Page 12 of Who Did This To You?

He was almost to the door.

I knew I should let him go.

I shouldn't embarrass myself any more than I already had. I should just stay silent, stuff my painful optimistic eagerness in a box to make room for the practical things that women my age should think about.

That last thought snapped me out of my mental spiral.

Women my age had the right to act however they wanted.

"Zandaor!" I called out. I gripped the rope tightly as I released one of my hands for the briefest of moments to wave at him.

He looked up, his eyes catching sight of me, and a broad smile broke out on his face. I grabbed the rope again, grasping it for dear life. He strode across the room, heading straight for the base of the rope net ladder, only for gotta catch 'em all to step in his path.

I couldn't hear what they were saying, but from the fact that the Norratar was gesturing at the sparring ring in the center of the room, he was trying to redirect him. I shifted slightly, trying to muster the courage to let go enough to shift my weight in a downward direction, but I couldn't do it.

Down below, the Norratar's gestures were getting more insistent, and his tail was lashing. Zandaor undid the front of his outfit, then suddenly peeled the leather down to his waist, tying the armbands across each other.

The Norratar staggered back, his hands clasping his nose.

Zandaor pushed past him, heading to the base of the rope. I watched as he grabbed it from the underside. He was on the opposite side from me, climbing up at the angle where there was no rope underneath him if he lost his grip or slipped. That didn't slow him down. He scaled the ladder like it was nothing, his scent hitting me like a sledgehammer as he got closer, my body flooding with warmth at the first hint of the minty, delicious smell.

"Hey," I said in a breathy tone, once he was a few feet below me.

Wasn't there anything better I could say? Like hi, how you doing, any chance you still have a hard-on for me? Or what's hanging? Or what's a handsome guy like you doing in a place like this? No, all of those were terrible too. Hey was just fine. It encompassed all my excitement and eagerness and trepidation all in one word.

He looked up at me with a broad smile.

"You never finished your tour," he said. "Want to show me where my room is?"

"Yes, but there is one problem," I said.

"What is it?" he asked.

"I can't get down," I said. "I'm too scared to let go of the ropes."

"I can help you with that," he said, and then he moved around to the edge of the net ladder, transferring from the underside to the side I was on, moving toward me. When he got to me, he didn't stop next to me as I expected.

He covered me.

His knees went under my thighs, his chest against my back, his hands gripping the rope near mine.

"Now you can't go anywhere unless I let you," he murmured, his voice deep.

"Zandaor!" I gasped as his hips pressed against my ass, pinning me against the net, and all questions about whether he was standing to attention. One of the ropes caught in between my legs, adding to the delicious sensation.

"Yes?" he asked, his tone managing to sound innocent and downright predatory at the same time. Then he lowered his voice, murmuring in my ear. "You must be absolutely dripping for me right now. I'm sorry I left you needy, my Lithoame, but I will not take you right here, where anyone can feast on the sound of your pleasure. Move with me, and I'll get you there. I'll take care of you the way you need, one touch at a time."

One of his hands covered mine, and he gently plucked it from the rope, moving it down. He set it down, and I gripped the rope. He repeated the motion with my other hand, and then his arm snaked around my waist, pulling me back against his body, holding me.

"I've got you," he said. "Close your eyes and move with me. We are one."

I closed my eyes.

I felt his knee drift back from my thigh and I slid that foot off the rope, closing the gap until I could feel the pressure of his leg against mine. I followed it down to a rope below, and then the other leg went, and I moved with him. Occasionally he let go of my waist so he could reposition his own grip, but any moment I felt unsteady, his hand was there, pressing me back against him, letting me feel the way our bodies lined up together.

My fear fled before his touch, and before I knew it, my feet were on a solid surface, but he was still holding me, his hand on my belly, pressing me back against him. I leaned my head back, my eyes still closed, and I felt his breath, listened to the deep thrum of his heartbeat.

"That was a great Orvanis," he said. "You sought out an edge of your experiences and challenged it."