"I've got you," he murmured. "You're safe."
I buried my face in his chest, breathing him in. "Why do you keep coming?"
"Because you need me. Plus, I take my job seriously to make sure that you’re safe."
"I hate needing you."
"I know." He pressed a kiss to the top of my head. "But you don't have to hate it forever. Maybe you’ll learn to love it."
He stayed until I fell asleep, his arms wrapped around me, his heartbeat steady beneath my ear. When I drifted off, there things that had haunted me were gone. The terrors were nowhere to be found. So I relaxed and let the empty void be my safe haven.
Mikhail
Iwoke to the sound of running water and an empty bed. Shanice was in the shower. That meant that I’d slept so well that I hadn’t heard her get out of bed. I didn’t like that at all. What if someone had made it inside and hurt her? I knew the likelihood of that was almost impossible, but I still didn’t like that I’d slept that soundly.
I lay there for a moment, listening to the faint sound of her moving around, and my body reacted immediately. I was hard, achingly so, the morning arousal made worse by the fact that I'd spent the night holding her soft body against mine. Her scent was embedded in my memory so whether or not I actually smelled her right now was debatable.
Then I heard it. Her voice, soft and slightly off key, singing something I didn't recognize. The sound went straight to my dick. I groaned, scrubbing a hand over my face. This was torture. Sweet, exquisite torture. I loved every minute of it though.
Her scent seemed to be everywhere, clinging to the sheets, the pillows, my skin. Floral and something uniquely her, and it was driving me insane. The fabric beneath me still held the warmth of her body, and I could pinpoint the exact spot where her head had rested against my chest.
I needed relief. I hadn’t found relief at all since I’d been in her bed at night. It was usually my time to think about her while getting off. Ironically, when she was laying in my arms that couldn’t happen. Plus, she was usually crying and needing comfort. That meant my needs had to wait. It’d been too damn long though and now, I couldn’t handle it any more.
My hand moved down my body, palming myself through my jeans. The pressure felt good, but it wasn't nearly enough. I needed skin to skin contact.
I unbuttoned them slowly, the sound of the zipper loud in the quiet room. The relief of freeing myself was immediate but inadequate. I pushed the denim down just enough, my dick springing free, already hard and leaking. The first stroke made me hiss through my teeth.
I was rock hard, the head flushed and sensitive. I'd been in this state for days, working myself up with Shanice, touching her, kissing her, tasting her skin, but never taking what I really wanted.
Control, I reminded myself. This was about control. About drawing out the pleasure until it became almost painful. About proving to myself that I could wait, that I could hold back even when every cell in my body screamed for release.
I stroked myself slowly, deliberately, my grip firm but measured. Base to tip, twisting slightly at the top the way I knew would make it last longer. Building the pleasure instead of chasing it. Enjoying myself. A reward after holding back for so long. My other hand fisted in the sheets, gathering the fabric thatsmelled like her. I brought it closer to my face, inhaling deeply as my hand continued its slow, torturous rhythm.
In the bathroom, Shanice kept singing. Something about summer and freedom, her voice happy and unguarded in a way that made my chest tight even as my dick throbbed in my hand. Still I worked it. Letting the sensations take the lead as I moved my hand up and down. I even stroked my sac, not leaving it out of the party.
Then the water shut off. I should stop and put myself away before she comes out. I should have some shred of decency. But I didn't want to. I wanted her to see and know what she did to me. She needed to understand that every moment of restraint was costing me.
So I kept going, kept my pace deliberately slow, letting my thumb swipe over the head to spread the precum that kept leaking. The sensation made my hips jerk slightly, but I controlled it, held back, and drew it out.
The bathroom door opened.
Steam billowed out, carrying more of that intoxicating sweet floral scent. Then Shanice appeared, wrapped in a towel that barely covered her, her skin still damp and flushed from the hot water, her hair covered in some kind of shower cap.
Shanice froze when she saw me. Her eyes went wide, her lips parting on a sharp inhale. Her gaze traveled from my face down to where my hand was wrapped around my dick, moving in slow, deliberate strokes.
Meanwhile, I didn’t miss a beat. I didn't stop. Didn't hide what I was doing. I just kept stroking, slow and steady, my eyes locked on hers. I squeezed my erection at the tip, closed my eyes briefly while savoring the sensation, and then opened my eyes to hold her stare. I licked my lips when she didn’t shy away. Showtime.
"Mikhail," she breathed, her voice barely audible.
"Morning, baby," I said, my voice rough and deep. I didn't stop moving nor adjust my position. I just lay there against her pillows, one arm behind my head, the other working my length with unhurried precision.
Her gaze dropped again to my hand, watching the movement. I saw her throat work as she swallowed, saw the way her chest rose and fell faster beneath the towel.
"Can I help?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. Her hands clutched the towel tighter.
"No."
The word came out firm, final. I squeezed myself a little harder, twisted my wrist at the top, and had to bite back a groan at how good it felt.
