style="font-size:15px;"> I didn’t ask myself why I wanted that; I just knew I did.
Sometimes the why didn’t matter.
All that did was that she knew I was there.
I nudged her thighs over my shoulders, tasting her even deeper, using my fingers to play with her clit and give her more pleasure. And this time I didn’t withhold her orgasm from her. I built it up and built it up, letting the sounds of her breathing and the tightness of her muscles tell me how close she was. Then I let it explode through her so that her back arched and she lifted her hips against my mouth, her whole body shaking, her sobs echoing through the apartment.
Then I did it again, touching her, stroking her, building up that pleasure for her, higher, hotter, until she was crying out in my arms. Until she was writhing as I sucked on her tight little nipples. Until she was moaning as I moved down to her clit once more and teased that with my tongue, my fingers gently exploring her soaking wet pussy.
Until she was shaking and gasping as I brought her to another orgasm.
I gathered her in my arms after that, ignoring the fact that my cock was so hard it hurt. This wasn’t about me, not this time. This was about her, about what she needed. And she needed pleasure and care and softness. She needed gentleness.
She needed somewhere where she felt safe, where she didn’t have to fight all the time. Where she could let her guard down.
I wanted that place to be in my arms.
She cried for a while after that, her face—still with the blindfold on—pressed to my chest and I held her, stroking her hair and soothing her.
And even when her sobs had settled into silence I continued to stroke her, keeping things undemanding, not speaking. Just letting the silence sit there.
I gave it another couple of minutes after that, then I undid the fabric of her blindfold and pulled it away from her face.
Her cheeks were a dusky pink and shiny with tears, her eyes red-rimmed, and I expected her to hide from me again. But she didn’t.
‘Why?’ she asked thickly, staring up at me. ‘Why did you do that?’
I reached out, pulled my fingers through her thick black curls. ‘Because you deserve more than punishment. And because you need someone to trust. And I know what it’s like to have no one.’
‘How can you know that? You have your brothers.’
‘I didn’t have them all the time. It’s only been in the last ten years or so that we became close. Even when we were young, Dad kept me away from them.’ I let the silky strands of her hair sift through my fingers. ‘I wasn’t allowed to get close to anyone. My mother died when I was young and so the only person I had was him.’ I hesitated then said, ‘And you’re right. It was lonely. I was lonely. And I wish you could have trusted me then. But I understand why you didn’t.’ I looked down at her, letting her see the truth in my eyes. ‘And I want you to know that you can trust me now.’
She swallowed and her lashes came down, tears glittering on the ends of them. Then she put her cheek against my chest and settled against me. ‘I hate you just a little bit.’
Something inside me ached and I tightened my arms around her.
You can’t let her go. Not now.
‘I know,’ I said aloud, both to her and to the voice inside my head. ‘I would tell you I’m sorry, but I’m not.’
There was silence.
‘I’m not sorry either.’ Her fingers moved on my skin and I felt her thigh shift against mine, brushing my painfully hard cock. ‘Oh. You didn’t—’
‘No. And before you say anything, I don’t want you to take care of it. All of that was for you.’
Another silence.
Then she tipped her head up, her copper eyes meeting mine. ‘You do all this stuff for me. But what do I give you?’
‘You don’t have to give me anything. This isn’t a transaction.’ Such a strange thing to think, when I was all about transactions. When all I wanted was to find that money and give it back to her, pay back my debt. But it was true; I felt the certainty of it deep inside me. ‘I want to take care of you,’ I said. ‘And there’s no requirement that you give me anything in return.’
She stared at me like she didn’t believe me. ‘But what if I want to give you something?’
‘You don’t have to—’
This time it was her finger that pressed over my mouth, silencing me. ‘I don’t have a lot to give anyone, Xander. But I want to give something to you.’
‘Poppy,’ I began.
But her finger fell away and her hand curled around my neck, and she tugged me down so that my lips were on hers, giving me a kiss that was so achingly soft and sweet, my breath caught.
Then she pushed me over onto my back, leaning on top of me, her silky bare skin sliding over mine, her hands stroking my chest.
‘Poppy,’ I said again. ‘You don’t have to—’
She stole the words out of my mouth with another of those soft, sweet kisses. ‘I know I don’t have to,’ she whispered against my lips. ‘But I want to.’
She reached to undo my trousers, sliding her fingers down inside the fabric to curl around my cock, making the breath catch hard in my throat.
She kissed me, exploring my mouth the way I’d explored hers, tasting of sweetness and the spicy flavour that was all her, stroking my dick at the same time, making me pant. Making me ache.
Stopping only to grab a condom from the coffee table, she then rolled the latex down on me, her fingers a gentle torture. Then she straddled me, holding my cock in her hand to position me. She lifted herself up and then slid down slowly onto me. So fucking slowly.
I couldn’t stop the groan that escaped, my hands reaching for her hips and holding on tight as her sweet, slippery heat enveloped me, clenched around me.
Jesus Christ. She was a goddess. A cloud of black hair and golden-bronze skin. Molten metal eyes. Watching me as her hips flexed and she moved. Graceful and fluid, like a flame.
Pleasure licked up inside me and curled around me, stealing my breath, stealing all thought.
Her hands spread on my chest as she balanced herself, the slick glide of my cock in her wet pussy driving me out of my mind.
My fingers pressed into the soft flesh of her hips, trying to urge her to go faster, but she didn’t. She moved, lazily and sensually, turning everything into a gradually building heat, like a pot of water on a stove only slowly coming to a boil.
I groaned out her name because she was killing me, fucking killing me, and I was loving every second of it.
Releasing her hips, I slid my palms down her thighs, feeling the fine sheen of perspiration on her skin, then back up again, curving
