Page 22 of Ironside
“Touch me,” I gasped. “Please.”
Ironside lifted his head to meet my gaze.
He was already clearly touching me. With one hand cradling my waist, and the other resting just beneath my breast. This man’s hands were all over me.
But I didn’t mean that kind of touching and I could tell he understood what I meant by the look in his eyes.
Biting my lower lip, I spread my legs wider in a silent plea. Ironside tilted his head.
“You’ll have to be specific about the kind of touching you want me to do, petal. Because I could spend all day on your gorgeous tits or these thick thighs or—”
I huffed with frustration.
“Reuben. Inside me. I want you inside me.”
Ironside arched an eyebrow with a look that made my stomach somersault and my blush bloom down my chest.
I knew what I was asking. I really wanted to try. Even if it meant I might fail, I still wanted to try with him.
“My name sounds good on your lips,” he said. “Especially when you’re begging.”
Holding my gaze, Ironside reached out and grabbed the chair with his cut. He slid it closer, settling into it like a man sitting down for a three course meal. Prepared to eat his fill and feast.
My heart surged into my throat as I watched him peel my panties off. Cool air fanned across my pussy, exposed.
Ironside hooked his shoulders under my knees, spreading me open further for him. He curled his hand over one thigh, smoothing back and forth with reassurance.
“Are you sure?” he asked, so soft, so quiet that I almost missed it.
I nodded.
“More than anything. Just…be gentle with me?”
“Always,” Ironside murmured as he kissed the inside of my knee.
I focused on breathing steadily as he stroked and circled my clit, coaxing that fire in my belly to get even hotter.
The one and only time I ever reached this stage with a man, I had spent far more time preparing beforehand. Using the set of dilators I had at home. Warming myself up. Stretching myself open. Running through all the methods my physical therapist taught me to loosen up and relax.
And that one time had been a disaster. I was so tight, so painful, that he couldn’t even get one finger inside me, let alone two.
Ironside glanced up at me as he sucked two fingers in his mouth, coating them with his saliva, before rubbing lightly at my entrance.
“Poppies,” he said.
I frowned, confused.
“What?”
“Poppies,” he repeated, nodding to a cluster of yellow and orange poppies on the shelf. “That’s your safe word. If it hurts, if you’re not feeling it, or if you want to stop for any reason, you say poppies. Can you remember that?”
I nodded. He flicked his eyebrows up, waiting for my verbal confirmation. Waiting for me touse my words.
“Poppies,” I echoed. “Got it.”
“Good girl,” he murmured.
Then I felt the pressure of his fingertip pushing into me. Slowly. Easing in. My thighs flinched at the sting of pain.
