The video.
Her yelling stop. Screaming no.
I don’t want her to have to say that to me if she decides she’s not ready to continue.
Everything that happens here should be about making her feel safe, protected, cherished, and loved.
A plan crystallizing in my mind, I resume stroking her leg and hip. “What’s your safe word, sugar?”
She answers almost immediately. “Butterfly.”
One of her cheeks twitches with a budding smile, just enough to banish the darkness residing inside my chest.
“That’s my sweet girl.” I kiss her pixie nose. “Do you still want to do this?”
While wetting her lips with the tip of her tongue, she nods repeatedly. “I do. I need this.”
She seems to grow more comfortable as I caress her. Her grip on me becomes more resolute where she kneads my shoulders and the back of my neck. In turn, some of my apprehension fades.
“You just relax now. I’m going to make you feel good, baby. I promise to take care of you.”
Her breath fans across my lips as she whispers, “I know you will. You always have.”
“Do you want me to kiss you? Or do you want to keep your eyes open to watch what I’m doing?”
Not even taking a moment to think, she rushes out, “Hold me and kiss me, babe. Run your familiar hands all over my body. I want to get lost in your touch.”
Right before our mouths join, I tell her, “Remember, everything stops if you say butterfly.”
She grips me tighter and lifts her face to close the distance, sealing her lips to mine.
Starting us off gradually, I keep it chaste to let her relax into the moment. I bring my hand up to tilt her chin gingerly as I intensify the kiss. She licks the seam of my lips, and I open for her. When our tongues touch, she sighs into my mouth exactly like she’s done a hundred times before.
So far, so good.
As much as I’d love to get lost in her body, I need to keep my focus. Carefully, I study every move she makes and each trembling breath that escapes her mouth, searching for any sign of panic. If I do this right, I should sense it coming as soon as she does. By the time she says butterfly, I’ll have already stopped.
For the record, I fully anticipate she will use her safe word. I’ve already cataloged how to handle it when she does, depending on which activity or position brings it on.
Applying more pressure with my fingertips, I squeeze her hip and pull her closer to me. Intentionally, I keep my entire body beside her instead of on top so she knows she’s free to escape.
Lettie has always favored an abundance of touch when we’re intimate. It seems crucial for me to straddle the line between keeping her close enough to feel desired and far enough away so she doesn’t feel trapped.
This shit isn’t easy. Given how messed up my head is, I’m surprised I haven’t already fucked it up.
She moans into my mouth, wordlessly communicating that I’m doing okay so far.
Despite our activities, there’s no blood rushing to my cock. Not even a stirring of arousal. Most likely, it’s due to my preoccupation with the potential for shit to go wrong or fear I’ll cause her panic.
I wouldn’t give a second thought about not getting hard at a time like this if I wasn’t worried she’d see it as a reflection on her. With everything going on in her mind, I’d hate if she thought I found her less than utterly intoxicating.
Being careful not to aggravate any of her injuries, I trail my free hand across her low belly. While I massage her supple, delicate flesh, she grows more aroused, mewling and digging her fingers into my upper back. It reminds me of how needy she was when she was grinding on top of me.
Her hands are everywhere.
Her grip is punishing.
And the sounds coming from the back of her throat are music to my ears.