I appreciated his concern, but one finger, two fingers, it wasn't enough.
"Clint," I moaned, "I need you inside me. Stop teasing and take me."
He looked at me, eyes intent on my face.
"Are you sure?" he asked. "I don't want to hurt you, and I'm not sure I can hold myself back."
I grinned at him.
Without a word in answer, I pulled back and moved higher on the bed. I spread my legs and looked at Clint's face. I knew he wanted me and I wanted him. It was time to stop denying ourselves.
"I need to feel you inside me."
In a moment he was on me, shedding his clothing and covering my body with his own suddenly-naked form.
I only got a glimpse of him completely naked for me, but it was an amazing glimpse. Clint’s body was muscular and lean, all hard planes, but he didn’t have the too-shiny gym body that never did anything much for me. No, this was the body of a man who worked hard for a living, and I was going to enjoy it to the hilt.
The moment of union was everything that I had been hoping it would be.
He slid inside me until he was buried to the hilt, until I was aching with fullness.
We moved together. I could feel his urgency, his need, as he hid his face in my shoulder and gasped against my skin. I was lost in my own pleasure, moaning and writhing against him.
I soared towards my own completion as the waves of pleasure radiated from my core.
As I got closer and closer to satisfaction, Clint's rhythm within me changed. He moved less predictably, more quickly, as his need drove him towards his own climax.
It felt so good, though, so achingly sweet and right, that I was not going to complain. He was so strong, so hard, and I was so past ready for him.
It didn't take either of us long to finish, we both cried out. I slipped over that edge first, and he gasped "Oh, God, Naomi," into my ear before following me over.
We held still for a moment, in each other's arms, feet hanging awkwardly off the end of the bed.
I giggled.
"We're gross," I said. It was true, if not the most romantic pillow talk I'd ever come up with. We were both sweaty and ready for a shower.
He nodded, still with his head in the crook of my neck.
"At least we're gross together," he mumbled.
I nodded.
He seemed content to be there forever, but I wasn't ready to give up the dream of cleanliness.
Besides, he was heavy. The weight of him was reassuring and warm and made my heart feel full and happy, but it made my back ache, and my back was winning.
I nudged his shoulder gently and he rolled off of me, sprawling on his back on the large bed.
"Are you ready for a shower?" he asked, still mumbling. He looked like he'd rather doze, but when I nodded. he stood up and smiled down at me, holding out his hand to help me up.
I took it and let him pull me to my feet on the floor, enjoying the worn-soft boards underneath my toes.
The bathroom was one of the rooms of the house I had yet to see. It was large and tiled with local stones, smooth and glowing gently in the light from the skylights.
The only windows were high up in the walls, but the room was bright and pleasant.
"My mother insisted on them," he said, seeing me looking up at the ceiling. "She said that she wasn't going to bathe in a cave, but she sure wasn't going to let some hand catch a peek, either."