Just like that, his gruff words and rough treatment made me come. I wailed as my pussy convulsed around his fingers, as waves of pleasure and pain sent my head spinning to heights I didn’t know were possible. My whole world tilted.
His fingers still worked inside of me, drawing my orgasm out longer as I squeezed him tight with each pulse. When I finally returned to earth, he withdrew his fingers and stepped away. I regretted his abrupt absence. I wanted to remain as we were, where I could feel the heat radiating from his body, feel his breath against my neck.
But he stepped back. I turned, tugging my pants up. The air in the room changed. The electric spark was replaced by something colder. He turned away from me. “Try to get some sleep. I’ll be back before sunup.” He slipped inside the bathroom and slammed the door. Did he just sound… sad?
Despite my exhaustion, I knew my troubled thoughts would keep me awake all night. What the hell had just happened? What did this mean?
I wiped my eyes. Wilhelm - Mr. Green - definitely didn’t seem interested in talking about it just then. I’d bite my tongue. I’d at least wait until he did what he had to do and returned in the morning.
I kicked off my shoes and jeans, slid my bra off, and crawled into bed. The sound of the shower running lulled me to sleep. I never even heard him leave. I must have been more tired than I realized. That or the storm of new emotions raging in my chest wore me right out. Maybe I could process them better once I was rested.
---
When I woke up later, I woke with a start. I had no sense of where I was, or when it was. Something had pulled me out of a deep sleep.
That something was a hand on my back.
"What..."
"Shh. Just me."
"Who?"
"Nomad."
The day rushed back to me. I tried to sit up, but he pressed me back down. "Sun's not up yet. Go back to sleep." Then why wake me? Just to check on me? My cheeks heated at the memory of what we'd done. My ass was still raw, and it stung when I moved, but I wasn’t really hurt or injured.
"I'm okay," I said.
"Good." He stroked my hair, and I sighed contentedly. I didn't think the old man could be so gentle. "You're a good girl. I shouldn't have hit you so hard. Or done... Well. I apologize. I'm old enough to be your father and then some."
What did his age have to do with it? "I'm fine," I said, rolling onto my side so I could see him. "It's fine." He avoided my eyes. Shit, why the hell does he feel bad? It didn't seem like him.
I noticed then the bruise on his jaw. I jumped up, surprised at my own alarmed reaction. Why should I give a damn what happens to him? He's just my ride. "What happened?" I asked, touching the discolored skin. It hurt to sit, so I knelt next to him on the bed.
"It's nothing."
There wasn't any blood, so whatever fight he'd been in couldn't have been that serious.
"Come on," I said, "I'm unbearably nosy. I'll bug you all the way to the coast."
He snorted. "I don't doubt it." He finally looked at me. His green eyes had dark circles beneath them. I decided to quit pushing the issue. For now.
Instead, I focused on another issue - the fact that he was looking at me as if he wanted to say something. Or do something.
I touched his jaw again. "Does it hurt?"
"No." His eyes flickered, just a brief movement before turning away. He was looking at my lips.
I leaned closer, breathing in the smell of him - the leather of his jacket, cigarettes and beer. He'd probably been at a bar. Doing what? He didn't seem drunk.
The air between us was charged with something, though. I was drawn to him sure as a magnet. My gaze settled on the bulge in his pants. Does fighting make him hard? Or is that because of me? Because of earlier?
He eyed me sideways. "I'm not like Bill," he said, "I don't charge for favors."
"But you're still sitting on my bed," I whispered.
His green eyes were dark when he faced me again. Whatever conflict he was having inside his head came to an end. He pulled me closer, guiding my leg so I was kneeling around him, straddling his thighs. Then he pulled me in for a kiss.
It was unlike any kiss in all my life. He took his time, like a man with nowhere else to be. He tilted my head the way that he wanted me; his lips were firm, but soft against mine. He ran his tongue along my bottom lip slowly, tasting every inch of it. Normally guys raced to get their tongue down my throat, but not Mr. Green.
I could feel his erection against my belly and longed to touch it, but there were no illusions about who was running this show. I buried my fingers in his white hair instead. Despite its color, it was still thick and full in my hands.
Heat was rapidly blossoming and growing in my womb. When my lips parted with a tiny gasp, he finally slid his tongue inside.