Page 53 of Tear Me to Pieces
I barely notice the sensation of the satiny fabric as it skims against my leg on its way to the floor. I’m too fixated on the sight in front of me.
The temptation she’s just laid at my feet.
Myra’s clothing choices have changed dramatically since she’s been in Memphis. She traded long skirts and flowing shirts for more fitted options that show off the soft curves she’s developed since arriving. I thought I’d seen enough of her to be prepared for this moment. Obviously not, because being faced with so much smooth skin and soft flesh has me fighting a battle of epic proportions with myself.
And I’m pretty sure I’m losing.
One of Myra’s hands plants at the center of my chest, pushing me back, forcing me to take the space I couldn’t create on my own. Thank God one of us has the sense to?—
Sliding off the counter, her eyes lock on mine as she unbuttons her jeans and pushes them—and everything beneath them—down, kicking them away once they hit the floor. She lifts her chin, but there’s a hint of vulnerability in her eyes.
Like she’s daring me to find her lacking… But is also afraid I might.
Like that could ever be a possibility.
I have to clench my fists at my sides to keep from touching her. To keep from accidentally taking more than she’s ready to give. That’s the opposite of why we’re here.
This moment is about calming her fears. Easing her into this deal she wants to make. Giving her a moment to comprehend the full extent of what she’s asking for before deciding if it’s what she really wants.
I tip my head toward the shower. “Start the water.” It takes everything I have to get the words out, so I know they’re lacking the gentleness I try to have with her. But I’m teetering on the edge right now, so it’s the best I can do.
Instead of being upset by my clipped command, Myra’s lips tease into a smile. “Are you sure you want me in charge of the temperature?” She lifts one hand, resting it against my chest. “Because I’m not sure your delicate skin can handle that.” Her fingers trace over my pec with a feathery touch. “You should probably be the one to turn on the water.”
I get that she’s trying to be considerate right now, but it’s taking every brain cell I possess to rein in the desire to reach for her. And I’m afraid the second I let my hands go somewhere, the only place they are going to end up is on Myra’s bare body.
“I’m sure I’ll survive.”
Myra lifts one shoulder, letting it drop. “Suit yourself.” The hand on my body drops away, but the path it takes drags right over my nipple, making me hiss. I’ve never been this over-sensitized, and it’s turning out to be a worst case fucking scenario, because my Myra might be a little bit of a closet temptress.
Instead of going to the faucet like I told her to, she lingers in front of me, blue eyes fixed on the puckered bit of flesh that just caused me to react. If she wasn’t already suspicious of its sensitivity after that sneaky little lick she gave it earlier, Myra has more than figured it out now.
Proving she plans to use it against me, she lifts the hand that just dropped away, tracing the tightened edge with a fingertip. Eyes lifting to my face, her torturing digit continues its path, circling closer and closer until it reaches the pebbled bud at the center. I watch in terror as she gives it the tiniest of flicks, eliciting another sharp inhale from me.
When her thumb starts to move, I know I have to regain control of the situation, and I have to do it quickly.
Before she can do any more damage to my already fraying restraint, I hook an arm around her waist, pulling the soft lines of Myra’s body to the front of mine as I drag us both into the shower. Once we’re behind the curtain, I twist the faucet, putting my back directly in the line of fire so I’m the one hit by the icy cold spray.
God knows I need it.
Unfortunately, it’s no match for the fire licking across my skin and the heat blazing through my veins. The edge to my desire isbarely dulled before the feel of Myra’s wet body rubbing against mine hones it to a razor’s edge.
And I’m pretty sure she’s doing it on purpose.
Since the water is mostly warmed up, I grab her by the hips, holding tight so she doesn’t slip as I switch our places. She makes a little bit of a yelping noise when the water hits her, but I think she could use cooling down too. Otherwise, this whole thing is going to get real out of hand, real fast.
Giving myself something to focus on besides the sight of the water streaming over her bare tits, I reach for her body wash and dump a dose into my palm. After rubbing both hands together, I quickly and efficiently scrub her down, washing away all the grit from our day of drywall work. Somehow, I even manage to give her pussy a quick clean without nutting all over her belly.
I’m sure my trophy is in the mail.
Once she’s clean, I reach for her head, cradling it in my hands as I tip her hair back into the stream of now hot water. Myra’s eyes slip closed and her lips part as I work my fingers over her scalp, ensuring every strand is saturated. After gently straightening her head, I pour on a little shampoo and clean the soft blonde mass, taking a little more time now that we both seem to be on our best behavior.
I tend to be a little overbearing—I know that. I’ve heard it more than a couple times from women in my past. And while it wasn’t what they wanted, it’s actually one of the elements that makes Myra so perfect for me. She’s never had anyone take care of her, and even though I can tell she’s not sure if she should, she eats the attention up.
Like she is right now.
The expression on her face is pure bliss, but her grip on my forearms is tight. As if she’s considering stopping me.
I get it. She was used. Taken advantage of. Expected to cater to her ex-husband in just about every way. It would be a little bit of a mind fuck to be on the receiving end of care, compassion, and catering.
