He chuckled. He was on the floor again, his back against her chair, shoulder blades comfortably pressed against her thigh and hip, the position he'd assumed when she started handing him different papers to examine. She'd also given him a pair of scissors to assemble his own ideas. It was an experience she'd never thought she'd share with a date. Though Noah wasn't really a date. Not one like she'd ever experienced.
Under normal circumstances, she would have been flustered, having a handsome man in her home whose intentions were so...undefined. Instead, he was proving to be a relaxing and attentive companion on every level, anticipating things that might make her uncomfortable or self-conscious and putting her at ease before they could take too firm a grip on her psyche.
Chloe had told her that Brendan opened himself up to a wider range of experiences because he didn't try to control the path chosen for him. He doesn't think in terms of "I'm not interested in that", unless it's something he's already experienced and really disliked. He'll try anything once, as long as he knows it's something that interests me or the people we're with.
Did Noah accommodate what she wanted for that reason? Though she'd remained on high alert for any flicker of boredom from him, she'd come up empty.
At length, it was getting close to her bedtime. Noah agreed they needed to be up early tomorrow to get a good start on the floor, if she was going to maximize the time she had his labor at her disposal.
"The good thing is we're already going to save some time," he told her. "The floor beneath the linoleum is in good shape. I can lay the plywood foundation right over it."
She'd noted him checking the kitchen floor earlier, and now she knew he'd been testing for rot. She made an agreeable noise as he rose to help her clean up. In the small space, they brushed against one another quite often, his bare skin and male scent so close.
When they were done, it seemed very natural for him to be gazing down at her. Before she could think of what to do, he'd slid his arms around her, drawing her against him for a light embrace. A hug. "Thanks for dinner and the place to sleep."
"I feel like I should be thanking you. You made dinner, and tomorrow you're helping me tile." She gave a nervous laugh as her palms slid over his shoulders, down his back. He was roped muscle, as firm and resilient as he looked, and his hug was a far stronger, more reassuring feeling than she'd expected, such that she held on for an extra moment or two. He didn't pull away, waiting until she did. Her thighs brushed against his. She felt like a teenager, her eyes lowering because she was embarrassed by her bright cheeks. His lips brushed her temple.
"Good night, Gen."
*
She closed her door to change into her nightgown, but once she turned off the light, she opened it again. She'd told him to do the same, since the small house circulated air better with the doors open. When she slid into bed, she was facing the hallway, and she saw he was lying in bed, under the sheet. He was reading a book about landscaping. It looked like an older book, the hardback cover worn, and she wondered if he'd borrowed it from Lyda.
She didn't really care what he was reading, all in all. It was nice just to lie in the anonymous dark, beyond the thrown light of his lamp, watching him. He'd taken the tie off his hair, so it spilled over his shoulders, enhancing the chiseled features. His attractive mouth had a firm set to it when at rest, his eyes focused. His long fingers stroked the pages as they turned them. Her gaze slid down the creases of the sheet, how it outlined his legs. His groin area was hidden behind the prop of the book on his upper thighs.
"Will the lamp bother you?" His voice was quiet, in case she was already asleep. She could pretend she was.
"No." She could hear the thickness in her voice. He was so close, right across the hall. It wasn't sex she wanted. God, no. Just the thought of him touching her like that made her quake. But he wasn't a stuffed animal. She wasn't going to humiliate him or herself by treating him like one. Come curl around me, make me feel like that hug did.
Plus that hug had produced far more than cuddly feelings. She'd wanted to keep sliding her hands down his back until she tucked her fingers beneath the waistband of his jeans. She wanted to touch without being touched. She wanted to have all the control, none of the obligations. She was sure that wasn't what being a Domme was, but the control issue was part of it, wasn't it?
He spoke again. "May I ask...what you're thinking?"
She could be completely honest, without repercussions. And she was here in the dark, where he couldn't see her face. "Earlier today...I thought about you reading to Lyda."
"One of those erotic novels she likes to torture me with?"
