Seven Nights To Surrender

by Jeanette Grey

  Until last night.

  Combining Rylan’s unnatural understanding of her body and the power of a couple of double A’s very well might kill her. Still, it was with reluctance that she clambered onto the bed. Her small, carefully chosen collection of little mechanical friends wasn’t something she talked about, much less shared with anyone else. She kept them hidden in pouches, tucked under pajamas and respectable novels and anything else she could toss into her nightstand drawer to make sure no one would ever find them. Rylan might act like they were no big deal, but to her, they’d always been a shameful secret—like the idea that she ever touched herself at all.

  In the other room, the sound of the water running cut off. Showtime. Keeping the towel wrapped around her, she settled herself gingerly on the bed, pulling the sheet up to her waist. Was it too awkward to lie back against the mound of pillows he’d created? Should she have dried her hair?

  Before she could obsess too much or work herself up, Rylan reemerged from the bathroom. “Comfy?” he asked, tilting his head to the side.

  No. “Yup.”

  The corner of his mouth crept upward, showing just how little he believed her, but he didn’t call her on it. Instead, he crossed the room to her. Pushing the covers down partway, he spread a towel on the mattress beside her, then laid out the things he’d decided they should buy. Everything about his demeanor was practical and casual, as if this were something normal people did every day.

  Her breathing sped a hair faster. Maybe this was something he did every day.

  “Hey.”

  She looked up at him. Felt the warmth of his touch against her bare arm, and it helped relax her, pulling her down from the edge of neuroticism she’d been in danger of going over. The best she could, she pushed her worries and fears aside. Yes, this kind of stuff made her nervous and embarrassed. Yes, Rylan had a lot more experience than she did. But that was okay. He knew what he was getting into. And through everything they’d done together, he’d never seemed to mind having to take the lead before.

  Letting out a long, deep sigh, she put her hand over his and gave him a weak smile. “Sorry. Just nervous.”

  He leaned in to kiss the point of her shoulder. “Don’t be. Only good things are going to happen here.”

  Right. It was hard to believe after all the ways she’d been beaten down, but Rylan hadn’t given her any reason not to trust him yet. “Okay.”

  “Here.” He nudged at her. “Scoot forward a bit.”

  She rearranged herself at his direction, only realizing as he climbed onto the bed that he was maneuvering to sit behind her.

  “Aren’t you going to—?” She cut herself off.

  “Hmm?”

  He had taken off his socks and shoes, but other than that, he was still basically dressed.

  “I—” God, why was this all so hard for her to talk about? “I don’t want to be the only one who’s naked.”

  He laughed, but not in a mean way. He ran a fingertip along the edge of the towel where it stretched between her shoulder blades. “You’re not naked yet.”

  “I might as well be.”

  “Fine, fine.” He tugged his undershirt off and stood to take off his pants. He still had his boxers on, though, as he settled in behind her again.

  “What about—?”

  “In a minute.” Once he’d gotten himself arranged, he pulled her in against his chest. She sat in the V of his legs, awkwardly reclining with her spine to his front, unsure what she was safe to lean against. He made a little groan when she tried to relax into him, and heat seared through her. There he was—the hard line of him pressed against the small of her back. “See?” he said, rubbing his hands up and down her arms. “If I take everything off, I’m going to be right there.” He tilted his hips forward, dropping his voice. “And I don’t think either of us is ready for that.”

  She certainly wasn’t, but feeling him there, knowing he was erect and so close—it made a fresh, new wave of heat roll through her body. His chest was broad and firm beneath her, his hands so sure in their strokes. He smelled good and sounded good, and she had him for only so long, but he was here for her. He wanted her.

  With a quivering breath, she closed her eyes.

  “That’s right,” he said as she relaxed. “That’s beautiful.”

