“Take off your jeans, I want to see you jerk off.”
His breath hitched in his chest, her words hitting him harder than he had anticipated. He toed off his sneakers and skinned his jeans and briefs off within seconds. His movements urgent, almost frantic. He was no longer capable of the desultory slowness of before. Not when she was watching him like that.
She watched keenly as he pumped his fist up and down his length and thumbed the slick, sensitive head of his cock with each upstroke, before spreading the collected moisture onto his shaft with the downstroke. He kept his pace slow, measured, but it was becoming difficult to maintain that control when she matched the rhythm of his movements with her own finger strokes on her breast and at her clit.
“Stop!” she commanded him, when his rhythm accelerated. He bit back a pained, protesting moan at the request.
“What?” he choked.
“I said stop,” she whispered. She sounded uncertain, but her chin tilted defiantly, and her gaze was unflinching.
He reluctantly released himself and glared at his angrily throbbing dick in sympathy.
Sorry, fella, the lady’s in charge.
Her hands fell away from her own—probably screaming—body, and she scooted to the end of the bed.
“Come here,” she said, still in that throaty whisper. He complied, painfully aware of the fact that he was stark naked, while she remained fully dressed. It was the complete opposite of their first time together, and he wondered if it was intentional.
She was kneeling on the edge of the bed, and he came to stand in front of her, agonizingly aware that his rock hard, pulsing penis was just a couple of inches below her luscious mouth.
Would she give him head? He fucking hoped so. He hadn’t allowed her to put her lips on his cock before. He was well aware that she had wanted to. But he’d been too fucking terrified of the resultant intimacy to relinquish that much control to her.
“Turn around, Ty,” she murmured.
“Turn around?” he asked cautiously.
“That’s what I said,” she nodded, lifting the scarf.
His mouth went dry. He was well aware of her intention, but not sure how he felt about it. Her eyes were smoky with desire but they held his gaze steadily. Reassuringly. “Do you think you can you trust me, Ty?”
Chapter Twenty-One
Did Ty trust Vicki?
Could he?
Staring into that sweet, earnest face, and that unflinching stare, he desperately wanted to.
He turned, crowding the doubts out.
She made a soft, sexy sound of approval. “Sit down,” she invited. He obeyed without hesitation. He felt the mattress shift as she moved back to accommodate him. And waited, shoulders and neck tense, not quite sure what to expect.
When he felt the soft, fluttering kiss in the nape of his neck—fleeting and unexpected—he shuddered. She soothed him with a wordless murmur. She pressed a chain of sweet kisses from that original location at the back of his neck, up toward his ear, then back to his jaw. Whatever she could reach. Her front was pressed against his back, and he loved it. The heat of her. The slight weight of her. The gentle press of her covered breasts against his naked flesh.
The scarf—blindfold—drifted into his field of vision, and he tensed again. To be sightless and defenseless…it was a daunting thought. But Vicki needed to do this. He would happily have put her in a similar position. It was only fair he showed her the same amount of trust she would have given him.
Nonetheless, he couldn’t stop his breath from catching in his throat when she fastened the makeshift blindfold over his eyes. The gauzy fabric was sheer and didn’t cut out the light completely. He could see shapes, but it deprived him of his sight enough to immediately heighten his other senses.
Gooseflesh skittered across the surface of his skin. The tense thrill of anticipation—as he awaited her next move—put him into a state of hyper-vigilance, the likes of which he hadn’t experienced since combat.
But instead of anticipating the worst, the unbearable tension had him hot, hard, and hungry for her touch.
“You’re so beautiful.” Her whisper feathered across his shoulder, followed by the brush of her fingers, as she traced the lines of his tattoo. He’d had buddies who were inked all over, but he just had the one piece, a full sleeve, encroaching into his neck and burgeoning over his left pec.
Now he sat, tense, throbbing, aching, while she kissed and stroked her way across every inch of it. She had left the bed, and he could see the hazy outline of her slender body in front of him as she explored, and touched, and tasted.
The featherlight touches were killing him. Ty wanted more, his cock was slick with pre-cum, pulsing in time with his heavy heartbeat. He wanted her to touch him there. With her mouth, her tongue, her hand, her pussy…anything. Any-fucking-thing to put him out of this agony.