Ian had the distinct look of a man who didn’t want her to touch him. She could only guess he was a man used to being in charge. Too bad. Last night he’d driven her to distraction. That’s what she wanted to give him this morning.
His arms slumped to his sides and he crawled toward her.
“You’ll need to take off your shirt.”
“Why?”
Yeah, that was her question. Why all the reluctance? “Is there a way I could give you a massage with your shirt on?”
With a shrug, Ian lifted his shirt over his head, and tossed it out the opening of her tent.
It was her turn to be reluctant. Ian had the kind of body that drove women to create ceremonies like the Send-Off. He was a man who lived in the field, worked hard with his body, and it showed. He didn’t have the bulk of someone who worked for those muscles in a gym. No, his body was lean strength, tight stomach and hardened pecs. A light smattering of hair led temptingly lower.
Her fingers itched to touch his skin. Caress his muscles. She swallowed over the hard lump in her throat. She knew her body must be flashing all the signals of an aroused woman. She felt the blush above her breasts. Knew her nipples were poking at the material of her top.
His gaze turned heated, and she saw his hands fist and flex at his side.
“It’s okay, Ian. I’ll make sure you enjoy this.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” he stated. This was no soft utterance or muttering under his breath. It was that amazing honesty from yesterday. His words made her burn.
Ian was done hiding his desire and also obviously through with masking his reluctance, too. Could his hesitation be rooted in the same reasons as her own proactive gestures of last night?
They wanted each other, but were both clearly cautious. She’d never shied away from anything, and she doubted the alpha loner in front of her had, either. Why now?
As a researcher, she’d love to ponder and contemplate the reasons until she came up with a reasonable answer. As a woman, she just wanted her hands on his body.
“Your pants, too.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“It’s going to get really oily in here, do you want that on your khakis?”
Ian’s fingers moved to the button, and unhooked it. Then he found the zipper, his eyes never leaving her face. But she was too curious, so her gaze slid downward. She sucked in a breath as she realized something about Ian. He didn’t like to wear underwear.
The pants slid down his legs, revealing a deep tan with none of the telltale marks of a man who wore trunks when he swam. Already semierect, he was impressive to behold.
She recognized her age-old womanly response. Her lips parted. Her breasts felt heavy.
His pants soon joined his shirt outside the material walls. Ian turned, presenting her his back. Smooth and tanned and muscled, it matched the rest of his body.
The skin of his shoulders quivered as she placed her oil-ready hands on him. His hot flesh felt right beneath her fingertips. “You seem tense,” she said.
“Getting tenser by the moment.”
She smiled, her skin becoming more sensitive as she grew aroused. Ava began to rub and knead his flesh. “There’s no record that the Dravonian women had any special techniques. I think they just did whatever made the man feel good. Does this make you feel good, Ian?”
“Yes.” His voice was low and huskier than before.
Done with his shoulders, she poured more oil into her hand. She slid her hands down his spine, watching him flex and move under her ministrations.
She cupped the firmness of his backside. He had the perfect butt, and his muscles grew more taut as she worked him.
“This doesn’t seem to be doing the trick of relaxing you. Maybe this will help.”
Ava reached behind her and tugged the bow at her neck holding the halter top in place. The bow between her shoulder blades was more tricky with her fingers so slippery, but she managed to get it undone, too.
Her top fell to the protected floor with a whoosh. Ian shifted around to see what had fallen. His eyes widened at the sight of her nearly naked body.
Ava’s nipples hardened further under his gaze. She poured more oil into her hands and rubbed it all over her breasts, loving the slick feeling against her sensitive flesh.
“I suspect that after a while the woman did something like this.” Ava cupped her body to Ian’s back, rubbing her oil-glazed body against his skin. The sensation was amazing. Unlike any she’d felt before.
She began to run her fingers up and down the sides of his body. His thighs. His ribs. With each stroke downward, his frame jerked as she found her fingers closer and closer to his penis.
She would have loved to have done this last night. Touched him for real, instead of in her imagination.
The oil was working its magic. His skin glistened in the candlelight. Finally the slickness became too much and he fell, his arms barely bracing both of them.
“Roll onto your back. I think it’s time to massage your front,” she urged.
Ian circled to his back, bringing her along with him. “Never understood the appeal of oil-wrestling until now,” he said. “What?”
Ian shook his head. “I’ll explain it later. I like what you’re doing now.”
She smiled, and poured more oil into her hands, rubbing to heat up the liquid. Then she smoothed it onto his chest, running her fingers along his collarbone, his nipples and the muscled lines of his stomach.
When she settled on his hips, his cock jutted forward. Her gaze lowered. His hard length was ready for anything she wanted to give him.
Ava suddenly held a new appreciation for the control Dravonian women must have had. Her skin screamed for his touch. His caresses. His mouth on her body.
She could only imagine how intense the experience would be for a woman who was loved by the man beside her, and her fearing for his safety. Everything, every touch, every taste, every sense would be heightened.
She needed to take a breather, to get her riotous body more in check. “I have some sliced meats and some traditional bite-size boiled potatoes. Usually the woman feeds her man.”
“Nice to know meat-and-potato men always existed.”
“What?”
Ian groaned deep in his throat. “No, ignore me. I don’t want you to feed me. In fact, I don’t want you to stop what you’re doing at all. And in case that’s not clear enough, I want your sexy little hands back on my body. Touching me. Stroking me.”
Her hand reached for the base of his cock. “Like this?” she asked.
He shivered below her, his face a beautiful picture of male concentration.
“Yes,” he answered, his voice barely above a whisper.
Ava wrapped her fingers around his shaft, then slowly raised her hand to the tip, the oil making the movement easy and smooth.
His hips lifted, and she caressed the tip of him with her thumb. Then she lowered her hand down his shaft.
His eyes flew open. “Ava, that feels so good.”
She lowered her lips to give him a quick kiss. “Enjoy it,” she said against his mouth. “I am.”
Ava began to move up and down his cock, gradually increasing her speed. The muscles of his stomach flexed and his thighs shook. His hands came up to grip her. To stop her. “Ava.”
She shook her head. “No, let me do this. You gave to me last night. Let me give to you now.”
The hands that had come up to stop her movements embraced her. Helped her find the rhythm he liked best. She watched his face, fascinated by the tightness of his jaw. The candlelight exposing the strength of his reaction to her touch.
He grew harder in her hand.
Her heart beat faster in eagerness. She knew his orgasm was near, and she couldn’t wait to watch him. The core of her ached to have him feel her, but she resisted the urge to rub her clit against his hair-roughened but oil-slick thigh. That would be strictly against the rules of the ceremony.