Page 37 of All Right No
Ginny shot a glance at him over her shoulder. “One: no more arguing with Xane and Spook, or stomping about like some kind of grizzly bear. Two: I want to see real effort being made into getting yourself fixed. And three: you’d better get me off spectacularly at least once a week from now on, more if you’ve any sense.”
He could mutter the magic words agreeing to all that, but he wasn’t about to lie to her, not even to get laid when he was genuinely interested in earning a decent shag. His libido had been a little wayward of late. Stressing over things and flashes of pain tended to zap the urge right out of him. Of course, indulging in some intimacy would probably have helped take some of the sting out of both of those things.
“I can’t promise not to argue, and I am putting the effort in. Of course, I am.” He’d been working really hard on the material for the new album.
Deep down he knew that’s not what she meant. She probably wanted to see him doing those stupid finger stretching exercises the hospital advocated. “The last part, I have no problem with. My cock is yours to master.”
“Hm. Well, if it’s all the same, I think I’ll make a back-up.”
Say what?
“If you could hold still right there for a minute or three.” Her tormenting kisses ceased, and her oil filled hand surrounded his cock. Ash’s eyes rolled back into his head, as his tensed body arched beneath her. Jeez, what a difference a bit of lubrication made. The stuff was like rocket fuel. He was buzzing in seconds. Even his nose tingled. And his balls, they were fully loaded and gunning for the big showdown the slick swish of her palm was sweeping him rapidly towards.
Oh, this woman. She was maddening and infuriating, and everything that was good in his life.
She was right, he wasn’t sure he did deserve her. It wasn’t super clear to him why she’d stuck with him. He’d at least been a player when they met, now he was a ghost of what he’d been. The lead guitarist who couldn’t play. What friggin’ use was he to anyone?
He hadn’t given up though, despite what she might think, but fixing himself wasn’t a simple task. Much as he wished it were so, he couldn’t think himself back to health. He couldn’t undo the injury to his brain Iain had caused.
“I said you needed to keep still, Ash.”
“It’s a little difficult, when you’re doing that.”
“I guess I’ll stop then. You’re fully loaded, right?”
Stop! “No, don’t do that.” Why’d she want to do that? Ash wasn’t into delayed gratification. He’d spent too much time in his past chasing orgasms that seemed to constantly slide further away, but Ginny didn’t seem to be listening. Her hands were busy doing something else. Was she stirring something, pouring something? He tried to lift his shoulders up so that he could see what she was up to, but the restraints didn’t allow him to do more than wiggle sexily.
“Ginny?”
“Hm, yeah, technical hitch. Just a minute. If I do this, that could work. Okay, got it.”
Something warm surrounded his shaft. Something warm that wasn’t her mouth, hand, or any other part of her anatomy. It felt a little like he was surrounded by custard. Not that he’d ever dipped his dick in custard. The lip of something hard and circular was now pressed to his skin.
“What are you doing?”
“Guaranteeing I have a back-up option for when you’re being Mister Huffy-Pants. Now hold still. It won’t work if you keep wriggling, and don’t you dare go down on me. I don’t want to end up with a little tiddly one. I want the full-sized model.”
Jeezus! She was using one of those flipping Make Your Own Vibrator Kits, like the one she’d given Xane for his birthday, to take a cast of his cock.
“You didn’t have to tie me up to do this. You could have just asked.”
“Yeah, but I like you all tied up and helpless.” She planted a kiss on his hipbone.
“How long do I have to play statues?”
“Four minutes. Another forty seconds left. Want me to give you a countdown?”
Nope, not especially but she did it anyway. She wriggled the mould off him once they hit zero, and put it safely aside on the nearby table. “We’ll finish that off later.” She disappeared into the en suite and came back holding a face cloth. “Now for a bit of clean up.”
She didn’t get onto the daybed with him, but knelt by the bed and used the warm, rough flannel to clean the oil and cast residue from his skin. While her efforts were functional at first, they soon incorporated distinctly non-essential flourishes, meaning it wasn’t long before she dispersed with the notion of cleaning him, and was instead giving him the hand job of a lifetime.
How on earth had he ever managed to stumble across someone so perfect, and who was actually prepared to put up with him?
“I’m sorry,” he said, not sure what he was apologising for exactly, but knowing he needed to say something.
“Shut up. What are you sorry for? That you haven’t come in two point three seconds? I’ve iron wrists, we’re staying here until that need rises up and overwhelms you. I’m going to watch you make a proper mess of yourself, and I’m going to know it was all my doing. I touched you. I stamped my mark all over you.” She proceeded to leave lip prints all over his skin. “And there’s not a damn thing you could do about it other than lose your shit and come all over your own abs.”
“You could climb up here and fuck me.”
