Shaded Lines Page 4

  An outfit less fashioned for a Dom I can’t imagine, but today has only light shadings of that. An acknowledgement that there are lines to be held, and that I’ve accepted some of the responsibility for holding them. Whether Daley will let me remains to be seen.

  I hope so. We’ve trust to build, and I absolutely want to build it.

  I run my hand down her arm. The hammock tumbled us nicely together, but I’m not a small man, and she’s tinier than she appears. “Are you squished in any ways that need to be fixed?”

  She laughs softly against my ribs. “Not at all.”

  I let my hand travel up to her fine hair and its curls. They tempt a man to stroke them for a long while, to let his fingers get tangled and enjoy the feeling of being caught. I could happily do nothing but this for hours. Gentle touch, accompanied by the sound of her breathing and the bright warmth of the fire beside us.

  In some ways, I’m the simplest of men.

  The woman I’m curled up with isn’t, however. Or rather, she might be, but the layers she’s encased herself in are anything but.

  I let us breathe into the ease for a bit. Let the fire soften us. Enjoy the delight of a woman stretched out beside me, the two of us draped together in a way that generally happens as epilogue to intimacy, rather than as prelude.

  Or perhaps as the main act. There’s nothing about this that lacks for completeness.

  I kiss the top of her head, smiling as her curls tickle my nose. “You’ve a need for this, just as I do.”

  A long, slow exhale. “Maybe I do. I’ve got no lack of touch and cuddles in my life, but this is something different.”

  It most surely is. “Will you play a small game with me? An experiment, if you will.”

  Her head lifts up off my shoulder, eyebrows cocked skeptically.

  I chuckle. She might not be kinky, but she has excellent radar. “You spoke before of the dangers of immersion, of losing sight of who you want to be in those places of intimacy.”

  She nods.

  I tug gently on her hair, encouraging her head back down to my shoulder. “We’re here in this lovely, intimate moment that has a definite end. It’s a safe space. One where you can try some things and see what happens, and know you’ll be set back on your feet at the end.”

  Her laugh is low and husky. “Will this involve requests for sexual favors? Because I can still put you out in the rain.”

  I grin into her hair. “Perhaps. That’s up to you. It will be you making the requests.”

  Her head flies up again, and this time her eyebrows are thoroughly confused.

  I let my fingers wander down the side of her neck to her collarbone. Fire-warmed skin, but it shivers under my touch. “I’m inviting you to name what you want. It might be to lie here quietly and drift off to sleep. It might be my fingers in your hair. It might be sinking in to desire and telling me what you would like me to do to enhance that for you.”

  She blinks. “That’s quite the range of options.”

  I smile. “That was intentional. Needs that are named out loud are harder to hide away. I’d like to know yours.”

  A taut look. “You’d like me to practice finding them.”

  I know when to tread carefully. “If that feels like a tool that might be helpful.”

  She ponders that a while. “It does, actually. An eraser in a different form.” She tucks her head back down. Quiet. Thinking.

  If this were a scene within my usual rules, I might not give her quite so much time to do that, but this is something quite different. I reach for the area rug underneath us with the leg I’ve got slung over the side of the hammock. The rug is bright-purple shag, and I imagine very few people can look at it without adding a dollop of happiness to their day, but right now it gives me nice traction to sway us a little.

  I don’t know what she’ll choose, and it’s a treat to be in that place of uncertainty. It’s not often a man gets to feel that way, not one who is generally as clear on what he wants as I am.

  And I’ve an armful of delicious woman to hold while I wait.

  Chapter Eleven

  Daley

  It’s a breathtaking offer. Literally. I can feel my chest trying to squeeze my lungs into less space than they need.

  Fear, because it’s so very hard to believe the promise he’s making, the one that says I can put charcoal to paper and make some marks and use my eraser and walk away in a few hours if I want, because he expects nothing more than that I lie here a while with him and doodle.

