A Slow Boil

by Karen Winters

  He kissed the top of my head and put his arm around my waist. It was the first time he’d touched me today and instinctively, I leaned into him.

  “My perfect girl.”

  I looked up at him. Why was he being so hot and cold with me? He’d kissed me with enough passion Thursday after dinner that I knew he wanted me, but after helping me cook last night, he seemed to pull back. And now I was his perfect girl again. He looked down at me, his eyes meeting mine, his affection for me obvious. I was about to ask him why he hadn’t touched me last night when he gave my waist a light squeeze, dropped his arm, and asked if I was ready to go.

  When we got home, Mr. Hunter helped me out of the car and we carried in the groceries and wine. He took the wine downstairs while I sorted all the produce we’d bought, putting some things aside to use later tonight, and getting everything else stowed away in the produce bin. I was putting our purchases from the food store away in the pantry when Mr. Hunter came back upstairs.

  “I think I’ll read for a while in the library if you care to join me, Miss Lane.”

  “Sure. That sounds good.”

  I went up to my room and got my laptop. Mr. Hunter was in one of the easy chairs with his legs stretched out in front of him when I joined him. I took the other chair and started researching recipes that used some of the ingredients I’d picked out this afternoon. I’d bookmarked several that sounded intriguing and had opened a word document to start a menu for next week when I happened to glance over at Mr. Hunter. He was watching me, a complacent smile on his face. I smiled back at him, then impulsively got up and brought my laptop over to his chair and knelt down next to his knee.

  “Is this okay, Mr. Hunter?”

  He immediately ran his hand over my hair and sighed. “This is always okay. You never have to ask.”

  I leaned my head again his thigh and kept working on my menu. His hand had dropped to my neck where his fingers lightly stroked my throat. We sat like that for maybe fifteen minutes before Mr. Hunter put his book aside.

  “What are you working on?”

  “Next week’s menu. I’m trying to find recipes for the things we bought today.”

  “You do too much, my dear girl.” I heard him sigh again, his fingers coming up to run through my hair.

  “Mr. Hunter?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Why didn’t you touch me last night at dinner?”

  He didn’t answer right away. “I wanted to. Very much.”

  “Then why didn’t you?”

  “I hadn’t realized how much effort you put into preparing my dinners. I should have known, but I just never thought about it before last night.”

  “I don't understand.” I looked up at him with a questioning expression.

  “It’s not right for me to want more.” He met my gaze, his hand back in my hair. “I shouldn’t let you slave away in the kitchen and then expect you to let me practically grope you when you’re done.” He gave me a slightly embarrassed smile.

  “But I like it when you touch me. I told you that.” I turned to face him, putting a hand on his knee.

  “I know you did. It’s not that I don't believe you, I just don't want to take advantage.” He cupped my cheek and shook his head a little. “I’m sorry if I’m not explaining myself very well. Last night you’d already worked so hard to make me an incredible meal, and you’re so beautiful next to me, and you let me feed you, too. Somehow being allowed to touch you as well just seems greedy, like I’m taking more than I should.” He paused, then added in a low voice, “I’m afraid I could take more than you’d want to give me.”

  I watched my thumb trace a small circle on his knee, trying to gather my thoughts. Had I not been clear enough yesterday when I’d said I wasn't going to stop him? He knew I liked it when he touched me, but didn’t he know how much I wanted it?

  I looked up into his blue gaze. “But I want you to touch me, Mr. Hunter. I look forward to it all day.”

  “You do?” His fingers stilled, his eyes locked with mine.

  “Yes. Please, sir. Please touch me. Please kiss me.” I was rising to him as I spoke and he reached down for me, meeting me half way, kissing me as hard as he had Thursday night, opening my mouth roughly, his tongue finding mine immediately, drawing an involuntary groan out of me as I pulled him to me as tightly as I could, my hand sliding into his hair and fisting it to keep him there. He reached down and with one arm lifted me onto his lap, still kissing me with urgency, one hand on the back of my head, the other sweeping up the curves of my body, pulling me against him. His kiss was hungry, demanding, almost frantic, as he buried his face in my neck, kissing my throat, my ear, my mouth again, his free hand on my hip, pulling me tightly to him.

