Chapter 22

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Anna

It feels daring, almost dangerous, to say things like, "I like it when you touch me," to Troy. Like I'm courting disaster. But each time I tell him what I like, what I want, he gives me more of that. And where's the disaster in that?

It must be only in my head that asking for what I want is dangerous. I'm sure I could suss out why if I thought about it, but now is not the time for that kind of introspection. Pushing aside those misgivings, I lean into the pleasure that Troy's so freely offering.

He likes it when I touch him too. Because when I quit acting like I don't know how to touch him and just do what I want, he reacts in delicious ways—groaning, moaning, sucking in air, and murmuring, "That feels good." It's like my instincts aren't faulty after all. Like if I just give myself permission to want and to act on that, it actually does work out well. Or it can, anyway. Like now.

He has a fine layer of soft dark hair over his pecs, and I run my fingers through it, enjoying the firm muscle beneath, then up and over his shoulder as he peppers kisses down my collarbone, his destination clear.

When he gets to the top of my breast, he pauses and meets my eyes. "Is this okay?" he asks, his breath making my nipple pull into an even tighter peak as he waits for my answer.

Biting my lip, I nod.

Then his mouth is on my nipple, his tongue working as he sucks, and, "Oh my god," I hiss, squirming.

He makes an encouraging sound in his throat, his hand now moving down my body, gripping my thigh, and dragging his fingers up, up, up, the fabric of my shorts riding up with them. His fingertips tease along the crease where my thigh meets my torso, just along the edge of my panties.

At my panted, "Yes. Please. Touch me," he moves my panties out of the way, his fingers parting me, skating lightly over me. I spread my legs, feeling wanton and hedonistic, desperate for more.

God, no one has ever made me feel so much with so little effort. With Jared?—

But I cut that thought off savagely. Jared doesn't hold a candle to Troy. That's all the comparison needed at this point. And that man has ruined enough of my life. I'm not going to let even the memory of him—and his clumsy attempts at foreplay—ruin the hottest moment of my life.

When Troy removes his hand, I groan my disappointment, and he lifts his head, smiling sweetly. "I got you, sweetheart. Don't worry." Then he moves back up, kissing my mouth, his tongue seeking mine, and I give it to him, surging up against him, needing as much as he'll give me.

His hand, that talented, wonderful thing, rests on my stomach. Then I feel him tugging at the ties at the waist of my shorts before sliding his hand inside. Instead of going up from the leg, he's going down from the top, rubbing me over my panties before tugging them to the side again, exposing me to his talented fingers.

He dips a finger inside me, just a little, then rubs up over my clit. He draws tiny circles, varying the speed and pressure, like he's experimenting. When he finds a spot that feels good, I moan—since my mouth is otherwise occupied and I can't speak—hopefully communicating that I like what he's doing.

He stays there for a bit, but not long enough, instead dipping a finger inside me again. This time he moves farther, going deeper, rubbing me from the inside, the heel of his palm grinding on my clit, and it feels so good. Withdrawing slightly, a second finger joins the first, and the stretch is exquisite, enough to feel full, not so much that it's painful, and I moan again.

Ending the kiss, he props himself up on one arm, looking down at me. His eyes flicker between my lips and chest and back up to meet my gaze once more, a look of concentration on his face as he fingers me.

Feeling oddly exposed and like I need to do something, I fumble for him with the arm that's between us. The angle is awkward, but I make it work, rubbing him through his shorts.

His eyes fall closed, his jaw clenching, and his face like this is a thing of beauty. I like his smiles and his normal easygoing expressions, but this intensity and the fact that I'm bringing him pleasure is ridiculously sexy.

"Oh, that's good," he whispers, his hips thrusting into my hand, his attention never faltering, though he changes what he's doing again, switching back to rubbing my clit.

When my breath catches, a smile ghosts over his lips. "Yeah. That's what I like," he murmurs, the words as much for him as they are for me, I think.

Dipping his head, he captures my nipple again, sucking it hard, and that combined with the way he's rubbing my clit … "Oh god." He makes that encouraging sound again, not letting up at all, and I'm clutching at whatever I can reach, my free hand scrabbling on the bed, gripping the blanket then my hair, my whole body undulating as my orgasm dances closer.

