I follow him and the wicked bastard looks back at me. He is smiling, and I’ve had enough. I leap on him and beat his shoulders hard. We laugh, and he carries me before dropping me down.
We then walk into the kitchen, and I feel played with. Played with andturned on.
I slide my pants down,trying to control my nerves. I am standing next to the old-fashioned kitchen island where he gave me the stitches.
“No need to be nervous.”
“I’m not nervous!” I huff, totally nervous. We exchange a glance, and I calm. “Okay, a bit.”
“Why?” Harry asks, pulling gear from the large first aid case.
“Every time you get in my pants…”
“I do bad things?” he asks. I look at him and nod. “But each time I do,” he says, “you’re already wet, and you are willing.”
Thinking back, he is right. I have nothing to say. It’s just confusing and electric.
“Just lie back,” he commands and watches me. In my slightly cute black panties, I climb onto the large wooden kitchen block.
I’m glad I’m wearing slightly sexy lingerie and not my plain panties.
“Now, roll over and show me your butt,” he says, his voice husky.
I do carefully, and I look back and watch him. “You like saying that, don’t you?”
Harry focuses. He then steps up behind me. “More than you will ever know.” I giggle and watch him move behind me. It’s hot, and it’s weird. AF.
“Do not steal my panties.”
“Then what can I steal?” he asks, carefully undoing the bandage around my thigh.
My heart.
“Nothing,” I say. “Just do the doctoring bit.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he says, his expert fingertips working on my leg.
They are inches from my butt and folds, and I am starting to get turned on.
As he smiles and checks the wound, my fists clench. He holds my thigh to examine me, and he growls. “Open your legs.”
“What?”
“Give me access.”
I look back, having forgotten where the steel had cut me. My clit throbs, and I gulp. I then spread my legs for him.
“Further,” he commands.
His large, warm, firm hands hold me in place, and he is half a foot from my core. I know my butt is fully exposed, and I know he is inches from my now wet folds.
He starts to gently tug on the stitches, and my heart pounds loudly.
“Will it hurt?”
“That depends how rough I am.”
There is silence until…
