Free Kate Sherwood - Dark Horse 2.3 - Into the Light by Kate Sherwood

The stools were tall and I barely noticed him shifting to his feet, but I felt him

Into the Light | Kate Sherwood
    pull one of my legs to the side, making a space for himself to stand between my thighs. But he didn’t stand so much as lean, his whole body moving into mine, taking charge, taking possession.
    It was too much, and I pushed his shoulders away. “Wait,” I gasped, and he stepped back immediately. I was overwhelmed, and I felt unbalanced, but I was also rock hard.
“Not good?” he asked. “Too much?”
     
I didn’t know how to respond. “No—it was good. And I don’t think it was too much. I just need a second to catch up.”
     
“Do you? Or should we be trying to keep you from catching up, trying to stop your brain from ruining our fun?”
    “No. I—I know what you’re talking about. I get it. You’re right, the mental is—it’s harder. It’s scarier.” I couldn’t believe how easy it was to say stuff like that to him. “But the physical is new, too, right? I just— you can still be in charge if we go a bit slower, can’t you?”
    His grin was beautifully evil. “Fuck, yeah. We can go slow. We can go as slow as you want.” He didn’t quite make it sound like a threat, but I definitely got the idea he had a plan. He was still smiling as he reached for the wine bottle and refilled our glasses. I was ready for him to get back to business, but instead he stepped away from me and walked around the counter over to the oven. “We should eat. I put some time into this damn bird.”
    The shift was sudden, but I couldn’t really argue. I guessed I was hungry, although it was pretty far down my list of physical demands at the moment. But if he wanted to play it cool, I could play along. “Okay. It does smell good.” I tried to ignore the way my zipper was digging into my dick.
I felt like I was still off balance, but I didn’t have that weird sense

Into the Light | Kate Sherwood
    of disconnection that I’d had earlier. If anything, I was too connected, too aware of every damn thing in the room. Well, no. I was mostly too damn aware of Ryan. Every move he made showed me his body from a slightly different angle, pulled his clothes across his muscles in a slightly different way. He was good in the kitchen, efficient and confident, and that was sexy, too. I really didn’t know where I was going with all this—I’d gone from ambivalent to totally enthusiastic in about two minutes. Was it just because I was being contrary, and didn’t want to let him be the one to decide we weren’t working? Or was there actually something valuable in the whole ‘relinquishing control’ idea?
    “Hey, you—no thinking, over there.” His voice was teasing, but maybe the message wasn’t. He was holding two plates in front of him, loaded with chicken baked with a bunch of different vegetables, and it looked good. But he looked better. I tried to focus on the food, tried to get myself back under control, but he didn’t make it easy. He set the plates on the counter and then scooted his stool over closer to mine, so that when he sat down our legs were touching. He took a sip of wine, and I watched the way his throat moved as he swallowed. I can’t say it didn’t give me ideas. But pretty much every thought evaporated out of my head when he put the glass down and brought his hand over to rest on my thigh. It was casual, almost friendly, except that he’d chosen a spot pretty high up on my leg, and his fingers were stretching dangerously, tantalizingly close to the tight bulge beneath my zipper.
    He hadn’t glanced down, and wouldn’t have been able to see through the overhang of the counter anyway, but he couldn’t be unaware, surely. I felt like the heat from my dick must be radiating out in almost visible waves. But he didn’t say anything, just picked up his fork with his other hand and speared a browned chunk of potato. “Eat up,” he suggested. “We might need the energy.”
Jesus, that was a