So maybe Lyda had actually done what she imagined, taunting him at a distance. Things curled low in her belly. "Yes."
He was staring into the darkness of her bedroom. Setting aside his book, he turned on his hip, propping his head on his hand. When he did, the sheet moved with him, getting trapped between his thighs, sliding down a little lower. She gulped as it became apparent he wasn't wearing anything beneath it, the upper curve of one buttock haloed by the lamp behind him. If she was standing behind him, she could let her fingers slide along that curve, up over his tattoos.
"I imagined you--" She stopped, cleared her throat. "I imagined her in a short negligee, nothing else. Lying on her bed, touching herself while you read to her. She had you sitting in a chair across the room. She wasn't letting you touch her."
"She'd tell me to keep my eyes on the page, and punish me once a day for every time I stole a glance at her. Which means I'd probably be punished for a month." His lips curved, but his eyes remained serious.
"How does she punish you?"
"Various ways. What were you going to say, at the first?" He prompted her. "'I imagined you...'"
She didn't say anything, and he shifted to his back. She bit her lip as he stretched out an arm, his upper body arching as he turned off the lamp, putting them both in darkness. She could see his silhouette from the street lamps outside his window. He turned back on his hip toward her. "What do you want, Gen? Anything."
His voice was encouraging, but also male and intent. Lust pulsed on the air currents between them.
"I want you to bring yourself to climax while I watch. I don't want you to look at me while you do it. Pretend I'm not here."
"All right. Do you want the light on?"
"Yes. The lamp's a three way. Could you turn it on to the dimmest setting?" Things needed to stay hazy, dreamlike. Else she might chicken out. "And...I want to see all of you."
She bit her lip, almost saying he didn't need to do that, but he was complying. He switched the light on the dim setting, then pushed the sheet to the side, adjusting his legs over it. Her gaze coursed over the arches of his feet, over light sprinkles of brown hair on calves and the long lengths of his thighs, then paused over his testicles and the cock rising above them, a thick stalk curving over sectioned stomach muscles. He had his thighs spread so she could see all of it. Propped up on the pillows, he rested one hand on his thigh, the other curled over his head.
Liquid heat pooled in the folds of flesh between her thighs. She wanted to tuck her fingers down there, give herself that pressure, but even though she was in darkness, she was too self-conscious for that. Right now.
"I've been with a Dominant for so long, off and on, I don't really do this by myself without permission anymore. But I think I remember how it's done." Another of his charming, self-deprecating looks. He grasped his cock, gave himself a firm stroke. Her breath caught in her throat, a contraction of hard need between her thighs.
"I wish I could see you," he said. "Are you...will you tell me if you're wet?" His voice was husky, telling her--as if his cock didn't--that he wasn't detached in the least.
"Yes. I am."
A muscle flexed in his jaw and he stroked himself some more. She wrapped her arms around her pillow, shifting so she was staring a straight line to him, her breasts full and aching against the pressure of the cushion.
"
Tell me what you're imagining." She whispered it, but he heard her.
"You...naked. Sitting on my legs, just staring down at me doing this. You're breathing fast, shallow, so your breasts are quivering a little...bit." He gave a groan, tightening his hand on himself. "Your thighs are spread so I can see your pussy all wet, and I want to taste it. Want to just...fucking bury myself between your legs..."
She'd expected him to talk about Lyda. "Where is Lyda?"
"She's watching. She's always watching... And when I put my face between your legs, she's there, behind me...fuck..."
Would she be wearing one of those strap-ons that allowed a woman to fuck a man? Gen imagined Noah between her legs while Lyda thrust into him, her silver eyes holding Gen's gaze, making her feel as if Lyda was thrusting into her even as she had the dual pleasure of feeling Noah's tongue penetrating her own folds.
"Slow down," she said unsteadily. He did, easing back the speed at which they were approaching his climax. As he squeezed and stroked himself with careful movements, his body was taut, quivering.
"Why didn't you want to tell me about how she punished you?"
