didn’t like to
be touched. For years, she’d avoided any contact at all, but Findley had kept a
near constant hold on her since he burst through her door in Chicago. At first,
she could hardly think beyond the need to make him let go , but somewhere
along the way, Weslyn had started getting used to him.
He’d been gentle
and careful in the emergency clinic. He’d been a safe haven at the train
station and agreed to be her legal protector in the car on the way to
Cleveland. And now he was a healer, easing her cramp at the same time he teased
her with the possibility of what it could be like, to let a good man touch,
stroke and fondle.
A good man she’d
been dreaming about for months.
“You should see
the look on your face,” he whispered. “You close your eyes to hide, Moon, but I
can still see you.”
She felt Findley’s
touch change, soften. His palms smoothed over the curve of her calf, cupped the
heel of her foot, then his thumbs dug into her sole with beautiful pressure.
Pleasure bloomed, racing up Weslyn’s spine until she felt as if she could melt
into the mattress. Her foot was warm and relaxed, and Findley repeated the
caress on the other one.
His hands gripped
her ankles, but his touch was light enough that Weslyn felt no panic, no fear.
In some way, she trusted Findley, and she recognized the alien emotion and
allowed it to work on her nerves. She remained pliant as he stroked up her
calves, kneaded her knees, then massaged her thighs.
His touch changed
again, not just a warm, soothing slide of skin against skin, but suddenly
charged with intent. He drew circles on her thighs, edging higher, farther
between her legs. Heat transferred from his hands to Weslyn’s body, curling
through her at an alarming rate. But this was the fantasy she’d held secret
since she’d picked his picture out of a book. She gasped, and before she
realized what she was about to do, she’d spread her legs to let his fingers
roam a little farther.
“Better now?” he
asked quietly. “Or should I keep going?”
“W-we probably
shouldn’t.” Weslyn tried to think past the tingling plea growing in her clit.
She fought to be rational. “I’m your prisoner and…it’s probably unethical.”
“We’re consenting
adults.” Findley’s fingertip drifted over the damp center of Weslyn’s
underwear, then away. “I’ve just had my medical evaluation and I saw your
records in the clinic. We’re both clean, and you’re already pregnant with my
child.”
“But…but…” Weslyn
gasped and arched as Findley found her clit with his thumb and rubbed over it a
single time. His retreat left her feeling empty and deprived, a true battle
against needs she hadn’t surrendered to in a decade.
She was torn,
unable to decide what she really wanted in that moment. It wasn’t as if she’d
never experienced pleasure, but after her last boyfriend, Weslyn hadn’t been
able to trust anyone enough to let them anywhere close to her body. For some
reason, Findley was different. Different than any man she’d ever known—harsher
in some ways, but gentler in others.
And, as he’d said,
she was pregnant with his child. Something in that statement released her
inhibitions. Made it okay to do what she wanted with him.
She wondered if
her pregnancy had something to do with the desire welling up within her. Maybe
her lust sprang from hormones, but, then again, she had to admit that she
hadn’t wanted sex before Findley found her—and she definitely wanted sex, if
the sudden wetness of her pussy was anything to judge by. Perhaps it was a mental
thing, where she went all soft and willing under his patiently stroking hands
simply because she would be the mother of his child.
Maybe it was the
way he didn’t pressure her to fuck him, or the single-minded way he looked at
her or the possessive way he touched her. He was her hero, her protector and
the best chance she had to escape the worst of the punishment she knew would be
coming.
be touched. For years, she’d avoided any contact at all, but Findley had kept a
near constant hold on her since he burst through her door in Chicago. At first,
she could hardly think beyond the need to make him let go , but somewhere
along the way, Weslyn had started getting used to him.
He’d been gentle
and careful in the emergency clinic. He’d been a safe haven at the train
station and agreed to be her legal protector in the car on the way to
Cleveland. And now he was a healer, easing her cramp at the same time he teased
her with the possibility of what it could be like, to let a good man touch,
stroke and fondle.
A good man she’d
been dreaming about for months.
“You should see
the look on your face,” he whispered. “You close your eyes to hide, Moon, but I
can still see you.”
She felt Findley’s
touch change, soften. His palms smoothed over the curve of her calf, cupped the
heel of her foot, then his thumbs dug into her sole with beautiful pressure.
Pleasure bloomed, racing up Weslyn’s spine until she felt as if she could melt
into the mattress. Her foot was warm and relaxed, and Findley repeated the
caress on the other one.
His hands gripped
her ankles, but his touch was light enough that Weslyn felt no panic, no fear.
In some way, she trusted Findley, and she recognized the alien emotion and
allowed it to work on her nerves. She remained pliant as he stroked up her
calves, kneaded her knees, then massaged her thighs.
His touch changed
again, not just a warm, soothing slide of skin against skin, but suddenly
charged with intent. He drew circles on her thighs, edging higher, farther
between her legs. Heat transferred from his hands to Weslyn’s body, curling
through her at an alarming rate. But this was the fantasy she’d held secret
since she’d picked his picture out of a book. She gasped, and before she
realized what she was about to do, she’d spread her legs to let his fingers
roam a little farther.
“Better now?” he
asked quietly. “Or should I keep going?”
“W-we probably
shouldn’t.” Weslyn tried to think past the tingling plea growing in her clit.
She fought to be rational. “I’m your prisoner and…it’s probably unethical.”
“We’re consenting
adults.” Findley’s fingertip drifted over the damp center of Weslyn’s
underwear, then away. “I’ve just had my medical evaluation and I saw your
records in the clinic. We’re both clean, and you’re already pregnant with my
child.”
“But…but…” Weslyn
gasped and arched as Findley found her clit with his thumb and rubbed over it a
single time. His retreat left her feeling empty and deprived, a true battle
against needs she hadn’t surrendered to in a decade.
She was torn,
unable to decide what she really wanted in that moment. It wasn’t as if she’d
never experienced pleasure, but after her last boyfriend, Weslyn hadn’t been
able to trust anyone enough to let them anywhere close to her body. For some
reason, Findley was different. Different than any man she’d ever known—harsher
in some ways, but gentler in others.
And, as he’d said,
she was pregnant with his child. Something in that statement released her
inhibitions. Made it okay to do what she wanted with him.
She wondered if
her pregnancy had something to do with the desire welling up within her. Maybe
her lust sprang from hormones, but, then again, she had to admit that she
hadn’t wanted sex before Findley found her—and she definitely wanted sex, if
the sudden wetness of her pussy was anything to judge by. Perhaps it was a mental
thing, where she went all soft and willing under his patiently stroking hands
simply because she would be the mother of his child.
Maybe it was the
way he didn’t pressure her to fuck him, or the single-minded way he looked at
her or the possessive way he touched her. He was her hero, her protector and
the best chance she had to escape the worst of the punishment she knew would be
coming.
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