It wasn’t okay. It sucked, and she didn’t really understand, because she didn’t know any of the underlying details. But instead of having a completely justified meltdown over him leaving her hanging, or demanding to know why, she simply trusted he had his reasons. She snuggled onto her side to watch him dress, unaware of what a temptation she made with one leg draped over the other and her cheek resting on her folded hands. The position turned her body into a study of curves and shadows. So fucking sexy. Sexier still because it wasn’t the least bit contrived. She was just trying to get comfortable. Probably counting down the seconds until he left and she could take matters into her own hands.
The thought sparked a flare of something hot and sharp in his gut. Not lust—at least not completely. He wanted that orgasm. Wanted to be the one to give it to her. Wanted to witness it. He pulled on his pants, ruthlessly shoving his evolving hard-on to the side so he could fasten them. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Sure.”
“If you don’t usually come during intercourse, why were you so dead set on getting down to it, first thing?”
A blush spread across her cheeks. He was a prick for making her uncomfortable, but she looked so adorable all pink and flustered, he couldn’t bring himself to feel sorry. He picked up his shirt and then sat down next to her on the chaise.
“That was your fault.”
“Mine? I’m not the one who asked someone to take his big dick and use it to give me a soul-deep, hurts-so-good, cry-for-mercy orgasm.”
“No, but you’re the one with the big dick.” She pushed herself into a sitting position and crossed her arms over her chest. “I can’t explain it without sounding stupid, but when you stripped down… No.” She shook her head. “Before then. Maybe even as early as when I first saw you in the bar—I got really hot watching you. The way you moved. Your voice. You gave me this restless feeling
, like an ache, in here.” She ran her hand low over her abdomen. “Instead of backing off as we talked, it got stronger. Heavier and…emptier. I’m not sure a guy would understand.”
Maybe not the empty part, but he understood all about heavy and aching. This conversation was bringing him a whole new level of understanding. He didn’t dare touch her, but he nodded.
“Anyway,” she recrossed her arms and went on, “this kind of ache is hard to reach. I mean…” She stared at her toes. “I have my ways for easing it, but it’s like tickling yourself, you know? You can run your fingers over the soles of your feet, and you’ll feel a little tingle, but you’ll never lose control like you can if someone else does it.”
He nodded. “Your mind anticipates the stimuli and suppresses the response.”
“Exactly. It’s pretty hard to get swept away in my own arms. Especially lately.”
Now he did touch her, just the tip of his finger along one rigid shoulder. “What’s up lately?”
“Stress.” She relaxed her shoulders and laughed. “Siberia’s been a shit-storm. Part of the reason for this trip was to get away from all that, but the sources of my stress are proving surprisingly persistent. Tonight, the idea of handing myself over and letting someone fill me until there wasn’t room for anything else sounded like the perfect way of escaping for a few hours. I thought that might work. I might be able to block everything else out and just lose myself in the moment. No complications. No messy reality to ruin things. I wanted to give it a shot.”
She was a woman on vacation, not a patient in his ER. Her stress-induced inability to climax wasn’t his to diagnose, but damn if he didn’t want to solve this for her. Badly. “How long are you in town?” Holy shit. Where had that come from?
Her gaze flickered to his. After a brief silence, during which he could practically hear her debating whether to tell him the truth, she said, “I leave Sunday morning.”
Six days. Not even a week. Plenty of time to work on her little stress problem, and send her home to—ha-ha—Siberia with a smile on her face. He tugged his shirt on. “Give me six days, and I’ll give you the soul-deep, hurts-so-good, pray-for-mercy orgasm you’re craving. Guaranteed.”
Her eyebrows went up. “Guaranteed? You’re awfully sure of yourself, sir.”
“So sure, I’m willing to make you a bet. After you’re done praying for mercy, Czarina, you’re going to tell me your real name. Those are the stakes.” Okay. So that was new data. Apparently he wasn’t cool with fake orgasms or fake names.
“I tell you my name if you win?” She pulled her knees up to her chest and draped her arms around them. “What do I get if I win?”
“In this situation, if you win, you lose—which is not going to happen—but for the sake of parity, if I haven’t fucked the ache out of your hard-to-reach spots by the end of this week, we keep names out of it.”
He watched her face, looking for a clue to her thoughts. She dragged her lower lip through her teeth. “One caveat.”
Inside, he pumped a fist. Outwardly, he smiled. “Name it.”
“I can only give you five dates. I have plans Saturday night.”
“Fine.” Disappointing, actually. He had plans for Saturday night, too, but he’d have canceled his blind date in an instant if she’d been free, though he couldn’t explain why. Five dates would be four more than he needed, not to mention four more than he’d felt compelled to spend with anyone in a long time. “I have a caveat, too.”
She rested her chin on her knees. “Name it.”
He brought his face close to hers while he sneaked a hand into the space between her heels and her backside. “For the next five days, nobody touches this”—he stroked a finger along the silky path he was placing off-limits—“except me.”
“Ohh…kaaay.” She pressed her forehead to her knees for a long beat and then raised her head. “I don’t think that will be a problem.”
He brought another finger into play. Her lips parted, and her pupils expanded. Hell, he was going to give her the best vacation of her life. “None of this.”