Page 92 of Traces Of You

He didn’t believe that. He didn’t want to.

If you couldn’t hurt someone, then it meant they weren’t all in.

He’d waited a long time to find his person.

He knew beyond a doubt it was her. He just had to get her to believe it too.

“Everyone hurts, Reenie. Don’t shut yourself off to that. There is good pain in life too.”

“I’ll take your word for it. Right now, I just want to feel pleasure.”

She reached for the condom, opened it and covered him, then backed a few steps against the tile wall. She was looking around as if she couldn’t figure out how this was going to happen.

He knew exactly what he was going to do.

He was going to show her he had her and always would. That she could let herself go in his arms. With her body. Even her heart.

The last most of all.

He picked her up under her arms, she wrapped her legs around him. He reached down and guided himself inside of her, then adjusted her down on him deeper.

“Feel good?” he asked.

“Very,” she said. “But I can’t move much this way.”

“You’re not supposed to,” he said. “Let me do the work. Let me show you.”

“You always do it all,” she said.

“Later I’ll let you do it. How about that?”

“Deal,” she said, her eyes closing as he thrust up a few times in jerky movements.

“Touch yourself,” he said.

“I don’t want to let go of you.”

She’d wrapped her arms around his neck in a death grip.

“I’ve got you. I’ll always have you,” he said. “You can do it.”

Her arms loosened, one hand moved down between them, found her private parts and tentatively touched herself.

All he felt was her hand brushing against his belly. The thought of what she was doing to herself was an inferno more than the steam in the shower.

He’d watch her do it one of these days. That was a promise he was making to himself.

“I never realized how good this would feel.” There was wonderment in her voice. Her hand was moving faster, his hips keeping pace.

“Learn to trust me,” he whispered.

The hot water was blasting onto his back, her legs slipping around his hips, but he hitched up a little more, put her against the tile for leverage, pinning her there, one hand on the wall.

She was squeezing him so tightly that he feared he was going to slip out with as fast as she was moving and clenching. He knew she was getting close. It was her telltale sign.

“You’re almost there,” he whispered in her ear. “You can do it. Come all over me. Make me feel it.”

She needed those words of encouragement. They almost always sent her over. As if she couldn’t do it on her own.