Another sound of encouragement from Troy, and then it hits, washing over me like a wave, my whole body jerking as my pussy spasms, and still he keeps going until I grip his forearm. "Please. Enough. Stop," I pant, feeling lax and warm all over now.

Lifting his head, he grins before kissing me, sliding his hand up just a little so he's not touching my clit anymore, but still indecently close.

I kiss him back, this kiss lazier than any before, like this was all he came in here for.

But that's not enough. It's his turn.

If nothing else, Jared's inability to get me off only convinced me more of the importance of reciprocation.

Rolling toward him, I reach for him, and he groans when I rub him through his shorts again. But I need more. He needs more.

Gently, I push on his chest. "Lie back," I whisper.

His eyes a little wary, he does as I ask. Propping myself on one arm, I rub my hand all over his chest, and he closes his eyes, enjoying my touch as though it's the best thing ever.

I like that he's so appreciative of my hand on him. And if rubbing his torso makes him feel good, how much better will rubbing his dick feel?

I tug free the button on his shorts, the teeth of the zipper rasping loudly in the quiet of my room. His eyes pop open, and I watch him as he watches my hand undoing his shorts. There goes his jaw clenching again, and when he meets my eyes, they seem full of questions. I answer with a dip of my chin. Yes. Yes, I am going to do this.

The open fly of his shorts reveals faded plaid boxers, and I slide my hand beneath the waistband, his skin hot beneath my palm, the hair of his treasure trail growing thicker the farther down I go. When my fingers wrap around the smooth skin of his dick, it jumps in my hand, and he groans softly.

I give him an experimental stroke, and he reflexively thrusts into my hand, his eyes opening into slits. Then he reaches for me, his hand cupping the back of my head, pulling my face close so he can kiss me as I stroke him slowly.

After a few minutes, he uses his free hand to shove his shorts and boxers down, and I break away from our kiss with a gasp, needing to see all of him for the first time.

He lets out a soft groan as I stroke him harder, faster, licking my lips at the sight of the broad, flushed crown seeping a shiny bead of precum above my fist. "Not fair," he murmurs, and I turn a questioning gaze on him. He runs a hand down my bare back, stopping at the waist of my shorts. "I'm naked and you're not."

Smirking, I jerk him a little faster. "You want me to stop so I can take my shorts off?"

Another groan. "God, no. Don't stop."

The fingers of one hand trail over the skin of my back while his other hand wraps over mine around his dick, adding more pressure, moving faster, showing me what he needs. When he releases me and I continue with what he showed me, he hisses again. "Yes. Like that. So good."

His fingers slip inside my shorts as I work him, watching the way his hips flex, the muscles in his abs and thighs jumping, his jaw ticking, his head pressing back into the pillow. This man is so sexy, and it's surreal that he's here, with me, in my bedroom.

"Yes, yes. Don't stop. Don't fucking stop." At his urgent whispers of encouragement, I squeeze harder, move faster, wanting to give him the same thing he gave me.

His head lifts off the pillow, his abs standing out in high relief, his fingers digging into the top of my ass, and then it happens. He comes. Thick creamy fluid shoots onto his belly. I keep stroking him as it tapers off, finally stopping when he relaxes, his whole body going lax, and I smile at the results of my handiwork.

Releasing him, I gently lay his softening dick on his belly and reach for a tissue from my nightstand, wiping off my hand and sitting for a moment, not sure what to do with myself now.

But I don't have to wait long. Troy rouses himself after a beat, eyes opening on an indrawn breath, looking down at himself, then up at me, a satisfied smile curving his lips. He reaches for me, and I lie down with him, kissing him briefly before curling up against his side, my head pillowed on his shoulder, his arm wrapped around me and holding me close.

He sighs, content, and I let my eyes fall closed. This isn't exactly what I expected when I invited him in. Honestly, in my experience, guys are always in a hurry to get their dick out and inside the nearest orifice, but that didn't seem like Troy's goal at all.