  Drawing his fingertips in expanding circles, over her arms and up her torso, across the naked swaths of skin above the cover of the towel, he leaned in. His mouth was hot and wet against her neck, and he had to know what this was doing to her. As she slowly lost the tension she’d been carrying, a new one settled in its place, but instead of nerves, it was all desire. Her skin felt like it was humming, unnaturally sensitive to every stroke of his hands and lips. Between her legs, a deep ache settled in, liquid flowing, making her feel warm and ripe and glowing.

  “That’s perfect,” he murmured. “Let me make you feel good.”

  She didn’t know how long she lay against him like that, letting him touch and trace. When it started to become too much, she shifted, pressing her thighs together, but it didn’t help. He made a sound low in his chest and, pausing for just a second, let his hands drift lower. Through the towel, he caressed her breasts and her sides, then down. Gliding warm hands over her hips and the tops of her thighs, but bypassing the needy center of her. After a few passes, her attention all seemed to be focusing there, the one place he refused to touch, and a worry flickered deep in her belly.

  Would he make her say it out loud? Make her ask, or worse, beg?

  A gasp of a whine escaped her lips, and it made him press harder, cupping her with more eager hands.

  All at once, it struck her—he wasn’t the only one who could move here.

  As if her arms had suddenly come unfrozen, she reached one up, tangling her fingers in his hair. She craned her head to the side as she pulled him down, and when their lips met, it was with a crush of heat and need. He parted for her, pressing forward with his tongue and letting hers in beside it. He tasted like sex, and he made her feel like sex, heady and powerful and reeling.

  Breathless, she pulled away for air, but it was only to have her lungs seize in her chest. His index finger played over the stretch of skin right above where her towel was tucked, teasing at the terry cloth.

  “Can I?”

  He sounded as lost in this as she was, as turned on and wanting. She tilted her head up, stretching her neck to sip from his lips one more time. Her heart thundering against her rib cage, she released the kiss and moved so she could look into his eyes.

  Her voice seemed to echo in the room. “Yes.”

  chapter ELEVEN

  It was all Rylan could do to keep his movements even and slow, building up the anticipation as he unwrapped Kate like a gift. She’d been so squirrelly about letting him see her really naked the night before, and those hints of uncertainty still lingered in the way she braced herself.

  Fear had no place in his bed. He was going to have to teach her that. Again.

  Leaving one hand on her cheek to keep her angled toward his mouth, he worked the other one under the fabric of her towel. The cloth gave way with the slightest nudge, going loose across her breasts, and he closed his eyes as he nipped at her lips. He was hard as diamond against her spine, and he needed to pace himself if he was going to make this good.

  It was the work of a moment to get himself back under control. Gently, carefully, he peeled one side of the towel away, and then the other. Her breathing picked up as he revealed her. With the lightest touch, he traced his fingertips through the valley of her breasts. Her skin was so smooth, water-warm from her shower, a delight against his palm as he let it graze across her nipple. A high-pitched little noise leaked from her lips at the touch. He left her wanting, though, drifting lower, down the soft planes of her abdomen.

  Just before he reached her cunt, he paused. She’d been so wet last night, so sweet against his tongue, and he wanted to feel that again. But he had a game plan for tonight.

  He
let his other hand slide from her face, teasing the line of her throat before grazing lower. Overlooking the way she tensed, he parted his lips from hers, opening his eyes and shifting to look down the length of her body where it was splayed out before them.

  The sheet lay across her thighs, barely obscuring the sweet, dark triangle of her pussy from his view, but the rest of her was entirely on display. And what a sight it was.

  Her breasts weren’t large, but they were soft and round, her nipples a dusky rose, hard and pointed where they peaked. He drew his hands back up her body to cup the fullness of those curves.

  “Do you like that?” he asked as she shivered.

  She nodded, but was squirming. Uncomfortable, and he had to remind himself that he was trying to show her something here.

  “Has anyone ever done this before? Given this much attention to just touching you?”

  “No.”

  “Idiots.” There were treasures here—pleasures so much greater than a quick come in a warm hole. But here was the real question. “Did you ever ask them to?”

