Baltimore 03 - Did You Miss Me?
made contact with his mouth and he was back in heaven. Greedily he licked, tasting, feeling each quiver, the rumble of each moan as she rocked against him, finding her own rhythm, and it didn’t take long for the passion to return. Better still, from this angle he could see up her top, getting his first view of her bare breasts. No bra, no lace, nothing between her skin and the silk.
He let out a silent sigh of relief, his worst fears not being the case at all. If they had been, he’d have dealt, but he was relieved as hell he wouldn’t have to. They were fine, beautiful. They were scarred, but part of her. He was looking at all of her.
And they were perky. When she was eighty, the girls would still be perky.
Even as her words made him smile, he felt curiously like weeping. He didn’t think he would have cared if they hadn’t been perky or the shape hadn’t been so nice. But she did. She would have wanted to spare me the loss of . . . perfection . Because that’s who she was. Thank God she doesn’t have to spare me anything .
It might be a while before she trusted him enough to take off her top. He’d have to show her that the scars didn’t matter. And he had time for that. For now, he was all about making her feel so good that the only anxiety she’d feel was over when they got to do this again.
He reached up, running his finger along one of the places he’d explored while she slept before, lightly caressing her left breast. Now, she froze, her back arched.
Her breath shuddered out. ‘Do that again. Please.’
He complied, gently taking a breast in each hand, tracing his finger across them lightly. Then he pulled her clit into his mouth and sucked as hard as he could and she came apart. Crying out, she jerked against him and he could hear the headboard creak behind him.
She hung there for a minute, breathing hard, trembling. Then she eased back until she straddled his pecs and looked down at his face. She didn’t say anything, just sat there, staring.
‘Daphne?’ he whispered.
Her eyes closed. ‘I thought I’d lost it all. All the feeling.’
‘You didn’t try to see for yourself?’
‘I was too afraid to. All these years and I was afraid to know.’
‘Now you do.’
She opened her eyes and he saw contentment and relief. ‘Thank you, Joseph.’
He grinned despite the throbbing in his groin. ‘You’re welcome.’
She looked back over her shoulder. ‘Wow. All for me?’
‘Yeah, all for you. But you don’t have to feel—’
She cut him off with a look. ‘You aren’t about to say “obligated”, are you? ’Cause that would make me damn mad.’
He had been, but he shook his head. ‘I was going to say “intimidated”.’
She shook her head, a smile on her face. ‘Can we say full of himself?’
He opened his mouth to return the volley, but she was sliding down his body. Then it was his turn to glaze over when she took him in.
All in one stroke, so smooth. Deep. He groaned and lifted his hips, unable to control their movement. Her breathing shattered and she began to move, fluidly, like she’d done this a million times. She fell forward to grip his shoulders and . . . rode him.
Somewhere in the back of his mind he told himself to thank Maggie, the next time he saw her, for teaching Daphne to ride. And then he didn’t think at all, giving himself over to the friction, the tightness of her body gripping him, the pleasure of it all.
‘Feels so good,’ he groaned. ‘Don’t stop.’
‘I won’t. I can’t.’
I can’t . He liked that. He tried to make it last, but even though he’d had her once that night, he was starved. He gripped her hips and pulled her down on him, harder and faster until he bowed, his heels digging into the mattress, his head flung back. She came this time on a quiet moan that was all he needed to hear.
He closed his eyes and followed, letting himself fall.
She melted onto his chest, one hand cupping the back of his neck, the other right over his heart. He wrapped his arms around her, unwilling to let her go.
‘Thank you,’ he murmured into her hair.
She patted his heart. ‘You’re very, very welcome.’
Seconds stretched into minutes. He knew she wasn’t asleep because her forefinger traced lazy circles around his nipple and lightly fussed with the hair on his chest. He had enough energy to press a kiss to the top of her head.
‘Daphne, why the wigs? There’s nothing wrong with your hair.’
‘I hate it,’ she
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