He wanted to pleasure me . To touch me, make me feel good, and while he was certainly happy to have a turn, I have the distinct impression that he would've been fine if I hadn't offered to reciprocate.

That doesn't fit with my preferences, though. I want everyone to get what they need, regardless of who comes first.

But now we have to clean up because he's messy. "Do you want a shower?" I ask quietly into the comfortable silence. "Or just a wet towel?"

He seems to rouse, like he was almost asleep, and I kinda like the fact that he feels so comfortable here with me that he could nod off like that. Using his arm around me to pull me up, he kisses me again. "A shower sounds nice. You gonna join me?"

Biting my lip, I shrug. "I suppose that can be arranged."

He playfully swats my ass—not hard, though. "Then let's arrange it."

Grinning, I climb out of bed, feeling the weight of his eyes on me as I walk out of the room and into the bathroom where I turn on the shower.

A moment later, he's behind me, crumpled tissues in one hand, his front to my back, leaning over and kissing me on the neck. "You look so pretty like this, all flushed and topless. You should get naked, though."

"Oh, I should?" I toss over my shoulder, feeling the water temperature again.

"Mmhmm. We're getting in the shower, after all."

"That's true." It feels silly to be shy or self-conscious at this point—he's naked, I'm topless, he's had his fingers inside me—but I am anyway.

When I straighten, he turns me to face him, his hands resting on my hips, and he bends to kiss me lightly on the lips. It's brief and sweet, and then he's looking into my face, his expression serious. "You don't have to. Join me in the shower, I mean. Or undress all the way. If you don't want to."

My cheeks heat, which is so ridiculous, but I really can't help it. "No, it's not that, it's …"

"I get it," he murmurs, drawing me in for a hug. "I know you're shy. It's okay. I feel like we've pushed several of your boundaries already. I can clean up, we can get dressed, and then we can watch a movie or something. Or I can leave if you prefer."

"No!" The objection is immediate. And louder than I intended. I clear my throat, and when I chance a glance at him, he's grinning. "I don't want you to leave."

"Okay. I won't leave. But you still don't have to shower with me if it makes you uncomfortable."

My eyes stray to his chest, and I trace a finger over the hairs there. "No, I … I want to." I'm being new Anna, right? Brave Anna, who's not afraid to do things.

"Why don't you get in first," I say, stepping out of his hold. "I'll get a towel down for you."

He studies me for a beat as I do just that, but then, his voice light, just says, "Okay," pulls open the shower curtain, and steps into the shower.

Having a few seconds to myself helps—even if we're in the same room and he's only behind a light green curtain. I just need a second to recenter, reconnect. This is what I want, though. I want to spend time with Troy. Be naked with Troy. Be less self-conscious about it.

But I think it's kind of a fake it till you make it situation. With one more deep breath, I push my shorts and panties down my hips, picking them up from the floor and tossing them into my bedroom before grabbing two washcloths and climbing into the shower.

Troy's broad back is facing me, the water sluicing down sculpted muscle, and yeah, this was definitely the right choice. He turns, smiling at me, running his hands through his wet hair and down his face to wipe away the water. "I like it when you look at me like that," he murmurs.

"I like looking at you." The words are more brazen than I can usually manage, and even though I feel myself blush, I tip my chin up, unwilling to showcase any more embarrassment than I can help. I can't control my involuntary responses, but I can choose not to shrink away.

"God, you're gorgeous," he says, reaching for me. And I step into his arms, tipping my face up for his kiss, all lingering doubts washed away by his expression, his voice, his lips on mine.

As self-conscious and shy as I am, he's entirely uninhibited, saying and doing whatever he wants, and it's as natural for him as breathing.

It'd be nice to be that way. Maybe spending more time with him will let me achieve that magical ability. At the very least, I'll eventually get more relaxed with him.

Of course, by the time that happens, he'll be leaving .

I push that thought away. I know he's not here forever. I know this isn't permanent. The goal is to learn how to be this person—the one here who invites a man to her home and takes showers with him, the one who isn't afraid to speak up for what she wants, to act on her impulses, to be present in this moment instead of worrying about the past or what might happen but hasn't yet.

All I want right now is this . Him. Us.