Page 72 of Perfect Order
God help me, I want them there too.
I surge to my feet and quickly make fast work of the buttons. That’s when I hear her, “Tsk…slower, baby. My hands, remember.”
I croak, “Whose idea was this?”
“Mine.”
“When I finally get my hands on you, remember that.” Still, I slow down as I yank my shirt from my slacks. For good measure, I unbuckle my belt while I still have complex motor function.
Her throaty laugh causes my cock to weep a little. But I’m soon rewarded by a full view of her barely there panties. And the fact the shirt’s the only thing hiding her breasts from my view. “Lose the shirt, Crash. Drop it to the floor.”
“Same goes.”
I nod, high on the illicitness of what we’re doing combined with the fact I’m now staring at the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. “God, you’re exquisite.”
She turns, and that’s when I see it. A long scar running up her side. I recognize what it is, having seen it on too many soldiers in combat. It just shouldn’t be marring the satiny skin of the woman I’m falling for. Stepping closer to the screen, I ask, “Leanne?”
She dives for her shirt. Quickly, I plead, “Let me see it. Let me knowyou.”
This time when she stands there, she shakes in her vulnerability because it’s not just her naked. She’s baring her whole self before me. I’m paralyzed by the expression on her face as I study her—all of her. I may not be the first, but I feel like I am. That no one has gotten in as deep as I am, yet I haven’t physically touched her. Not yet, at any rate. “Lift your left hand,” I whisper.
She does so, confusion marking her face. “Now kiss the tips of your fingers.” She again follows my instructions. “And place your hand on your scar, Leanne.” Even as she follows my instructions, her right hand comes up and slaps against her mouth. Am I the first to see the woman who hurts and not the operative?
“Kane,” she chokes out.
Casually, I flick open my pants and reach inside to hold my cock back while I unzip them. “You might want to sit down for the next part, sweetheart.”
Her entire demeanor changes, knowing I’m not about to reject her because of who she is. I watch as her fingertips brush over her turgid nipples, and my fingers ache— actually ache— because I’m not the one making them elongate as she twirls and twists them. “Keep doing that,” I groan.
Then I pull myself out and begin stroking myself. I use the moisture leaking from the head to coat my hand as I pull firmly on the downstroke.
“Touch your nipples,” her husky voice whispers. “I would if I was there.”
“Christ,” I bite out. But when I go to demand how quickly she wants this over, I find she’s scooted down in her chair, one leg thrown over the arm. Her fingers have snuck down back inside her panties, and her fingers are obviously dancing back and forth. “Let me see,” I snarl.
She slides her hand out, and there's a web glistening between her fingers. I’m panting as she shifts her fingers to the front of the gusset and slips them back in.
We both moan simultaneously. My eyes are locked to her; hers are on me. I stroke, and she dips until it becomes too much. My thighs are quivering with the need to come, and come hard. “Crash, I’m close,” I moan.
“Me too,” she breathes as she swirls her wetness around her tight nub before dipping her fingers back inside.
I aim my cock for my chest, too far gone to reach for my shirt or anything else. With a slight roar, I climax, her name on my lips. I snap my head up, just in time to see her hips roll and her hips jerk as her orgasm takes her over the edge.
Holy fucking hell. My mind wants to blank out, but I can’t. “Did that really just happen, or did I fall asleep and live out one of my fantasies?”
Her soft laugh makes me feel better when I reach in my back pocket for my handkerchief to wipe the mess off my chest. “Well, something came out.”
I grin, loving this sense of humor I haven’t been privy to before. It’s another sign Leanne’s healing.
Boldly, she admits, “I have to say, it was a lot hotter than taking care of myself thinking about you on my own.”
I feel my cock stir back to life, and I glare at her as I tuck myself away and zip up. “You’re killing me here.”
She shoots me an angelic look. “Me?”
I slip on my shirt and begin buttoning it back up, ignoring her boo-hiss. “Yes. You’re all I think about. I can’t quite pinpoint how I got talked into having phone sex in one of my bosses’offices with the woman I’m counting down the hours until I meet again for the first time.”
Her face morphs into one of simple happiness. “The answer is ninety-six hours. That includes the time zone change, in case you were wondering.”