  He finally broke away, bringing his hand up to my face, running his fingers over my cheek, my parted lips, my chin, my throat, my collarbone, down the V of my t-shirt, sweeping lightly over my breast and sliding down over the curve of my hip to my thigh. I closed my eyes, the only sound in the room our heavy breathing. I felt his lips on my throat again, gently this time. “Beautiful girl, I can’t resist you anymore. Are you sure this is what you want?”

  “I want you,” I answered, pulling his face up to mine and kissing him, tasting his lips with my tongue, tasting his mouth, pressing myself into him.

  Something like a growl came out of him as he scooped his free hand under my knees and picked me up. He carried me upstairs, his eyes on mine then on my chest, then back to mine, his own getting an almost feral look, his jaw tight, his grip on me tighter.

  When he got to his room, he laid me on his bed and stood over me. I reached up for him, but he shook his head. “You don’t know how long I’ve imagined you lying here like this. Let me enjoy it.” He reached down for the hem of my shirt and pulled it over my head. He stroked his hands over my breasts and down my stomach to the waistband of my shorts, popping the button and slowly pulling down the zipper. I lifted my hips as he eased them off, drawing them down my legs, his hands caressing every inch along the way. He stood back up and looked down at me in my bra and panties.

  “Sylvia,” he said, reaching behind me to unhook my bra, “I’ve been alone for a long time.” He lifted my bra over my arms and dropped it on the floor, staring at my breasts. He pulled his shirt off in one quick motion and climbed on the bed, pushing my legs apart and kneeling between them, taking one of my nipples in his mouth and giving it a quick hard suck.

  “Oh!” I cried out, arching my back at the sudden, intense pleasure. “Oh,” I groaned as he moved to the other one, swirling it with his tongue, his hands on my hips. He sat back and pulled off my panties, keeping my legs open around him when he was done, running his hands up my thighs.

  “I want to be gentle with you, but I don’t know if I can. I want you so much, my beautiful girl.” His mouth was back on my breasts, his teeth nipping at me, his long fingers between my legs quickly driving me insane with want.

  “Don’t be,’ I managed to say, bringing my hands down to clutch his head to me. “Don’t be gentle. I need you now.”

  He groaned, coming up to kiss me deeply, pushing me down into the bed with his weight. I wrapped my arms around him and ran my nails lightly from his shoulders to the small of his back. He groaned and eased up from me enough to undo his jeans and kick them off along with his boxers. “Do I need to find a condom? I don't even think I have any.”

  “No, I’m on the pill, no condom.”

  I felt him align himself at my entrance and with one thrust he was in me, both of us moaning at the sheer relief of the feeling. I arched my neck back and pulled him in to me as tightly as I could, impossibly full of him.

  He was still for a moment, his breath heavy in my ear. I lifted my hips, rubbing my pelvic bone on his, needing more. “Oh god,” he muttered into my neck. “I promise to make this up to you, beautiful Sylvia.” And then he started thrusting, thrusting as if his life depended on it, as if there was no other reason for him to be on this earth but to fuck me as h
ard as he could. I threw my head back again and wailed, the sensation so overwhelming I could do nothing but hold on to his shoulders as he took total possession of me. He was the only thing in the universe, the only thing that mattered.

  I clung to him as if I were drowning, and that’s what it felt like, like I was drowning in a ocean of Adam Hunter, each of his thrusts hitting me like a violent, relentless surf. I felt myself start to surrender to his onslaught, felt that first twinge of ecstasy and cried out again, my hands pressing on his lower back to drive him on, welcoming each punishing surge, reveling in his breath on my neck, the sweat I could feel between our bodies, the growing anticipation of something phenomenal … and then it happened. I came. Hard. My entire body stiffened and tightened, a long guttural cry escaping my lips. Oh, it felt so good. So good. How long had it been since I’d felt this good?

