The Reckless Oath We Made(55)

I knew the clock was running down, so I went at him from two angles. One hand under his shirt, the other one into the gap at the top of his pants. I didn’t even touch bare skin there, because he was wearing boxer shorts. He made a sound that I assumed was wait. Then he was back on his knees next to me, like he was in time-out. His left hand on top of his head. His right hand hovering out in the air. Open, then clenched.

The situation was complicated and frustrating, but Gentry was hairy and sweaty and hard-dicked, and those are my three favorite things about men. Everything else is negotiable.

Once I thought of it as negotiating, it wasn’t complicated. It was really simple. We were on a swing going back and forth. Not enough. Too much. Not enough. Too much. In between: a minute of just right.

When we swung toward not enough, it was this insanely hot high school heavy petting. Like musical chair sex, and I didn’t know when the music would stop.

When we swung toward too much, I couldn’t even touch him.

But the in-between, the just right? Oh my god. An absolute free-for-all.

The next time he kissed me, he didn’t waste time petting my legs. He pushed his hand between my thighs and said, “Sooth, my lady, thy cunt is wet.”

That word coming out of his mouth made me laugh so hard I started crying a little. He took his hands off me and rocked back on his heels with a serious frown on his face.

“My lady. Art thou well? Have I wounded thee?”

“I’m fine, but I can’t believe you said cunt.”

I expected him to apologize, but he said, kind of defensively, “’Tis a good English word,” which made me start laughing again. I was definitely still buzzed.

I rolled onto my side to look at him. He was kneeling there, looking at me, and for once I knew exactly what he was thinking. He was taking inventory of what he wanted to do to me.

“I don’t mind if you say cunt,” I said. Honestly, I could respect a man who would drop the c-word while his hand was in it.

“I would do more than say it.”

“Then come here and do it.”

Finally, I got him to lie down with me. So there wouldn’t be any confusion about whether he had permission, I opened my legs for him, and he went straight for it with his sword hand. Two fingers in me and his thumb digging into that little cushion of fat over my pubic bone. Holy fuck, he had a grip on him.

We went round and round for I don’t know how long, before he unlaced his pants, and I actually got him in me.

Too much.

During one of those too much minutes, lying next to each other, breathing hard, not touching, I realized I was waiting for him to say yea. I wasn’t waiting for it to be over, like I usually did with men. I was waiting for his mouth to come back to mine. My skin felt flushed and prickly. Ready.

“Now?” I said.

“Nay, my lady.” He had his face buried in the pillow and his voice was hoarse. Where his hand was lying between us, every time I inhaled, the little hairs on his knuckles brushed against my belly.

He turned over to face me and opened his eyes.

Shifting his hand, he traced his thumb from my hip bone down the front of my thigh to my knee. I went goosebumps all over. When I rolled onto my back, he followed, kissing me. I took his hand and put it between my legs, because we kept circling back to that moment when I was the sword.

I was so close to getting off—something that almost never happened for me with men—that I didn’t know what to do. Except I didn’t want it to be over yet, so I said, “Wait.” That way I could lie next to him, feeling him waiting. His breath was warm on my shoulder when he said, “Now?” but I waited a little longer before I said yes.

When I came, he had his mouth against mine, but we were breathing so hard it wasn’t really a kiss.

After that, I wanted what I always wanted: a few minutes to be inside my body by myself. When I pushed Gentry’s hand away, he let me go. We laid there next to each other for a couple minutes, and I felt this quiet calm, like I hadn’t felt in ages. I stretched and my hip popped.

He wasn’t done, but I wasn’t sure if he wanted to be or not.

“Do you want me to?” I didn’t offer anything, because I figured he could show me what he wanted. Instead, he started stroking himself off, which I understood. Sometimes it was easier to take care of yourself. After a little bit, he reached over and put his left hand on top of mine, so we held hands while he jerked off. I thought that was sweet, but I wondered what the hag, the nag, and the douchebag had to say about it.





CHAPTER 27





Gentry



While the sky was still dark on Sunday morn, I lit the fire and cooked that Lady Zhorzha and I might break our fast. I made small bread with eggs and ham baked upon them, and brewed coffee. I meant not to wake her, but ere ’twas ready, she rose and came forth from my pavilion.

“Hey,” she said.

“Good morrow, my lady.”

She came to the fire, near enough that I smelled her warmth and saw the red marks of sleep on her arms. Lo all the uncertainty I spent my night hours upon departed as quick as mist under the sun.

“Art thou hungry?”

“I could eat,” she said. “But I need to pee first.”

“I left thee a pot for such matters.”

“Yeah, no. I’m not gonna pee in a pot and have you empty it. Can I just go squat in the woods like any self-respecting bear?”