"Because I felt like you really wanted to talk about me doing this for you."
"Do you anticipate like that...a lot?"
"Yeah. Lyda says it's part of what gets me in trouble half the time. But only half." He grunted then. "I wish my hand was your cunt, Gen. I want to give you pleasure."
"You are. Shut up."
She slipped out of bed, padded across the hallway. When she emerged from the shadows, his dark, burning eyes were fixed on her, the sensuous mouth tight. She circled around the bed, her gaze sliding down his body. His cock had leaked semen onto his belly. She marked it in her mind as she reached for the lamp. He reached for her with the hand above his head, circling her wrist gently.
"Just one more moment, like that," he said. "You brushed your hair, and it's all curled around your face. And I can see your body through your nightgown."
It was a thin cotton one with a little embroidery at the V-neck. Not outrageously sexy, but pretty. She hadn't worn anything beneath it tonight, more of that same compulsion to be daring. As his gaze coursed down, the light was showing him the shape of hip and breast, the juncture between her legs.
"That's enough," she whispered, disengaging her hand. She turned off the light and caught her hair back, bending down to put her mouth on those few drops on his stomach. "Don't touch me," she added, another quiet instruction. A thrill of power went through her as he became incredibly still, his hand motionless on his cock. As she licked the drops off the muscled terrain, he quivered harder, but he obeyed her. She reveled in the freedom of it, of touching him how she wished without the worry of him trying to take the reins from her, moving too fast or in a direction she didn't want. He tasted slick and salty. Male.
The wrist of the hand holding her hair back brushed the head of his cock, an incidental contact, one she didn't expand further. She finished suckling those drops, then backed off, standing by the dresser. The street lights outside illuminated him enough she could see the pale line of his body. In contrast, she was mostly in shadow again. The fierce desire in his gaze speared her.
"I want to fuck you."
She shuddered at the animal demand. "No. Keep going."
He began to stroke himself, more functional and down to business, the way a man did it to bring himself to the desired goal, just as she'd requested. Though she was mostly in darkness, his gaze stayed on her, stripping her bare, making her quiver and arousal trickle down her leg. He'd said it had been a long time since he'd masturbated solely for his own pleasure. That made two of them. For a lonely woman, sometimes the empty aftermath was too painful to bear.
He was working himself harder, faster. Her gaze clung to the way he held himself, that loose curl, the push-pull of the velvet skin up and down the steel shaft, the thrust of his hips. His throat arched, the loose mane of dark hair spread over her guestroom pillow, where his scent would linger. His muscles were drawn tight, a powerful male animal bringing himself to climax.
"I don't...do this...without permission."
"You can this time. Please." Her voice was quiet, hoarse.
A quick jerk of his head, an acknowledgment, and then his balls drew up, his cock jumping in his hand as ropes of come started to spill forth, painting his abdomen, his chest. His face reflected that rictus that happened during such a moment, and she drank it all in, her palms damp, body locked by the dresser, every nerve ending aware of the touch of the air, his harsh grunts, his musky odor filling the room.
Finally, all that was left were her shallow breaths, his deep ones. As he settled down, she pushed herself into motion. Going into the hallway bathroom, she dampened a washcloth and brought it and a dry hand towel to the corner of the bed. She put them there, neatly folded, within his reach.
"Thank you," she said.
"Gen..." He was trying to see her in the dark. He started to lift his upper body. Fearing he was going to reach for her hand, she backed toward the door. She couldn't bear to be touched. Not right now.
"Thank you," she said again. "Good night."
She fled back to her room, closing the door behind her. If she left it open, he might come to her. He wouldn't initiate sex, not unless she'd given a clear invitation, but in this instance, him curling around her to give her comfort or just hold her would be even worse. Far, far worse.
She crawled back into her bed, holding the pillow hard to her chest with both arms, willing the throbbing between her legs to subside, hoping the ache in her throat and heart could do the same.
She was happy with her life. But deep in her heart, in the place she'd allowed Noah to be tonight, she had an unbearable longing to share it with someone.
