Seducing the Photographer (At First Sight) by Janet Lane-Walters

grasped her hips and urged her to move. He bent his left leg and matched her rhythm. Meg pressed her hands against his shoulders. Pressure built. Her inner muscles tightened and released. Heat rose to become a searing flame.
    “Meg, oh, Meg,” he cried.
    Her back arched. Her low moan turned into a cry. “Steve, I…” He covered her mouth to stop her words. His action didn’t matter. What she felt was real.
    He stroked her face and planted kisses on her cheeks. “Won’t be long before I’m in control.”
    She laughed. “I like being on top.” She nibbled his lips. “What about breakfast?”
    “How about a shower first?”
    “Together?”
    “Yeah,” he said.
    She slid from the bed and bent to kiss him. “I’ll fetch your water proofing equipment.”
    In the kitchen before she took the wrap and plastic bag from the cupboard she started coffee. By the time she reached the bathroom Steve had managed to transfer to the chair in the shower. As she wrapped his cast she watched his erection grow.
    “You ready?” she asked.
    “Seems I always am when you’re around. Been like this for months.”
    Had he been attracted to her from the start? Was that the reason for the constant teasing? “Could become uncomfortable.”
    “At times but the solution has arrived. We can react in ways we both enjoy.”
    She kissed him. “But you always seem to rise again.” She handed him the soap and washcloth and turned the water on.
    “Move closer. Let me do the honors.”
    She crouched with her back to him. He used the cloth to wash her back. As she rose he moved the cloth across her rear and stroked her thighs. She turned. Water pelted her back. As he washed her breasts she saw he was ready. So was she.
    Steve stroked her belly. “The blush continues to your feet.”
    Her eyes widened. “My blush turns you on.”
    “Better believe it does. Why else was I saying things to cause you to turn red?”
    She took the cloth from him and washed his chest. He grasped her hips. “Come closer.” She braced her hands on his shoulders. “Lean back a little.” He guided his erection to her threshold. She inched closer and felt the slid of him fill her. “Just right.”
    His growl stirred her to move. He tilted her head. Their lips met. Meg felt a need to move. The kiss deepened. Their climaxes peaked. Steve’s groans united with her cries.
    “Meg, mine,” he whispered.
    “Oh yes.” She rested her head on his shoulder. His words brought a warmth she had to deny. They had been spoken during passion. She drew a deep breath, rose and rinsed. Then she turned the water off. Before she dressed she removed the covering from his cast. Once he was back in the wheelchair she pushed him to the bedroom. “Breakfast. Omelets, cinnamon rolls, ham and coffee.”
    “Sounds great. I’m starved.”
     
    * * *
     
    Steve sat at the table in the kitchen and watched Meg. She stood at the stove and poured eggs into the omelet pans he didn’t know he had. Had she heard him claim her as his? He hadn’t meant to speak the words aloud. He needed no commitments in his life.
    A picture leaped into his thoughts. They hadn’t used a condom during their encounter in the shower. That wasn’t like him. What if she became pregnant? He drew a deep breath. He would marry her. He would accept responsibility. He reached for the coffee mug. Why didn’t the possibility of marriage to Meg trouble him?
    She slid a plate in front of him. “Cheese omelet. Nothing fancy but we won’t starve.”
    “I gather you didn’t train as a chef.”
    She chuckled. “Allie liked the kitchen. I avoided the place. Fashion design was my choice.”
    He tasted a forkful of the omelet. “Not bad.” He took a pain pill with a sip of coffee. The morning’s excesses had produced a new crop of aches.
    Meg brought her plate and the heated cinnamon rills to the table. “I’ll leave this afternoon.”
    “Do you have to go?”
    She swallowed the food she’d eaten. “I’d better.