  And yet I feel nothing from him but absolute sincerity. The kind that the lioness inside me obviously trusts, because she’s curled up beside him with a bonelessness that astonishes me—and she’s whispering ideas that aren’t making it any easier to catch a breath.

  Another one of the lovely, drugging kisses on the top of my head. “If you’re willing, I’d very much like to hear some of those thoughts of yours.”

  A demand, I could have easily refused. Instead, he’s doing what I do with my clients. Asking for a series of photographs, the blurry ones too. Wanting to see the raw and the real tucked in underneath the parts I want to polish and refine and make safe before I show him.

  Which annoys me. I might have rules, but staying safe isn’t one of them. Not on something as simple as a request to let my words see daylight. “A nap sounds lovely, but a surprisingly loud part of me is intrigued by the idea of your hands doing some traveling.”

  An appreciative hum. Nothing more.

  I’m not sure how to do this. I could give him physical boundaries, the kind that were very serious business in high school and I haven’t thought about since. But that would be like the clients who want to tell me how naked their portrait can be. They’re controlling the wrong thing. I’ve done fully clothed drawings that are scathingly sexy and entirely nude ones that only hint at the erotic. “I want it to stay in the zone of teasing. Of light, easy temptation. To match the hammock.”

  Another pleased sound. “That’s easily done. And a lovely request. I’ve a couple of questions for the purposes of clarity.”

  Somehow, that doesn’t surprise me. I want to be annoyed, for it to feel legalistic, but it doesn’t. It feels like an artist establishing where the edges of the paper are. “And those would be?”

  “I’ve two. The first is whether there are places my hands can’t go.”

  I’m not entirely innocent. “You mean hard limits.”

  An amused huff. “If you like.”

  I’m feeling daring today, and he understood my first request so easily. “No. No limits.”

  A pause. “You understand that I’m a Dom and that’s a fair wide range of territory, yes?”

  I like that I’ve surprised him a little. “I’m an artist, Callum. We don’t live entirely boring lives.”

  He chuckles. “Fine, then. My second question is whether orgasms are permitted. Of the light, easy, tempting variety. I’m not promising them, mind. I just want to know if they’re an option should one turn up on the horizon.”

  This is a strange and somehow wonderful conversation. “I’ll say yes to that.”

  Another pause. “But?”

  Yikes. India swears Rafe can read her mind, and I’m beginning to understand how she’s come by that impression. “I’m curious about what you said. The part about wandering around in light desire.”

  His body stills under mine. Not tensing, but like I’ve just said something important. “Ah. Follow that thought for a bit.”

  “It seems like it fits a lazy afternoon in a hammock. No goals, just swimming around in a feeling.”

  “It could be exactly like that.” His hand strokes down my arm, his fingers interlacing with mine. “Now tell me why that curiosity was tucked away. Why you needed me to ask you for it.”

  Oof. “I don’t know.” Which is an honest answer, right up until I say it. I make a face into his chest. “Damn. Yes I do. Because I’m used to men thinking of orgasms as the best and brightest outcome. That anything else is
less. So I was tucking away my vague desire, not letting it crystalize, even. Because it would be uncomfortable if it did, so I kept it amorphous.”

  His fingers slide under my chin as he kisses my forehead. “Keep going.”

  We’re suddenly far away from light and easy. “You didn’t actually ask to chase my orgasms, but even if you did, I have a right to want something different. And I was giving that up by not letting it gel into an actual thought.”

  He’s rocking us, a gentle, swaying cocoon as I look in the mirror. He’s somehow caught me in the act of the thing I’m most scared of doing, that dangerous place where I tuck a piece of myself away so adeptly I don’t even notice.

  But he did.

  Chapter Twelve

  Callum

  I hold her as she wobbles against me, caught up in discovery and shock and shame and awkward awareness. A tangled, beautiful mess. One I helped create, because I’ve pushed fast and deep with my questions, taking her discomfort and fanning it into something more.