*
Because it had taken her so long to fall asleep, it took longer to rise. What woke her was the smell of breakfast tea and frying eggs, potatoes and onions. He must have brought some coffee with him, because she smelled that as well.
Out of deference to vanity, she brushed her teeth and washed her face, pulled her hair back in a tail and added a touch of makeup before she came out of her room, even though she was wearing a pair of paint-stained jeans and a man's T-shirt in size small. Unlike what she'd worn at Tea Leaves yesterday, this shirt was a worn, thin cloth that clung, with a deep V-neck that showed off quite a bit of cleavage. She hadn't bought the shirt for those reasons, but because of its softness and usefulness for dirty house projects. However, when his gaze slid over her, she wasn't unhappy with her choice.
He'd made her a breakfast casserole topped with fresh tomatoes from her potted plant. A glance out the French doors showed he'd moved the tiles she'd stored in the back shed onto the patio and set up the Skil saw, along with grout and other tools.
"I'm late," she said.
Turning from the stove, he smiled and slid the casserole into a bowl he had waiting for it. "Breakfast is a better wakeup call than an alarm clock. I'm glad you grabbed some extra sleep."
She hadn't been sure what kind of awkwardness to expect, but obviously any felt was all on her side. He wore his jeans and a community college T-shirt with a sailboat printed on it.
"I get it now. You really have outgrown the Goth thing. You just wear the jewelry so the kids you teach think you're cool."
He snorted, poured them both a glass of juice and held out her chair. She slid into it, trying not to think about how that same maneuver had gone last night. Taking a seat across from her, he nudged salt and ketchup her way. "My students range from eighteen to fifty, so there's no way I can convince all of them I'm cool. I gave up. Hope you don't mind that I started setting up."
"Not at all. Did you sleep?"
"Quite well." His eyes caressed her in a way that made her flush. "Though I wish I could have given you the same experience."
"I slept well enough," she said quickly, making it clear she didn't want to talk about that. A puzzled look crossed his face, but he respected the boundary,
backed off. The conversation stayed relaxed and general over breakfast, and then they got started.
She helped him lay the plywood and he put it down with the nail gun she'd borrowed from Tyler and Marguerite. However, the kitchen space was small. It became clear he made more progress without her being underfoot, so she soon shifted to being a gofer and keeping him company. Finding a radio station he liked, she sat on a stool in the living room, discussing music and watching him when he didn't have a task for her.
Once the tile placement started she was busy again. He initially proposed doing the tile cuts with the wet saw while she laid the tile, but he was the one with the tiling experience. When she showed him she was more than capable of making straight cuts with the saw, he pursed his lips in a gratifyingly impressed expression and agreed to let her do the cutting while he laid out the floor.
She thought she could watch him work all day long. As he'd hefted plywood, denim had creased and stretched in a pleasing way, the Florida heat outside quickly dampening his shirt with sweat. When he used the nail gun, she was entranced by the grip of his long brown fingers, the way his biceps rippled with each shot. She studied the intentness of his expression as he measured and judged the distance of the tiles.
They talked about this and that--the music on the radio, anecdotes about his students or her customers at the tea room. Depending on the topic, his lips would curve or eyes sharpen. As he worked on his knees, placing tiles, she thought of him stretched out in her guest bed, hand on his erection, his eyes seeking her in the shadows.
In the bright light of day she wasn't sure she should have done what she'd done last night. Nighttime was when everyone was more vulnerable to foolishness. But she recalled something Marguerite had told her, on a day Gen had snapped at Chloe for trying one too many times to set up a blind date for her.
You're comfortable being alone, Gen, but you're also lonely. Unlike many women, you don't let that lead you. You don't act only on emotional impulse. But don't forget you can also trust yourself to make choices to alleviate that loneliness, if and when you desire to do so.
She thought of what Noah had said last night, about how to understand a Dom/sub relationship. "Can you come to a club just to watch? To learn? Do they frown on that?"