Each Step Like Knives Read Free

belly, then
down to her thighs. It had been a long time since she'd made love.
She'd grown suspicious of Howard's fidelity when the marathon
lovemaking sessions they used to have had dried up and become
once-every-other-week, perfunctory, passionless fucking. By the
end, they'd barely had sex at all, and when they did, he'd had zero
interest in making sure he'd pleased her.
     
    She'd learned to take care of her own needs, but in
the aftermath of the flight from New York, Helena hadn't done more
than think about sex for months. Now, her nipples puckered in the
hot water as she imagined a man's mouth on them. She touched them,
rolled them gently between her fingertips. The soft buds of flesh
stiffened under her touch. She tweaked them both again and felt her
body's response between her thighs.
     
    The oiled water had made her skin supple and slick,
but the moisture her questing fingers discovered between her legs
had its own source. Helena slid a finger along her folds, then
dipped inside. Heat covered her finger, and the pressure on her
sensitive inner flesh made her bite her lip and roll her head on
her shoulders. God, it felt good to be touched, even if it was her
own fingers doing the touching.
     
    She circled her clit, already plump and straining
with arousal, then slid back inside her heat. The heel of her palm
pressed her button as she slowly moved first one finger, then
another, in and out. Then up again to put the pressure on the spot
where she craved it most.
     
    Helena teased herself to the edge of orgasm in
minutes, something no man had ever seemed able to do as well for
her as she could do for herself. Her past lovers had varied in
skill, desire and physical accomplishments, but they'd all had the
same thing in common. They could make her come, sometimes even more
than once, but not one of them had mastered the art of slow,
torturous arousal that could turn a mildly pleasing orgasm into a
climax so mind-blowing it nearly stopped her heart.
     
    She didn't let herself slide over the edge into
oblivion--not yet. She had all afternoon and all night to please
herself, if she wanted. The porcelain tub had a smoothly curving
back that cradled her in perfect comfort. With an inflatable bath
pillow beneath her neck, Helena could float here for hours. She
intended to just that.
     
    Now she pinched her clit lightly between her thumb
and middle finger and moved the small, hard button of flesh slowly.
She concentrated on the feelings radiating through her body while
her other hand caressed each of her nipples in time to the stroking
of her clit. Her legs fell open and she arched her pelvis against
her hand.
     
    The perfect man would know how to do this.
     
    The thought startled her enough to make her open her
eyes and stop her fingers in their delicate circle. Where did that
come from? Perfect man? There was no such thing. Helena wasn't
foolish enough to think she'd never date again, but open up her
heart? Not bloody likely.
     
    Her clit pulsed under her touch and she let out a
breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. Perfect men simply
didn't exist, and even if one did, she wouldn't want him. How hard
would it be to live with someone who was perfect?
     
    The thought made her laugh, which came out more like
a gasp. So the perfect man for her wouldn't have to actually be
perfect. She let her hands start up their exploration again. He'd
touch her like this, softly, then more fiercely as her arousal
grew. He'd know how to do it without being told. Hell, without even
being shown. He'd just know.
     
    What would he look like? The man from the subway
flashed into her mind's eye again, but then faded. Dark hair. She'd
always loved dark hair on a man. Dark eyes, too. Dark like night. A
man who looked like he wasn't afraid to get dirty. Ahhh.... Her
clit thrummed and she thrust upward in the water. She left her
nipples to slide her fingers inside herself while the other hand
kept up its circular motion on her