  The fire crackles at our side, staccato accompaniment to her breathing.

  Then she stills. “Thank you.”

  I exhale slowly. There’s fierce courage in her. “You looked, and you let me hold you while you did. I’m well thanked.”

  She chuckles, and it’s a little wobbly yet, but also amused. “If this is your idea of light and easy, I might have to refine my request.”

  I breathe in the scent of her, warm and tinged with woodsmoke. “No. This is my idea of beauty.”

  Her breath whooshes out. “You appreciate the strangest things. It’s wonderful, but it keeps throwing me off balance.”

  Her words touch something soft inside me. Something wistful, almost. I haven’t felt this way in a very long time.

  Her fingers wander over my shirt, tracing the bright green letters on the dark gray background. “I would like what I asked for before. Free-range touch and a chance to float in the shallow end of desire.” Her eyes squeeze shut. “Scratch that. Or keep that, but scratch what I said earlier about orgasms. I want to change my answer to no on those. Not because I don’t trust you to keep them light and easy, but I think I’ll feel more free to sink into exactly what I want if I don’t have to wonder what else might be in the water.”

  I’ve built trust before. It rarely comes with this much honesty and grace. “I would be so very honored to be the man who swims with you today.”

  A small nod against my side. “All right then. What do you need for me to do?”

  I pull the leg that’s been swinging us back into the hammock. I turn toward her a little more, running through my choices. I’ve always been a Dom who thinks ahead, and while having her cozied up against me this way is perfectly lovely, there are other options. Ones with better access. However, they all involve shifting her about, and I find myself not wanting to do that. I run my free hand down her back. “Not a thing. Relax. Feel the fire on your cheek and listen to my heartbeat under your ear and let my fingers get to learn you a little.”

  She exhales very quietly against my ribs. Melting.

  My hand glides to her shoulder, appreciative of the skin she’s bared. The fine wool cardigan she was wearing earlier is draped over our feet, and there’s only a tank top left to navigate. Simple enough. My fingers explore the curves and lines of her shoulder, her upper arm. Light brush strokes, wandering aimlessly, gauging the depth of touch she likes, seeking the kinds that will help her sink and help her awaken. Mostly sinking, though. It’s light desire she wants, the kind that does more of hinting and teasing than delivering.

  I inhale, letting who she is tease me too as I slide into the sun-warmed waters beside her. It’s not hard to find her tempting. Keeping it light will be more of a challenge, but I’m not a man or a Dom who needs to move quickly.

  Her breath hitches a little, and I take note. The very softest of touches up the curve of her neck pebbled her skin, and now I’m using my thumb to smooth them out. Repeating the same pebbling and smoothing. Sensory tides. She sighs softly as I feather my fingers over the curve of her neck again, letting my winds ripple the waters.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Daley

  This is chocolate. An entire cake of it, indulgent and delicious.

  His fingers brush my temple, tucking wisps of hair behind my ear. Repeating, with each stray curl. Languorous stroking with no destination at all.

  His hand spreads and slides into my hair, his fingertips massaging tight circles on my scalp.

  I groan, or maybe drool. A head rub is one of my favorite things in the world, and to have one show up like this with no warning is doing the same thing to my blood sugar as chocolate cake. I arch into him like a cat, one that wants so much more of this stroking.

  He chuckles and fists my hair, tugging gently. My entire scalp croons at him. More.

  His fingers keep working, five points of delicious pressure. My curls try their best to entangle him, but he somehow sweet talks them into giving way. He circles down the back of my head, cupping it, rubbing the nape of my neck.

  My fingers knead his chest. My lioness, showing her approval. And besides, it’s a very nice chest. I don’t know if the rules of this game involve touching him, though, and finding out would take energy I don’t have. I’m too busy being putty.

