Read Online Let Me Count The Ways by P.G. Forte - Free Book Online Page B

What was that?”
    I couldn’t answer right away. I was so drained I was surprised I was still conscious. I pulled away slowly, barely able to move. “That was what you asked for.”
    I lay down beside her. I was sweating and breathing hard. So was she.
    She stared at me. “What I asked for?”
    “Yeah.” I smiled faintly. “In the car, remember? ‘It’s fun. It feels good.’ That’s what you said you wanted, right?”
    “Right.” She sighed and shook her head. “I must have been out of my mind.”
    I gazed at her worriedly. “It wasn’t good?”
    “What?” Claire frowned at me. “Mike--Of course it was good! What are you talking about? It was... amazing.”
    “Well, what are you talking about? You said you were out of your mind.”
    “Yes! For thinking I needed to convince you. Obviously, you already had things figured out on your own.”
    “Oh.” I chuckled in relief. “That’s okay. I’m yours to convince. Convince me of anything you want.”
    “You’re that easy, huh?”
    “For you? Always.” Yawning, I reached beyond her, blindly seeking for the comforter. I knew it had to be there, somewhere. “But tomorrow, okay? I’m too tired right now.” Finally, my fingers found what they were searching for. I pulled the comforter over us both and tugged her closer.
    “G’night, Claire,” I murmured, as I wrapped my arm around her. If she made any answer, I didn’t hear it. I was already asleep.

    Chapter Five

    Claire

    I should never have quit all my exercise classes after Derek and I split up. That might not have been my very first thought upon waking up the next morning, but it was definitely the most coherent. My body had that deliciously decadent ‘well-used’ feeling that only really good lovemaking leaves in its wake but, oh, my God, I could barely move! It was obvious that the personal work-out regimen I’d been following was just not strenuous enough.
    I lay still for a while and took stock of my surroundings. Sunlight streamed through the window. Birdsong filtered in from the canyon. Emptiness radiated from Mike’s side of the bed.
    I felt both disappointed and relieved about that. Disappointed because one of the things I’d been looking forward to was waking up to a warm body in the bed beside me. Relieved because, to be honest, I was feeling a little ambivalent this morning.
    Mike had gotten too close last night. Somehow, he’d tapped into a facet of my personality that I hadn’t shared with anyone in...
    Well, actually, come to think of it, I hadn’t shared it with anyone ever .
    When I was young and sex was new, I’d been too naive to appreciate or even understand the subtle pleasures of power exchange. By the time I was older, wiser and more jaded I’d learned to protect myself, to protect my vulnerability, to protect my heart. I’d also learned how to act. I’d have liked to pretend that’s what I was doing last night. Acting. Playing along with the scene he’d created. But that wasn’t the case and I was pretty sure we both knew it.
    Mike had caught me off-guard last night. Somehow, he’d seen the me behind the mask. He’d intuited things about me that, quite frankly, I wasn’t altogether certain I wanted him to know. He’d disarmed me with his shyness, with his lack of pretension, his undisguised adulation. He’d let me think I was the one calling the shots. Then he’d turned the tables on me. By the time he was done, I’d have gone down on my knees, licked his balls and begged him for... anything, really. Whatever he wanted me to. Whatever he told me to beg for.
    The thought was disturbing enough to get me out of bed, despite the protests of my more-than-pleasantly-sore muscles, and into the shower.
    The bathroom--now, there was another eye opener. More glass in the form of the tinted panels that made up the ceiling and the frosted walls that surrounded the tub/shower and which, apparently, could be retracted if one wished to bathe al fresco . A glass tile