Page 37 of Awakened By the Guardian

And then she wanted more.

She tugged on his shoulders and dragged him up from her breasts. He came up immediately, exactly responsive to her needs. But when he looked at her, she couldn’t verbalize what she wanted. She hadn’t the breath, and she hadn’t the nerve.

Thankfully, he knew.

“Can I take off your jeans, Margaret? Can I touch you there?” He winked. “Will you teach me how to be the Clit Whisperer too?”

She exhaled a laugh. That joke was really working for him.

Nodding, she stripped out of her jeans and panties even as her body flushed with embarrassment. Or maybe it was something else. Maybe it was arousal, or need, or any one of those other terms that meant she was wired like every other person. Or maybe this was simply because of Gary, who made it all about her. She didn’t even mind when he stroked her thigh and cupped her knee, slowly spreading her legs.

Or did she? She felt herself tense. God, he was looking at her so seriously! Just looking.

“I know this needs to be gentle,” he whispered, brushing the backs of his fingers up the inside of her leg. “But I gotta say, you look so hot lying there. And you smell so good. I’m as hard as I’ve ever been.”

Her gaze went to his crotch, and sure enough, his sweats had a large tentpole. She started to reach, but he batted her hand away.

“No. I was just expressing my appreciation. Don’t distract me.”

“Gary—”

“Please.” His expression softened. “This is important to us both.”

Was it? To them both?

He must have read the doubt on her face. “Don’t you want this?”

She swallowed and nodded. She did want to know. But… “I’m afraid to hope. I’m afraid that I’m wired wrong and we’ll both be disappointed. I’m⁠—”

He caressed the side of her face. “I know all about the dangers of hope.” He cast a wry look at his legs. “But we both need to be brave, okay?”

It didn’t seem like they compared. Hoping for legs or hoping for a great orgasm? Still, she supposed hope was hope. And the possible crushing disappointment was equally terrifying.

“Swear this won’t change us,” she said.

“Our friendship? Not in the least. But know that, success or failure, someday I truly will be⁠—”

“Do not say it!”

He expanded his chest and dropped his fists on his hips like Superman. “The Clit Whisperer!”

“Oh my God. You have no shame, do you?”

“Absolutely none,” he said. “Comedy is repetition.” Then he leaned down to kiss her mouth.

It was a sweet, gentle kiss, and one that took its time. Gary teased first her lips and then her tongue, and by the time she’d wrapped her hands around his shoulders and was drawing him down to her, her whole body was involved. Her tongue dueled with his, her breasts thrust toward his chest, and her legs were restless as they rubbed against his hips.

He was still kissing her when she felt his fingers on her mound. Slowly they’d slid down between her thighs, and she felt their thickness, the bumps of his finger joints and the steady way he moved, spreading her wetness everywhere. But it was…not quite right. She began to get nervous.

There was no need. He broke the kiss, attuned to her emotion. “Do you like this?”

She shook her head. “Not like that.”

“So tell me.”

She did. She taught him how to push his fingers inside her and draw them slowly up across her clit, doing everything she’d ever sensed she liked but that had as yet failed to fulfill her. Not this time. She taught him her favorite strokes and was delighted when he added his own flair. And then she stopped using words and just made sounds. Her legs were wide, her spine was arched, and her belly tightened again and again. This was the prelude to orgasm, but he didn’t push her over the edge. He kept taking her close then stopping.

Once was bad enough, but by the third time she was gripping his thigh as she glared at him. “Gary! Oh my God, Gary!”