brow and downturned mouth if he looked at her now. It wasn’t that he wanted to hurt her. Quite the opposite. He wanted to keep her safe from rushing into a new relationship when she still had issues from the last. Or could he heal her as he loved her? He wasn’t sure.
“Why not?” she asked, voice small and barely there.
“I…” He sighed. “I feel I took advantage of you, even though you wanted it.”
“Fuck, yeah, I wanted it.” She propped herself up on one elbow. “And I want it again. More. Different things. I want you.”
She didn’t sound needy or desperate. On the contrary, she was resolute, her words spoken by a woman who knew her own mind and feelings. Still, he wasn’t comfortable with having tasted her, having jumped a few levels of teaching to get straight down to the sexual pleasure side of it. He should have refused her request to swallow his cock.
He turned his head and took in the sight of her. No frown. No downturned mouth. Instead, she gave him a smile, and her eyes were alight with life, something he would never have expected to see when she’d arrived. He remembered how those eyes had looked as she’d stared at the kitchen door, the fear swirling there, the deep crevice between her eyebrows. She had been frightened then, but now she was a different person. He’d like to think he had a hand in that, but maybe the knowledge that she was safe here was what had made the change in her.
“This has all happened rather quickly,” he said, lifting a hand to stroke her cheek with the backs of his fingers. “I’m concerned you’re not really ready for this, that I’ve crossed the line between teacher and student.”
“But this kind of teacher-student relationship involves sex, so what’s the problem?” She raised her hand to grasp his wrist then planted a kiss on his palm. “I’m the happiest I’ve been in years, Harry. The safest. Do you realise how that makes me feel? Shit, I want to dance, to laugh until my ribs hurt, to run out there and shout at the sky that I’m free and everything’s fucking wonderful.”
She got up and twirled in a circle, arms swinging, her features so relaxed she appeared young and carefree. The sight of her ribs sticking out and some old and recent scars marring her skin made him want to get up and take her in his arms, smooth the scars into non-existence and feed her until that bird-cage look to her torso disappeared.
Time. He needed lots of it.
She span, arms out at her sides. “Can you feel it, Harry? Feel how bloody wonderful everything is?”
He sat up and watched her, and yes, he felt it. It oozed from her, infusing him, and a chuckle brewed in his chest. She laughed—eyes closed, hair swaying—and pranced about the room. Her mood was infectious, and he couldn’t resist rising. He went to her, stopping her dance to hold her close. She rested her cheek against his chest, and he weaved his fingers through her hair, grasping it tight in his fist. He tugged gently until she looked up at him.
“Are you ready for what we originally set out to do?” He tightened his grip.
“Yes.”
He kissed the tip of her nose—couldn’t resist it—and released her hair at the same time as gently pushing her away.
“Kneel in front of the settee,” he instructed. “Belly flat on the seat. Hold your hands at the bottom of your back and wait for me to return.”
She nodded, and rather than admonish her for not saying ‘ Yes, Sir ,’ he walked into the hallway then pounded the stairs to reach his bedroom. There, he opened a large wooden chest at the foot of his bed and selected a small paddle. Oh, he knew she hadn’t liked them before, but he had to show her how it should be used. After selecting a bottle of massage oil, he went downstairs and stood in the living room doorway.
She looked beautiful in the pose he’d directed, her buttocks rounded and slightly spread, her fingers entwined. She faced away from him, and her hair spilled across her
“Why not?” she asked, voice small and barely there.
“I…” He sighed. “I feel I took advantage of you, even though you wanted it.”
“Fuck, yeah, I wanted it.” She propped herself up on one elbow. “And I want it again. More. Different things. I want you.”
She didn’t sound needy or desperate. On the contrary, she was resolute, her words spoken by a woman who knew her own mind and feelings. Still, he wasn’t comfortable with having tasted her, having jumped a few levels of teaching to get straight down to the sexual pleasure side of it. He should have refused her request to swallow his cock.
He turned his head and took in the sight of her. No frown. No downturned mouth. Instead, she gave him a smile, and her eyes were alight with life, something he would never have expected to see when she’d arrived. He remembered how those eyes had looked as she’d stared at the kitchen door, the fear swirling there, the deep crevice between her eyebrows. She had been frightened then, but now she was a different person. He’d like to think he had a hand in that, but maybe the knowledge that she was safe here was what had made the change in her.
“This has all happened rather quickly,” he said, lifting a hand to stroke her cheek with the backs of his fingers. “I’m concerned you’re not really ready for this, that I’ve crossed the line between teacher and student.”
“But this kind of teacher-student relationship involves sex, so what’s the problem?” She raised her hand to grasp his wrist then planted a kiss on his palm. “I’m the happiest I’ve been in years, Harry. The safest. Do you realise how that makes me feel? Shit, I want to dance, to laugh until my ribs hurt, to run out there and shout at the sky that I’m free and everything’s fucking wonderful.”
She got up and twirled in a circle, arms swinging, her features so relaxed she appeared young and carefree. The sight of her ribs sticking out and some old and recent scars marring her skin made him want to get up and take her in his arms, smooth the scars into non-existence and feed her until that bird-cage look to her torso disappeared.
Time. He needed lots of it.
She span, arms out at her sides. “Can you feel it, Harry? Feel how bloody wonderful everything is?”
He sat up and watched her, and yes, he felt it. It oozed from her, infusing him, and a chuckle brewed in his chest. She laughed—eyes closed, hair swaying—and pranced about the room. Her mood was infectious, and he couldn’t resist rising. He went to her, stopping her dance to hold her close. She rested her cheek against his chest, and he weaved his fingers through her hair, grasping it tight in his fist. He tugged gently until she looked up at him.
“Are you ready for what we originally set out to do?” He tightened his grip.
“Yes.”
He kissed the tip of her nose—couldn’t resist it—and released her hair at the same time as gently pushing her away.
“Kneel in front of the settee,” he instructed. “Belly flat on the seat. Hold your hands at the bottom of your back and wait for me to return.”
She nodded, and rather than admonish her for not saying ‘ Yes, Sir ,’ he walked into the hallway then pounded the stairs to reach his bedroom. There, he opened a large wooden chest at the foot of his bed and selected a small paddle. Oh, he knew she hadn’t liked them before, but he had to show her how it should be used. After selecting a bottle of massage oil, he went downstairs and stood in the living room doorway.
She looked beautiful in the pose he’d directed, her buttocks rounded and slightly spread, her fingers entwined. She faced away from him, and her hair spilled across her
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