Make Me Forget - Page 79

“We . . . we haven’t met before, have we? I mean . . . before Tahoe?” she asked.

His eyelids narrowed.

“Why? Do you think we have?”

She blinked, and the moment of déjà vu faded. She laughed at her stupidity. What she’d told him the other night was true. If she’d ever met Jacob Latimer, she’d remember it. In spades.

“No,” she admitted.

How could she possibly imagine that Jacob Latimer was remotely similar to a boy? Why did his presence keep calling up that sweet, poignant sadness of her early teenage years . . . the regret? Was it the loss of her parents and memories of her childhood inspiring it?

He stepped closer. “Harper, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she whispered, shaking off the spell. She didn’t want to think about her losses. Not now. “I’m ready.”

She saw him nod once, but thought a vague expression of suspicion or curiosity lingered on his face. He took one of her hands and guided her to the chair.

“Straddle the seat first, then slide one leg into position while you keep standing on the other foot.”

He braced her while she did what he instructed, her heartbeat starting a steady drumroll in her ears.

“Now sit.”

It wasn’t like sitting, in any normal sense of the word. The center cushions supported her both from below and from the front. When she came to rest, she was tilted forward at a forty-five degree angle. Her lower belly and hips pressed against the abdomen cushion, but the lower pelvic cushion took most of her weight. Her sex pressed at the juncture of both. Once in place, it was only natural to place her elbows on the forward cushion and rest her forearms. Her shoulders were supported by two small cushions. She hesitated, but then slid her chin into the upward-curving crescent.

It was almost scandalous, how comfortable the contraption was.

She felt Jacob’s hand on her free lower leg and he lifted it onto the apparatus. A moment later, she felt the padded straps go around each ankle and tighten. Then he came around to the front. She stared at his crotch as he quickly restrained her wrists. Heat rushed through her cheeks and sex. The height of the apparatus had clearly been matched to his—Jacob’s—body.

He stepped closer, his crotch coming within inches of her face. Her eyes widened. He placed both of his hands at her temples and smoothed back her damp hair, gathering it at her nape. He swept the tresses over her shoulder, getting it off her back.

“You’re comfortable?” he murmured, sliding his warm hands along her bare back.

“Yes,” she managed in a choked voice. She shivered at the feeling of his skin gliding against hers.

“You’re still cold.”

“No—”

“I think I’ve got something that can help with that.”

Her brain whirred in nonstop anxiety and excitement while he was out of her vision, but he probably had only left her side for a few seconds. He came up next to her—again, silently. The snap of a container opening alerted her to his presence. Because of the chin crescent, she couldn’t turn her head and alleviate her anxiety. She could have lifted her chin out of it, of course, and turned her head. But it excited her to imagine that even her head was restrained.

She felt movement on the skin just above her ass. The cloth of his swim trunks? Yes. He’d straddled the entire bench with long legs, and her body along with it.

“Jacob?” she asked uncertainly.

“Shhh,” he murmured. He placed both of his big hands on either side of her spine. Warmth emanated from his hands and soaked into her muscles. He began to massage her back, spreading oil on her skin. It felt divine.

“Oh . . . it’s warm. It feels so good,” she said.

“Then

it’s doing what it’s supposed to do, on both counts.”

His hands were so big. He shaped her muscles to his palms, squeezing out the tension she experienced from accepting the challenge of being restrained to the apparatus. She moaned softly when his hands shifted, and he massaged along her shoulder blades.

“You could do this for a living,” she muttered after a stretched moment, her eyelids fluttering closed.

Tags: Beth Kery Erotic
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