Free And Able by Lucy Monroe

boys’ wet dreams are made of.”
    She frowned in distaste. “I don’t want to star in anyone’s   wet dreams .”
    “Not even mine?”
    Her eyes widened and then filled with reluctant interest. “Do you dream about me?”
    Instead of answering her, he started touching her feet again. If they started talking about his dreams, he was going to want to live them out, and his current level of arousal was painful enough. She made a purring sound as he kneaded her arches and he smiled.
    Giving her even this level of pleasure was a major delight for him. He could grow addicted to that sound.
    He worked his way up her legs, reveling in the freedom to touch her, this time with no intention of stopping at her knees. Masseuses did this all the time without getting boners, but day-am…he was so hard he could have drilled for oil in a rock canyon with his penis.
    He didn’t mind one bit, though.
    The sexual discomfort was worth it because she was relaxing and her eyes had closed again. The frown of pain smoothed from her pale features, to be replaced by an expression of bliss that made him feel as arrogant as she’d accused him of being.
    He was doing that to her and he loved it.
    He was careful not to touch any blatantly erogenous zones at first as he massaged her body into total liquid compliance to his touch. So when he caressed her breasts again through the shirt, she didn’t even moan. He massaged them as carefully as he had the rest of her body.
    When he zeroed in on her nipples, he brought them to rigidity slowly so that her body remained pliant. But once he began to play with them in earnest, she moaned and arched upward.
    He pressed down on her breastbone. “Relax, baby. Think boneless, liquid thoughts.”
    “Okay,” she sighed out, relaxing once again against the bed.
    He played with her, letting one hand slide down her stomach and back up again until the scent of her arousal filled the air around them. Every time she started to stiffen, he stopped touching her or massaged a less erogenous area until she relaxed again. He was shaking with his own need by the time he let his fingertips slide underneath the waistband of her panties.
    He almost lost it at the feel of the damp, silky curls covering her mound. She cried out when his finger dipped between her humid, swollen outer labia. He stopped moving his hand and reminded her to relax.
    “I can’t. It’s too much.”
    “You can do it, Claire. It will be worth it. Trust me.”
    “I’ll try,” she said on a pant.
    “Breathe slowly, sugar.”
    She took a deep breath and did as he said. He started touching her again. She felt so good, so silky and wet and hot.
    He dipped into her, barely trespassing her opening. “You are amazingly tight.”
    She mumbled something he couldn’t catch and he smiled despite the pain of his acute arousal.
    He circled her wetness, brushing upward to contact with her clitoris. The small nub was swollen and hard against his fingertip.
    He touched it, telling her how beautiful she was, how good she felt to him, but stopping every time she tensed in any way. He brought her to the edge of release again and again while her breathing ruptured. He wanted to keep her from spending until she was so ready to go over, he could blow on her and she would come.
    When they got to that point and she reached her ultimate pleasure, her orgasm lasted as long as most men spent in foreplay. It was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. She arched, crying softly and then moaning out her pleasure.
    When her body fell back against the bed in total abandon, he slid his hand from her warmth and then cupped her from the outside of her panties until her breathing pattern indicated she had fallen asleep.
    He covered her up and headed for the shower to take care of the boner that had been tenting his jeans for the last hour, or more.
     
    Claire woke up to the sound of a steady thumping. It wasn’t an unpleasant sound, like someone hammering. More like those