  I was so lost in my own euphoria that when Mr. Hunter came a few seconds later, I wasn’t even paying attention. If I’d felt like I was drowning a minute ago, now I was lost at sea, afloat in post-coital bliss, everything suddenly so perfect in my world I couldn’t quite wrap my head around it. Mr. Hunter was laying on top of me, moaning and still moving slowly in and out of me. That was perfect. His hair was still the softest I’d ever touched, my hands coming up to cradle his head. Perfect. His back was so smooth, lean and lanky, but with just the right amount of muscle. Perfect.

  Mr. Hunter pulled himself up onto his elbows and looked down at me. He kissed me slowly, tenderly. “My girl,” he whispered as he kissed me again. I smiled into his kiss, wondering how he was already able to talk. He looked down at me again, his hands in my hair, reading my inability to speak. He eased out of me, rolled onto his back and pulled me up onto his chest, one arm around my back the other playing with my hair.

  I listened to the gradual restoration of his heartbeat while I brushed my fingertips through his light chest hair.

  “You’re so beautiful, Sylvia, so beautiful.” His arm tightened around me.

  I dug my face into his chest and found my voice. “You’re the beautiful one, Mr. Hunter.”

  “Call me Adam when we’re like this.”

  “Adam.”

  “Say it again.”

  “Adam.” I kissed his jaw. “Adam.” I kissed his ear. “Adam.” I kissed the side of his neck. “Adam.” I kissed his lips.

  He ran his hand down my back and cupped my ass, closing his eyes, and pulling me against him. “I’m sorry if I was too rough.”

  I got a burst of energy and clambered on top of him, straddling his waist. “You were perfect. You can make that up to me any time.” I leaned down to kiss him, then sat up, running my hands over his chest and his flat stomach, his shoulders and arms. He kept his hands on my ass, letting out a quiet moan when I leaned down again to nuzzle his neck and flick my tongue over his nipples. Now that I finally had him naked in front of me, I wanted to taste every inch of his skin, kiss every spot I could reach.

  “Sylvia, it’s been so long since someone touched me. Don’t stop.”

  “I’m never going to, don’t worry.” I kissed my way down his chest, my hair trailing over his ribs, and made my way to his stomach, so flat and taut, his muscles twitching as I kissed lower, and lower yet. He was getting hard again and I took him in my hand, stroking lightly. It was his turn to throw his head back and groan. I kissed the tip of his penis and then licked the whole length. It was in beautiful, perfect proportion to the rest of his long body, and when I wrapped my mouth around him, he only fit half way.

  “God, oh god, get up here.” He pulled me back up to straddle him and I eased myself down, slowly taking him in inch by inch. He watched me silently, his hands on my waist, letting me seat myself completely before closing his eyes and groaning again. He reached for my breasts and I arched my back, pushing them into his hands, leaning my weight back with my hands on his thighs. I started moving up and down, the sensation from this angle so different, not as completely overwhelming but almost more intense as I could feel every inch of him inside me. I threw my head back and moaned. He grabbed my ass again, helping me move on him.

  “God, Sylvia, I’m going to come again already.”

  “Me, too,” I managed to gasp.

  He was clutching me so tightly, his fingers squeezing and releasing in rhythm to my motions, his hips beginning to thrust up to meet me, my orgasm taking longer to build this time but finally coming with a sweetness that brought tears to my eyes. I clamped down on him, my head thrown back and thrashing from side to side as the pleasure washed over me.

  He curled up to me as he came too, his arms wrapping around me, pulling me back down with him in a tight embrace. I was trembling and panting and incapable of moving any of my limbs. I kept my eyes closed for a long time, listening to his heart beat, listening to his breathing, wishing I could somehow burrow into his body and get even closer to him, wishing he and I could lay here like this forever.

  I felt him kiss my hair and managed to move my fingers lightly across his chest. “I could lie here forever.”

  He tightened his arms around me. “Good, because that’s my newest rule.”

  I smiled into his chest. “You’re so bossy.”

  He kissed my hair again. “You’re so perfect.”

  Chapter 19

  At some point Sunday morning I finally regained consciousness. I stretched and smiled, not bothering to open my eyes. I didn’t care what time it was. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered but that I was here, in this bed. I never wanted to get up and I decided that I never would. My new job would be to lie naked in Mr. Hunter’s bed all day. And all night. I’d work for free. He could use my salary to hire someone to bring me meals. No, he could do it himself. I didn’t want any strangers in my kitchen.