  She laughed, and it was a sad thing that made his frustration boil even hotter.

  “You’ve been sleeping with idiots,” he repeated. He kissed the shell of her ear, wet and slow. “Here’s the trick. You can get a man to do all kinds of things. But you have to tell him what you want.”

  Uncertain silence met him at that. It was no surprise, but it still bothered him.

  “Come on,” he said, more taunting. “You never miss a chance to give me a hard time. What’s holding you back now? You can tell me you want me to suck on your tits.” He said it as crudely as he could think to, and the way her throat moved, the way her spine pressed against where he was still so damn hard for her confirmed that it had been the right move. “Or touch your cunt.”

  Her hips tilted forward at that, and she shifted, like she was trying to cross her legs, and no. There wasn’t going to be any of that. In a deft maneuver, he hooked his ankles over hers, holding her open.

  “Don’t close up for me now,” he murmured. With a last stroke of his thumbs across her nipples, he dropped his hands to her thighs, running them up and down the smooth flesh, nudging the sheet lower with every pass until he could see everything. He edged higher, slipped his fingers along the creases where torso met leg, so close to where she wanted him—so close to where he wanted to be.

  “Why are you so afraid of this?” he asked.

  “Not afraid.” She could have fooled him. Her voice shook with it.

  “No? You could barely even admit to me that you’d gotten yourself off before. Still can’t tell me what you want me to do to you.” And he was getting into dangerous territory here, he knew. “Those other men. The ones who never made you come. Could you tell them what to do?”

  She shook her head, but there was something anguished about it. “This isn’t as easy for everybody else as it is for you. Girls, we—” She cut herself off.

  “What?” He gave her a second to finish her thought, but when she didn’t he could guess where she was going with it. “What? You don’t want to seem easy? Or like you know what you’re doing? Well, let me assure you.” He dragged his hands all the way up her body again, over her breasts and then down to hover once again above her cunt. “There is nothing sexier than a woman who knows what she wants. Nothing.”

  “But—” The words sounded choked. “I can’t.”

  Couldn’t what? Talk about it?

  And then it occurred to him—the most brilliant idea he’d ever had. His cock throbbed at the thought of it. He moved his right hand to put it on top of hers. Lifted them both and brought them to her thigh.

  His throat bobbed. “Can you show me?”

  Kate felt all the blood drain from her face.

  She was so tangled up—on a knife’s edge of arousal, confused and mortified, and he was challenging her in all these different ways. In her head, she knew she should be fine with this. A woman should stand up for herself, should stick up for herself in bed and anywhere else.

  And deep down below that, she was a writhing mass of insecurities and shame. She didn’t want to have to ask for things. Asking meant opening yourself up to being told no, to being told you weren’t good enough, didn’t deserve it.

  God, there was that voice in her head again. The one that had haunted her all her life.

  Only Rylan spoke over it, drowning it out. He pressed her hand closer to the center of her need. “I want you to show me what you like.”

  He chased away one kind of doubt, leaving her with just the one.

  She didn’t know how to let him see her like this.

  “But—” She curled her fingers into her palm, resisting. “You know how to—” How to make me come.

  He’d done it last night. Why was he putting her through this?

  “Yeah, I do. And I could do it right now, but I’d rather do this.”

  “Why?”

  “Why?” He skated his other hand down her thigh. “Because it turns me on. Because I still have things to learn for the next time I eat your pussy out.” He exhaled, breath hot against her ear. “Because I want you to be able to do this for the next man you meet who wouldn’t know his way to a woman’s clit if he had a map.”

  Of course. She was only here for a handful of days, and then she’d never see him again. She’d known that from the very start, had actually seen it as a positive. As an excuse to let go. And yet to hear him put it so plainly took her breath away, a sharp sudden pang.

  She pushed the thought away, but it wouldn’t loosen its hold. No matter how little time they had together, right now he was here. With her.

