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Chapter Thirteen
What were you thinking?" The words greeted her as she walked through the door to her apartment. Russ was already inside, which didn't surprise her since she had dawdled on her return here, dreading facing him.
"I wanted to see you play," she said, setting her purse down on the end of the breakfast bar. He was standing in the center of her living area, hands on hips.
"Why?"
She shrugged, trying to think of an excuse. The last thing she would tell him that her interest in him was growing well beyond the sexual. "Curiosity. I don't know anything about hockey except what you've told me."
"You could have looked it up online or bought a book. Why did you come to my game? I didn't even mention it to you."
"But you play the same place every week. Your team's schedule is on the Internet."
His eyes widened slightly. "You looked it up?"
"I was curious, that's all! I wanted to see you play, and I didn't think you'd want me to watch. My intention was that you not see me at all. How was I to know that no one else watches the games, and Daphne and I would stick out like palm trees on the polar ice cap?"
"So you pla
Her apprehensions of the evening slipped over into anger and she raised her voice. "I didn't plan to do anything! And what's the big deal, anyway? Huh? You sleep with me three times a week; it doesn't seem such a crime that I want to learn a little bit more about you!"
"Is that what you want? To know more about me?"
"It feels like you know all there is to know about me, but you give me precious little insight into your own life."
"I've shared more with you than I have with anyone in the past five years."
She tucked in her chin, taken aback. She hadn't expected that. "Are you serious?"
"It's not something I'd lie about."
She frowned, trying to figure him out. "Why me? Why tell me so much?"
"Maybe because you tell me so little."
"What are you talking about?" she asked, stu
"I don't know how to please you in bed."
The statement took the breath from her, guilt sweeping over her. "I'm happy with how you treat me in bed."
He shook his head. "You know what I'm talking about, Emma. You won't let me give to you the same pleasure that you give to me. Why?"
"Because this isn't about me. This whole relationship is about pleasing you. That's my job."
"Maybe I don't want to feel like you're doing me as your job."
"You seemed happy enough!"
"Even a kid will get sick of candy eventually and want something real to eat."
She felt stricken. "You're sick of me?"
He came forward and held her by the shoulders. "I'm not sick of you. Nor am I some stereotyped horndog who cares only about himself. I want to make love to the real Emma, not a French servant girl or a harem wench. Not even to someone whose mind is elsewhere, and whose only goal is to get me off. There is pleasure in giving pleasure: pleasure in knowing that you've touched a place deep inside a person; that she's trusted you with her secret desires, and felt safe enough to lose control in your arms. You've deprived me of that-whether by design or ignorance or fear, I don't know. But without it, we can't go on."
"I like what you do to me, Russ-truly I do. I don't know why I don't stay with it all the way; why I don't let you get me 'there.'"
He slid his hand up her neck and into her hair. "What am I doing wrong? Why won't you open up to me?"
"I don't even open up to myself," she said softly.
"Why?"
She leaned forward, resting her forehead against his chest. "I don't know. I think I'm afraid."
"Of what?" he asked more gently.
"Of embarrassing myself. Making a fool of myself. Being laughed at. Being vulnerable."
She felt him smooth his hand through her hair. "It's okay to be afraid. It's not okay to let that fear stifle you." He kissed her temple, his lips lingering as he whispered, "Tell me what you want."
His words shivered down her spine and she closed her eyes. "I don't know what I want."
He stepped back, holding her away from him. She opened her eyes in surprise.
"You have to tell me, Emma. Tell me what you want me to do to you. Spell it out in English."
She hunched her shoulders, the thought of telling him where and how to touch her too mortifying to accept. "I can't do that."
He dropped his hands. "I can't continue like this. We're finished, then."
Panic flashed through her. "No!"
"It's your choice."
"But- But you can't mean that I have to verbally guide you to my own orgasm!"
He picked his jacket up off the couch. "You can stay in the apartment as long as you need to."
"No! Russ, wait!"
He held still, watching her.
"Wait. I…" She couldn't speak. Couldn't do this thing he wanted of her.
He moved toward the door.
"I want you to put your coat down!"
He turned, cocking an eyebrow at her.
"And… and then I want you to pick me up and carry me to the bedroom!"
He draped his jacket over the breakfast bar and came toward her. Alarm ran up her spine and she was filled with sudden apprehension. They'd been intimate for weeks, but an embarrassed modesty swept over her as he approached. This would be the first time that the focus was all on her. He was putting the control of what happened in her hands, but only so that she would reach a point where she lost her grip on it completely.
She was being forced to give him the keys to her surrender. She was being forced to admit there were things she wanted that only he could give her.
He swept her up in his arms, surprising a gasp from her as she found herself lifted off her feet. She wrapped her arms around his neck as he carried her toward the bedroom.
"What if I can't, you know-get there?" she asked, a quaver in her voice.
"Have you ever managed to in the past?"
She nodded.
"Then you can't use that as an excuse." He pushed open the door and used his elbow to flip on the light. "Now what?"
"You mean I have to keep telling you things until I feel z'f?" The thought flitted through her mind that she could pretend to reach the big O and he might not know.
"I've said what I expect." He raised a brow. "And don't think I can't tell if you're faking."
She sighed. "I guess we should get this over with, then."
"Such passion!"
"How am I suppose to feel lusty on demand?" she asked querulously.
He shifted her in his arms, her weight obviously begi
It was true. She knew that she only needed to consciously decide to accept the situation. She might not always be in the mood when he visited, but if she went ahead with foreplay and sex anyway, she almost always ended up enjoying it; or at least not disliking it. Sometimes she'd enjoyed it most when she'd initially thought she'd rather be reading a book.
This, though, was different. This time she had to fully engage both body and mind. Orgasms never happened while thinking about anything other than one's own pleasure. Was it really okay to be so selfish?
She realized he was waiting for his next command. "You can put me down."
"On the bed?"
"No, let me stand."
He set her down and she straightened her clothes. So, here they were in her brightly lit bedroom. What now? "Okay, um… I guess I should tell you to seduce me."
He shook his head. "You'll have to be more specific than that."
"Er, how about, 'Let's get naked and in bed and then you will, uh, stimulate me to the point of orgasm.' " Her cheeks colored. Stimulate, ugh, what a word.
He shook his head again. "Step by step, Emma. Every touch, every motion."
She chewed her upper lip, nervousness making her hands tremble as she went around the room and lit the candles, aware of him watching her every move. She flipped off the overhead light, then turned to him, her hands twisted together. "This isn't going to be much fun for you, is it?"