  His hand takes a detour down to my waist and up under my tank top, continuing the massage down my spine. I groan as he travels over the muscles between my shoulder blades that are always tight. When he gets to my waist again, he keeps heading slowly down, dipping under the waistband of my yoga pants. My brain tries to tell me we just crossed some kind of line, but his fingers don’t agree. They splay out over my ass cheek, his thumb finding all kinds of spots that whimper and release under his touch.

  This isn’t at all what I expected from him, but I surely don’t want him to stop.

  His fingers gentle. Not massaging now. Wandering. Low, stroking circles, tracing the bony part of my hips, sliding down the front of my thigh as far as my pants will let him go, then picking a new direction. A random one. This isn’t a little preliminary foreplay before he heads between my legs. He’s exploring. Doing exactly what I asked for, but I realize I’m astonished to actually be getting it.

  That says something sad—and also enlightening. Which I’ll think about later. This moment isn’t about being in my head, it’s about being in my skin and relishing the touch of a man with no agenda, real or imagined, that’s asking me to go anywhere but here.

  His thumb plays with the hills and valleys around my hipbone, seemingly fascinated. It takes me a while to realize my hips are moving, gently rocking against him. Expressing desire I hadn’t even realized was there.

  But it is, of course. To be explored like this, appreciated like this, is as sexy as it gets. I ease off a little. Quiet my hips. I asked for a swim in light desire. My motions feel needier than that, and it shouldn’t be me who throws us into territory I didn’t want to enter.

  There’s an odd sound near my head, and it takes me a moment to realize the man I’m lying on is growling.

  I go entirely still. Confused.

  His hand cups my ass cheek. “Move as you like, woman. I’ve a fondness for all your small sounds and wiggles.”

  That just takes the looming awkward place inside me and makes it bigger. I try to get around it, because the last thing I want to do is dump us out of the hammock, but it grabs onto me with sticky fingers and refuses to melt away.

  His fingers slide out of my pants and under my chin. “Tell me.”

  Bossy voice, bossy words—gentle heart. “I didn’t realize I was making so many. I’m embarrassed. I don’t want to be, but I am.”

  “That’s just fine.” His hand slides back into my pants. “I’m happy to touch and stroke you while you feel aroused and embarrassed. You don’t need to manage anything, not how you move or how you feel or the small squeaks you make when I find a tender spot.”

  His words ease something in me. Something I can’t quit
e get ahold of, and I think it might be important, but his fingers are doing their magic again. Telling me to save my thoughts for later.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Callum

  I hum a note of pleasure and approval as she relaxes against me again, leaving her head and coming back into her skin. She has some things to work through, and she’ll have my help for that if she wants it, but she’s also got a delightful ability to melt into a moment. The artist in her, or perhaps that’s just another expression of the soul she was born with.

  My fingers meander over the curve of her seat bone, a little closer to her pussy. Testing. Vanilla people often see sex as the endpoint, something that happens after trust lands. I know it as a tool to get there. We’re not headed that far down the road today, but I’ve a promise to keep and a message to send, and I’m happy to cross some of the lines in her head to hold her to others.

  She wiggles a little, but it’s different this time. Not mindless rocking.

  I slide my hand out of her pants, keeping contact with her skin. “Roll over a bit, sweetness. Onto your back and toss your legs over mine.” I keep my voice soothing. I’ve enough Dom tools in motion without her reading these as orders. “I’ve a mind to play with your pussy a bit.”

  She’s halfway rolled over when that sinks in. Her eyes fly open and up to mine.

  I smile and kiss her forehead. “Just touch. It’s no different than me stroking the back of your neck or the luscious curve under your hipbone.”

  All I get in response is one very skeptical eyebrow.

  I use my dimples on the side of good and holy. I intend to make that eyebrow a believer.

  She settles beside me, rearranged as I specified, but ease has fled. There are nerves now.

  “Light desire. You wanted to swim in it.” I swirl my fingers over the skin of her belly, enjoying the softness underneath. “Allow me the privilege of holding you there. No orgasms, no building you to any boiling points. Trust me to hold the lines while you feel.”