  And she wanted nothing more than to be closer.

  “Can we . . .” She twisted, craning her neck to look at him. He gripped her hip, as if trying to stop her—as if he thought she were trying to escape. “The towel,” she said. Trying to explain.

  If she could feel the heat of his skin, maybe it would ground her. Keep her in the moment, this tiny pocket of time when it was just him and her.

  “Of course.”

  She gulped. “And your boxers?”

  “You sure?” he asked after a brief pause.

  She considered it. Yeah, she was certain. “Yes.”

  “All right.”

  She sat up and away from his body long enough for them to get the towel out of the way, and for him to tug his underwear off. When he pulled her back against him, into the cradle of his thighs, all she could feel was warm, firm flesh beneath her, and it made her pulse hotter. The wiry hair of his legs and chest tickled her. And the smooth, silky line of him, bare and damp against her spine lit her up from the inside.

  “Fuck,” he said, a low breath against her ear as she settled against him. “Someday . . .”

  Her breath caught. “Someday what?”

  “Someday,” he continued, grasping her wrist, curling her fingers and bringing them, this time, unerringly to her sex. “When you’re ready . . .”

  The first brush of her own hand against her folds was electric. God, she was soaked, and it was such a relief to finally get some pressure there, where she was slick and hot and aching.

  Still, something deep inside of her told her this was wrong. She tried to pull her hand away, but he gripped her palm, and when she didn’t delve any deeper into her pleasure, he took the initiative. Fingertips covering hers, he slid them around in the liquid, sending a low, rolling wave of pleasure up her spine.

  With his other hand, he cupped her breast, teasing at the peak, and she gasped. She’d never known her nipples were so sensitive, but he’d spent so much time working them up before. There was a rawness to the sensation now as he twisted and squeezed. The scrape of a nail across the tip had her shifting her own hand against her sex, needing something, anything to push against her clit.

  “That’s right, beautiful.” His voice dropped a level as he praised her, and that made a whole fresh wave of need surge through her.

  God. What was she
doing?

  Unable to take it anymore, she let out a sound that was half a sob as she started touching herself in earnest. It felt good—it felt amazing.

  And then he was talking. “Someday,” he resumed, still caging her hand against her sex, still pulling sparks of desire from her breast, “when you’re ready, I’m going to strip you down, just like this. Open you up and put your legs over my shoulders. I’m going to lick you out for hours.”

  Damn. Oh, damn. She rubbed harder at her clit, losing herself in it.

  “But I’m not gonna give you my fingers. Not gonna give you anything to fill that ache inside. Leave you all empty and coming around nothing until you’re dying for it. Do you want that? Do you feel how bad you want to be filled up?”

  She did. It was a hollow deep inside, and she didn’t want to come like this, no matter how close she was.

  “Yeah,” she groaned.

  “Don’t you want something in that pretty little pussy while I lick you?”

  “Yes.” So badly. She pressed harder, fingers working furiously against herself even as she shied away from the abyss that was yawning at her feet.

  His hand dropped from her breast, and all she could hear was the slick sounds of her body, embarrassing, horrible, but it felt too good. She couldn’t stop.

  Not even when he took her other hand in his. Wrapped it around something long and cool and smooth.

  “What—” She snapped her eyes open to see the glass toy they’d purchased there inside her grasp.

  Another new level of mortification rose up, choking her, but it didn’t matter. She wanted it. Wanted him to make her feel like this.

  “Come on,” he urged. “It’s gonna feel so good. It’s gonna look so good. Don’t you know how pretty this is going to be inside of you?” At her shaky exhale, his voice deepened further. “Can’t you feel how hard I am, just thinking about filling you up?”

  Her focus shifted in an instant, forgetting the toy and the thrumming need in her own sex, because, God, yes, he was. His cock pressed into her back, unyielding in its desire. Long and thick, and she could have that. Inside her. All she had to do was ask him for it.