With a small cry, she fumbled against the wall, looking for the light switch. A moment later, bright light flooded the bathroom again and she heaved a sigh of relief and frustration.
Still broken.
So what was tonight’s orgasm about, then? She hated to admit defeat to Sebastian, that now that they were home and had bought condoms, she wasn’t sure if she could perform as expected.
The thought filled her with anxiety and unhappiness.
By the time she got her nerve up to exit the bathroom, her mood was shot, her earlier confidence shattered. She hadn’t brought a change of clothes with her into the bathroom and had to leave in her towel, and she worried it was going to make Sebastian think that she was game for more play.
At the thought, she nearly cried. Why did that part of her brain keep shutting down?
She couldn’t hide in the bathroom all night, though. So, tucking the towel in against her breasts, she sucked in a deep, steadying breath, and emerged.
Sebastian was sitting on the edge of the bed, waiting for her. She saw he was paging through a derby magazine he must have gotten at the bout that night. He’d undressed, down to nothing but a wifebeater and boxer briefs that outlined the fact that he hadn’t forgotten their earlier interlude. His cock tented the front of the fabric.
The moment she exited the bathroom, he put aside the magazine and jerked to his feet. “What’s wrong?”
She gave him a tight smile. “Nothing. Nothing’s wrong.”
“Bullshit. I can see it on your face. Something’s bothering you.” He moved to the closet and got a bathrobe out, holding it out to her. It was a men’s bathrobe, in dark muted colors and thick. Women’s robes were always terry cloth or some satiny crap. It’d also cover her from head to toe in a most unsexy fashion. She took the robe and tied it around her body, then ditched her towel discreetly. “Now, sit down,” he commanded her, and pointed at the end of the bed, the spot he’d just vacated.
Chelsea thumped down unhappily.
He knelt in front of her, clasping her hands in his. “You know we don’t have to do anything, right? That there aren’t any expectations from me? Despite what happened earlier?”
She looked into his beautiful eyes, so bright against his dark lashes, and felt a little bit of her crumple inside. “But that’s the problem. Earlier was so great, and when we got home, I just . . . I lost it, somehow. I don’t understand.” She sniffed and blinked rapidly, hating that she was going to cry over this. Lots of women had trouble orgasming, right?
She just happened to have trouble with all of it.
“When we kissed?” he guessed. “Do you think it was just nerves?”
“Maybe that was it,” she said quickly, leaping on the idea. “Want to try again?”
“We can, but I don’t want you to pressure yourself.” He stroked his thumbs over the backs of her hands. “No pressure, all right? If it’s not fun, it’s not worth it.”
“But it’s fun for you,” she sniffed.
The expression on his face was downright agonized. “Not if you’re not enjoying it.”
And that was what made Sebastian different from the man who had taken so much from her. Whoever it had been hadn’t cared if she was into it, or that she was drugged out of her mind and tied up so she couldn’t fight. That person had just wanted a convenient warm body to fuck and forget.
Sebastian wanted her. Chelsea. And he wanted her to enjoy his touches.
And god, she so desperately wanted to enjoy them, too.
Please , she said silently, and then patted the corner of the bed next to her. “Come sit?”
“Remember your safe word.”
Like she could forget it. It was branded into her mind as a thing she loathed to use but had no choice. Chelsea touched his cheek and guided his mouth down to hers. His lips caressed hers oh so gently, tongue brushing against the part of her mouth. He smelled good, tasted better. His kiss was soft, sweet, and gentle.
And she felt . . . absolutely nothing. That part of her mind had shut off again.
She pulled away, new, fresh tears rising. “I don’t understand what’s wrong with me.”
“There’s absolutely nothing wrong with you,” he said, brushing a lock of wet hair off her forehead. “Other than being completely amazing in every way.”
“Every way but this one,” she pointed out bitterly.
“So you have a hang-up. You’ll get over it. I’m patient enough to wait for you.”
But you said you loved me. Will that wait too ? She was dying to know, but too scared to ask. How long would his caring and affection last if he got nothing in return from her except a wife who couldn’t sleep with the lights off and grew utterly detached the moment he kissed her?
“Maybe we should go back to the locker room,” she muttered, frustrated. “Everything was awesome there, wasn’t it?”
His eyes lit up. “Aha.”
“What? Aha what?”
“Why was it you started playing derby again?” There was a wicked sparkle in his eye that made her wonder what he was getting at.
Chelsea tightened the robe about her and considered. “I started playing because I went to a practice and met the girls.”
“Yeah, but why derby? What about it appealed to you?”
He was getting at something, but she was too upset and frustrated and tired to follow along. She shrugged. “They looked so strong and confident on the track. Tough. Like nothing could bother them . . .” Her words trailed off and her eyes widened. She sat up straight. “You think it worked earlier because I was Chesty LaRude instead of me?”