwhen I felt how wet she was. She’d dragged her hand up to her clit while playing with herself, so I did the same. My pointer finger circled the rim of her entrance before sliding up the center of her pussy. As soon as I reached her clit, she was gasping.
“No,” she panted, utterly breathless. Breathtaking. All of it.
Fuck.
“You’re telling me I can touch you?” I clarified. If she didn’t want this—wantme—I’d stop. I’d lose my mind doing it, but I would.
She nodded.
“I need your words, Parker.”
“Yes,” she breathed.
With her permission, I began circling her bundle of nerves slowly, carefully at first before adding more pressure. I wanted so badly to refresh my mind of the sight of her writhing beneath me, but I didn’t want this to end. Maybe it was the heat of the moment driving her to wanting my hands on her, and if that was the case, I wanted to savor this moment and not miss a damn second of it.
So many things had been swiped out from underneath me in an instant—the body of a horse, the love of my life, my best friend. I couldn’t let this be one of them.
I’d worship her for hours if she’d let me. Teeter her on the edge only to bring her back down, over and over again.
Her eyelids fluttered closed for the briefest moment, lips parted, and a moan stuck in her throat before she pinned her eyes back on me. She looked wild and ravenous, and I wondered if she thought of our past as often as I did.
I braced my other hand beside her head, gazeroaming down every inch of her body until it stopped where my fingers disappeared between her legs.
She bent her knees slightly when she realized where I was looking, her thighs trying to press together.
“I-I have stretch marks now?—”
My eyes flew to hers as my fingers stilled. “Don’t hide from me.”
Her lashes fluttered while those cheeks turned more rosy than before. “I just… I don’t look the same.”
“You think I do?”
She stared at me, seemingly speechless, so I reluctantly removed my hand to grab the waistband of my sweats. I tugged them down, exposing my hip bone farther, all the way, until the side of my thigh was showing. The gnarly scar was on full display.
She inhaled sharply before shoving up on her elbows. “What happened?”
“Was helping some buddies corral a loose bull. He charged me, sliced his horn right into my leg.”
So much concern shined in her eyes. Did things like this happen to her when she was gone? Had she been injured, and I’d been clueless?
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
I shook my head, readjusting my sweats before leaning back into her space. “I didn’t show you to get your sorrow. I showed you because I want you to know that time changes us. You’re not judging me for that scar, are you?”
