Creep - Jennifer Hillier [29]
Not even a twitch.
She climbed on top of him, sitting in his lap, writhing her hips as she kissed his neck and nuzzled his earlobes, something that usually drove him crazy. He kissed her back passionately, his tongue aggressive and searching, but when her fingers wandered down to his penis, it was still soft. He moved her hand away.
“Why don’t you let me work on you,” he said.
Sheila smiled, secretly relieved. They switched positions and she lay back on the bed, placing her arms behind her head on the pillow.
Starting from her neck, Morris worked his way down her body with his lips. A moment later he was between her legs. Sheila moaned, thrusting her hips into his face, and he worked with her rhythm until she climaxed a few minutes later.
She caught her breath and sat up, noting happily that he was semihard again.
“My turn now.” She rolled him on his back and went down for the second time. He seemed more relaxed.
Five minutes later, he had a full erection and she stopped what she was doing with her mouth so she could straddle him. For a while, everything seemed fine, but a few moments later, it happened again. He was going soft.
Stifling her frustration, she asked him once more while she was still sitting on him. “Seriously, babe, is there something wrong with what I’m doing?”
“Nothing’s wrong.” Morris’s tone was curt. He turned his face away. “I think I’m just tired.”
“Have you ever . . .” Sheila paused, searching for the right words. She had to tread very, very carefully here. “Have you ever had problems before?”
He still wouldn’t look her, but his face flushed a deep red. “No, I’ve never had problems. Not even when I was drinking. I told you, I think I’m just tired.”
Sheila glanced at the clock on the nightstand. “At . . . three o’clock on a Saturday afternoon?”
His maroon face went purple. “Maybe I just need a nap.”
“Okay.” She climbed off and pulled the covers up over her naked body, lying beside him. “Me, too.”
“Fine.”
But it wasn’t fine. It really wasn’t. This was an almost exact replay of her sex life with her ex-husband, Bill, and she couldn’t—wouldn’t—go through that again.
She refused to let it go. Sitting up, she touched Morris’s face. “Honey, please, if I’m doing something wrong, just tell me.”
He jerked away from her caress as if stung and said nothing. He still wouldn’t look at her, instead staring at the TV on the dresser, which wasn’t even turned on.
She sat up straighter, her heart plummeting. “So it is me.” She pulled the covers tighter around herself and swallowed her pride. “Okay, tell me. I don’t mind. Tell me what you like and I’ll do it. Or what you don’t like. Or what I did wrong. Just please talk to me.”
He didn’t answer for a full minute, and it was agony not to repeat the questions again. She didn’t want to push him, although somehow she felt as if she already had. Finally he said, “It’s not what you’re doing. I usually like everything you’re doing. What guy wouldn’t? It’s . . . the way you’re doing it.”
Sheila was taken aback. That was not the response she’d been expecting. “What do you mean? Is it my technique?”
Morris shook his head, his jaw clenching. He finally turned and looked directly at her. “No, nothing’s wrong with your technique,” he said, his words slow and controlled and enunciated. “Your technique is perfect. Especially for someone who said she didn’t like sex and shouldn’t even have a technique.”
“What?” Sheila’s mouth dropped open. “I never said I didn’t like sex.”
“Maybe not in so many words, but that’s damn well the impression you’ve been giving me for the past year. Why else would a woman in her thirties not want sex? I honestly thought you didn’t know how. And then, out of nowhere, this?”
Sheila stared at him and saw for the first time that he wasn’t just embarrassed, if he was even embarrassed at all. Morris was angry. Really, really angry. Red-faced, struggling-for-control enraged. And for the life of her she couldn’t figure out why.
He wasn’t