Once he allowed his gaze to fall lower than her face, he realized that the sweatpants she’d worn earlier were gone. Bare legs extended to bare feet, the sight of which sent a fresh charge of testosterone through him.
“I don’t know how to help you,” she whispered.
“Maybe I don’t want you to help me.”
“Then what do you want?”
For her to see him as an ordinary man. To desire him as an ordinary man.
“Take off your clothes.” His voice sounded so raspy he almost didn’t recognize it. He felt so much more than lust, but whatever else he craved was like an itch he could never scratch. He figured he could be happy with pure sex. Being able to make love to a woman, a woman like Peyton, was far more than he’d expected before returning to prison, wasn’t it? So why had he tried so hard to resist?
She stood, seemingly transfixed. Would she refuse? He’d made his request a command because part of him hoped she would. That she’d save him, since he couldn’t save himself. The other part felt as if he’d die a little if she shut him down….
“Why do you have to tempt people, challenge them, into not giving you what you want?” she asked.
His chest burned; he wasn’t sure why. “This isn’t a psychoanalysis session. Are you going to fuck me or not?”
“No. Forget it. Just get out of here.” She started to turn away, but she didn’t close the door and he clasped her elbow.
“Don’t say no,” he murmured, but he didn’t hold on to her very long. He didn’t want her to feel forced.
She stared at him as if she understood why he’d been crude, as if she was just as lost as he was. Then she lifted her T-shirt over her head and let it drop to the floor.
The sight of her in nothing but a pair of sheer lace panties hit him harder than any physical blow he’d ever sustained. He stepped back and gulped for breath, dared not move toward her for fear she was just another dream that would dissipate into thin air if he tried to touch her.
“Virgil?” She sounded uncertain of his reaction, or lack of reaction.
His throat so dry he couldn’t speak, he raised a hand to tentatively cup her breast. The weight and feel of her resting in his palm shot to his brain like a snort of heroin. It’d been at least ten years since he’d wasted any brain cells on drugs, but it was a feeling he’d never forgotten.
Half expecting her to stop him, he caught his breath. He’d had so much practice being disappointed in life he didn’t truly believe she’d give him what he wanted. Bringing him here, teasing him with her nakedness, could be some sort of test, to see if he’d resort to force if she suddenly changed her mind. He’d heard of C.O.s who did that. Some got off on the danger of such games. But he had no desire to force Peyton or any other woman. It was her cooperation and participation he desired.
She didn’t know that, of course. But she didn’t refuse. Her lips parted and her eyes slid closed as his thumb brushed lightly over one tantalizing nipple.
When he began to shake, he tried to pull away so she wouldn’t notice. His reaction embarrassed him. But she covered his hands and held them in place. “It’s okay,” she promised. “No matter what happens, it’s okay.”
He hadn’t told her he’d been with only one girl, way back when he was a teenager, but he had told her he’d been eighteen when he went to prison and hadn’t had sex since then. He wondered if Peyton found it ironic that a man who’d seen and done so much was almost completely uninitiated in physical pleasure. Maybe. Regardless, she didn’t seem worried that he’d disappoint her.
Standing on tiptoe, she pressed her lips to his, kissing him softly, sweetly—and that was all it took. With a growl, he scooped her into his arms and carried her to the bed, where he bent over her so he could use his mouth as much as his hands.
Making love to Peyton made Virgil feel as if he’d spent all those years in prison waiting for this one moment. He didn’t want it to end, especially too soon, which was why he didn’t remove his pajama bottoms when he removed her panties. It was Peyton who eventually peeled them off. Then there was nothing to stop them, and the drive to consummate became both frenzied and desperate.
“I want to feel you inside me,” she whispered when he still held back.
He wanted the same thing. More than he’d ever wanted anything. But just in case all those tests they’d given him before releasing him from prison had somehow been wrong, and he’d picked up HIV or something else from all the fighting, he didn’t want to expose her. Neither did he want to run the risk of getting her pregnant. That couldn’t be good for her life or her career, for a lot of reasons, including the fact that it would provide proof, should Wallace care to make any accusations, that they’d been together.
Pulling ragged gulps of air into his lungs, he rested his forehead against hers. “Do you have a condom?”
“I thought you said you were clean.”
“I am, but…what about pregnancy?”
“There’s no need to worry about that. I’ve had endometriosis since I was thirteen. The doctor has me on the pill.”
What, exactly, did that mean? “Endometriosis doesn’t make this…painful for you, does it?” He knew that was probably a stupid question. She seemed eager enough. But one thing he hadn’t come across in prison was any information on the various conditions that affect the female reproductive system.
“For me it’s not usually painful. It just means I might have trouble getting pregnant if and when I want children. But there’s a lot doctors can do these days, so…I’m hopeful.”
“I’m sure they’ll be able to help.” He didn’t know the first thing about it, but he would’ve said whatever she needed to hear. He felt too protective of her to do anything else. “So…we’re good to go?”
“We’re good.” She whispered those words while tracing the rim of his ear with her tongue. He nearly melted into her right then and there, but he wanted one last look at her the way she was now, completely undone, her mouth swollen with his kisses, her hair tangled from his hands, her face slightly chafed from his beard growth. Pinning her hands lightly above her head, he stared at her, intent on memorizing every detail.
“What?” she said.
“Nothing.” He traced the curve of one cheek, ran his finger along her lower lip and all the way down to her navel. Then he closed his eyes and gave himself over to the sensations that promised such sweet release: her satiny skin, her wet mouth, her musky smell on his fingers. He was trying to take it slow; he didn’t want it to end too soon. But what they felt turned into such frantic need he could’ve more easily stopped a speeding train. Gripping his buttocks, she arched into him to let him know what she wanted, and he responded by pushing inside her as far as he could.
The tight warmth of her around him was almost too much. He tried, once again, to slow down, but it was a futile effort. The compulsion was too great, for both of them. She moaned her pleasure as the rhythm increased, and he began to shake again. This wasn’t like those sloppy, careless sessions with Carrie. He’d lost enough since then to know that this was one of those moments he’d always treasure, regardless of what happened afterward.
“I think…maybe you’d better give me a minute,” he gasped, “or I won’t…be able to hang on until—”
“Don’t worry about that.” She wrapped her legs around his hips, drawing him even deeper. “Just let go.”
And then the last of his defenses slipped away, along with his control, and the most exquisite pleasure broke over him, rocking him with a series of shuddering waves.
The soothing, metronome quality of Virgil’s breathing suggested he was sleeping soundly. He lay on his back, one arm thrown over his head. Peyton wondered how long it’d been since he’d really relaxed like this. She was tired herself, but she didn’t want to drift into unconsciousness. She preferred to relish the time she had with him. His warmth seemed to hold the fog’s pervading dampness at bay and the size of his body offered a greater sense of security than she’d felt in ages. For the first time since she’d met him, except for when they were making love, he was unguarded. She liked that. More than liked it. And yet she had to ask herself: What have I done? She was the chief deputy warden of the facility where he’d be incarcerated on Tuesday. After this, how could they maintain any type of professionalism?