  I rolled over. I was alone. Of course I was; Mr. Hunter probably couldn’t sleep in late any better than I napped. Mr. Hunter, I sighed. Mr. soft-haired, long-fingered, strike that – magical-fingered, Hunter. I had a whole new list of adjectives to describe him after last night, a whole new dictionary. Tender, demanding, gentle, ferocious, insatiable, satiating … I was sure I could come up with all the words while I laid here today.

  My stomach growled, loudly. Turncoat, I thought, as I rolled back over, trying to ignore it and stay committed to my new job. It growled again and I remembered that I hadn’t eaten anything last night except a few bites of salad and bread. Mr. Hunter and I had finally gotten out of bed around seven and I’d fixed us a salad, but we hadn’t eaten much, our appetite for each other stronger. “It’s okay, stomach,” I said, taking pity on it, “I’ll feed you soon. Let’s just lie here a little longer, okay?”

  “Who are you talking to, Miss Lane?”

  “My stomach.”

  “Of course.”

  Mr. Hunter had snuck up on me again, this time with a tray of something that smelled delicious. My stomach sat up and took notice, and then the rest of me did.

  “Look at you,” he said quietly.

  I quickly pulled the sheet up.

  “No, no, none of that. A little late for modesty, isn’t it?”

  I let the sheet drop.

  “Much better.” He sat down next to me and put the tray on my lap. He’d brought me scrambled eggs, toast, and best of all, a cup of coffee. I picked it up and took a sip, looking up at him from under the rim. He looked like he always did, which was perfect. Perfect with a healthy dollop of satisfaction and maybe a hint of apprehension.

  He pulled my pillow up again the headboard and I leaned back, bringing my coffee cup with me.

  “I was just imagining this.”

  “Imagining what?”

  “You bringing me meals, while I lie here all day. I think it’s a good idea.”

  “It’s an excellent idea. Anything that keeps you in my bed.”

  “Just try to get me out of it. I’m not leaving. Ever.” I stretched, arching my back.

  “Is that a promise?”

  “Yes.” I smiled, sitting back up.
/>   “Well, then. Let's get you fed.” He smiled, too, and lifted up a forkful of eggs, the apprehension gone from his expression.

  Two hours later we were arguing in the kitchen. I’d had to break my promise when nature eventually called. I then took a long, hot shower, enjoying the new but wholly welcome aches and pains in my limbs. Eventually I made my way downstairs to look for Mr. Hunter and I found him in the kitchen peeling an orange. I hugged him from behind and he handed me a segment.

  “Are you polishing your skills for dinner tonight?”

  “No, my girl, I’m taking you out.”

  “Oh, no, you’re not.”

  “Yes, I am. That was the deal. I’m in charge of one night on the weekend.”

  “But I thought you were going to cook.”

  “I’d rather treat you to a meal you deserve.”

  “You’re too generous as it is. You can’t make me go.”

  “Actually, I probably could. You’re not as good a fighter as you think.”

  “I wasn’t fighting you last night. You still don’t know how good I really am.”

  “The idea of carrying you kicking and screaming to the car isn’t entirely unappealing to me.”

  “Not just to the car, into the restaurant as well. And I’ll throw food at you during the meal.”

  “Such bad manners. It’s not too late to enroll you in a finishing school. I’ll look into it this afternoon.”

  I slapped him playfully on his arm. He caught my hand and lifted it to his lips, kissing the back of it, then turning it over and kissing my palm. He looked up at me as he slowly kissed each finger. My resolve melted.

  “You’ll be ready to leave at six, my dear Miss Lane?”

  I could only nod in acquiescence.

  We spent most of the afternoon together in the library. I’d settled in my chair to read for a while and he joined me with his laptop. I tried to concentrate on my book, but found myself constantly stealing glances at him. Now that I knew how good-looking he was everywhere, it wasn’t only his face that was distracting me. The only sound in the room was his typing. I need a finger fix, so I got up and came around to the left side of his chair and knelt down on the floor next to him.