Fuck it, maybe we are ready after all.
Or maybe we’re not, but, well, fuck it all the same.
“Tell me, cricket,” I murmur, inching my way up her thigh with the hand on my uninjured side. “Are you sure you’re not in too much pain?”
“Not too much,” she confirms, and then lets out a low moan when I don’t stop at the hem of her dress.
My fingers continue up her inner thigh and she bites her lower lip, tensing to keep still, probably remembering I told her we weren’t ready, and wondering what the hell I’m doing.
“Are you in pain… here?”
I cup her pussy through her tights with my palm, and she lets out a second, louder moan. “I don’t think so,” she shivers. “Maybe you should touch me more… just to be sure.”
Smirking, I slip my fingers under her tights and panties, touching her folds. “You’re wet for me, cricket,” I breathe, toying with her clit.
She bucks against me, but then grimaces, and I can tell she’s not as free from pain as she’d like me to think. “You’re gonna have to keep still,” I tell her. “Let me pleasure you, and keep still.”
Letting a long, loud breath escape her, she does her best to relax against me, closing her eyes as I rub her clit very lightly. It’s the kind of light touch that I know serves only to frustrate her. No matter how thankful I am to have her in my arms again, no matter how much I tell myself I will spend the rest of my life groveling at her feet, I just can’t help the streak of sadism that pops up whenever it comes to sex. I toy with her clit a while longer, keeping her in a state of shuddering frustration, until she’s clearly convinced this is going to turn into one ofthosedenial sessions.
I used to keep her like this on my lap for ages, happily denying her all afternoon. And I still derive an intense satisfaction from knowing her pleasure is entirely in my hands. But then it occurs to me that she’s entirely too submissive this time.
In the past, she would loudly protest, playfully pressing my hand against her folds, trying to get me to give her the pleasure I was withholding. She was my bratty, cheerful, outspoken little cricket, but now, she’s lying still, all her features tense with the will to submit.
Maybe she thinks she deserves to suffer, I suddenly realize with a pang.
That thought makes my heart twist in pain, and I push a finger into her, harder than I probably should.
But she gasps in happy surprise. “Quill!” she groans loudly, as I start to finger her, using my thumb to continue to apply pressure to her clit.
I can feel her body go rigid with the effort of keeping still, and once more, remorse eats at me. Maybe being tense like this hurts her even more. My eyes are burning again, a lump in my throat, as I bring her to orgasm with my fingers, then feel her sink against me, panting hard.
I remove my fingers and cup her pussy again, my palm against her wringing the last bits of pleasure from her. My other arm goes to stroke her back, still moving a bit stiffly from the injury.
“You’re my good girl,” I purr into her ear.
“Yes, Quill,” she says, her voice catching, “I want to be. I will try very hard to be.”
I try and fail to swallow the lump in my throat. Her promise just reminds me we’re not ready. We really aren’t, because I’ve fucked with her mind hard these past few years, and it’s going to take time for her to heal. If she even can. Any reasonable person would wait for however long it took. The thing is, I’m not reasonable. And neither is my Piper.
And so, as I feel her huddle in my arms, as the sun sets slowly over the lake, painting the sky with streaks of pink, I bring down my lips to hers and steal the kiss I once thought I’d lost forever.
Chapter 25
Piper
“So much for the questions,” I say, as his lips pull away from mine.
Crap.Why do I always put my foot in my mouth? I don’t want him to ask me questions. I want him to fuck me.
Luckily, my words don’t seem to prevent him from sliding a hand up my shirt and cupping it over each of my breasts in turn. I moan as he plays with my nipples, running his thumb over them, flicking them and causing tingles of pleasure to shoot straight to my core. It’s so different from the way he used to pinch them hard, though I have to admit I like that too.
He doesn’t seem to have any intention of hurting me today, though, and I guess that’s a good thing, because no matter how much I tried to downplay it, my body is still very sore.
Then I gaze up at his face, and startle at the sadness pooling in his eyes.
“Quill,” I whisper nervously, as he strokes my breasts with one hand, and reaches down to tuck a tendril of my hair behind my ear with the other.
“I do have a lot of questions,” he says, forcing himself out of whatever painful thoughts he’d sunken into.
