For the first week, the only way he wanted her was gone. He told her so every time she touched him, to check his vital signs or his toes, or to help him relieve himself.
He told her so, and Magda had no trouble believing him during that first week, when he was in the greatest pain. He was not a man used to being helpless, she could tell. If he'd been in better shape, she could never have kept him here against his will, hidden in a back room of her house. As it was, if she'd kicked him out, he'd have ended up in a snowbank in the front yard, unable to hobble further.
It was during the second week that his protests began to sound like lies. He began to take in a breath whenever she touched him, and not one of pain. His eyes began to darken when he saw her, and to follow her movements with something other than suspicion.
At the beginning of the third week, she bathed him, though he'd always before dismissed the offer, insisting he could do it himself. By the time he was clean and dry, his erection stood tall and red against his belly, his breathing as harsh as it had been since he had been here.
He wasn't the only one. Magda had noticed how handsome he was that first morning, when she'd stumbled over a corpse in her yard only to realize it was a living man, one who had tripped badly in the hole where a tree trunk had been until the last week. When he'd begun to rise during his bath, she'd gotten wetter and wetter, until she was aching.
Now, she pulled off her shirt, her bra. She took his hand and raised it to her breast as she leaned forward to kiss him on the mouth.
Slow, it needed to be slow. They needed to be careful, like they had to be with everything else. But he wasn't content to go slow, and strained toward her again and again, swearing again and again when he was reminded that he could not roll on top of her, or anything else he was trying to do.
Magda had thought to ride him, but now she thought not; he would try to thrust up, and that would only be more pain. She wrapped her hand around him and took pleasure in his groan. Then, she leaned down and took him into her mouth, and the cry he made then would only make sense later, when she learned how long it had been since he'd been touched.
She held his hips down with one forearm, held the base of him still in her other hand as she sucked him. When she looked at his face, his eyes were as dark as they'd been. Once, he'd looked at her like an enemy, but now he looked at her with worship.
It was not long before he came, spilling into her mouth. She had just gotten him clean, and so she swallowed, and then came back up to kiss him.
Some men wouldn't have wanted to taste themselves, but him - the first night he'd been here, he'd told her he was a mutant. When that had not phased her, he'd said he was Erik Lehnsherr. When she had not immediately murdered him for that, he'd said his last lover had been a man, that he'd sucked him and been fucked by him, and surely she thought that was disgusting.
In all honesty, Magda wasn't very sure what she thought about any of that. But she'd saved him, and hadn't been going to change her mind just because he wasn't grateful.
She kissed him on the mouth. He didn't draw back, or complain of the taste. Instead, he kissed her back, and let her guide his fingers between her thighs. For once, he seemed quite content to do as she told him, without complaint.