For some reason, the forlorn look on his face makes me feel guilty for trivializing what’s happening between us. For making it seem like I don’t care that he’ll be gone soon. I’ve been working hard to put that fact out of my mind every time we’re together. I don’t want to think about himmoving back to the city, of losing the companionship I’ve found with him here.
“There’s still a couple weeks until you go,” I point out.
There’s a good chance continuing things with Wes will cause more heartache when he goes, but I don’t want to stop what he and I have been doing. I can’t stand the idea of not using up every single moment we have together until then. Wes drives me wild, and I’m not ready to miss out on any of the time I have with him.
“One week and five days,” he replies.
He’s still counting down the days until he’s back in the city.
I get up and sidle over to where he sits at my kitchen table. “So, let’s make that time count.” I perch on the table in front of him and spread my legs so that he can see that I have nothing on under my oversizedSave a Horse, Ride a CowboyT-shirt.
How fitting.
His hand finds my thigh and grips it roughly as his gaze lingers at my apex, burning with want. I lean back on my hands and let him look his fill. A groan rumbles from his chest. “I’ll definitely make it count.”
His fingers run a teasing circuit from my knee all the way up to where I’m wet and needy and then back down again. My breath hitches in my throat when he reaches my entrance, but retreats without dipping a finger inside. It’s agonizing, this intense need my body has for him.
“More dirty promises?” I bite back a needy sound that's working its way up my throat as his fingers inch close and then retreat again.
My core clenches down on emptiness, and my clit throbs. I want him to fill me so full that there’s no room for the thoughts that have been swirling in my head all day. I’m done thinking about him. I just want to fuck him.
When his hand makes its trek back between my thighs, I grip his wrist, not allowing him to withdraw.
His eyes bore into mine and I can feel the heat between us building. “Are you gonna beg for it, Red?”
I grind my molars together. “I never beg.”
His lips twitch. “Is that so?” His fingers slide over my skin but neglect the place that is aching for him the most.
I nod, but a whimper sneaks past my lips when he brushes ever so lightly over my sensitive bundle of nerves.
“We’ll see about that, won’t we?”
I release a shaky exhale as he continues the torturous circles he makes with his fingers. My legs shake as he tunnels a hand under my shirt and finds my nipple. He pinches it between his thumb and finger, and a sharp current of pleasure shoots through my clit like a lightning bolt.
I arch off the table, panting with need. My whole body is a live wire, and every little touch has sparks of lust flying through me.
Wes trails kisses up my thigh to my stomach, pulling my T-shirt over my head in one quick tug. He nips at my breast while he palms the other. My skin is searing from his touch, but it’s not nearly enough. I need him inside me. I need his rough hands gripping my hips firmly when he drives into me and goes a little wild. I want savage thrusts and feral need.
My fingers thread through his hair, grabbing it by the roots. He meets my gaze, a smirk playing on his full lips before he ghosts them over mine briefly. His scent is a heady mix of dust and leather, and I can taste the whiskey on his tongue.
“Wes.” My voice cracks on his name, sounding more like a whine than a command.
His thumb sweeps over my nipple, and my body arches into his of its own accord.
“Hmm?” he hums contentedly, watching me writhe on the table in front of him, legs spread wide. I’m so hungry for his touch I can’t help but offer myself up for the taking. “Have I ever told you how pretty you are here?” he asks, brushing over my slit with hands that are much too gentle.
I groan quietly, searching for the friction I’m craving, but he refuses. He nips at my neck, too gentle. “I know what you need, Red.” I can feel him smile against my skin. My breaths come out in short pants as his fingers graze over my entrance, dipping in slightly before pulling back again. “But you’re gonna have to beg for it.”
I let out a distraught sound, and he chuckles, his hot breath in my ear making me shiver. His hands find my hips, and he pulls me to the edge of the table, my fingers trailing over his muscular forearms as he rocks against my center with the bulge in his jeans.
I moan at the feeling of his denim-clad erection pressing against me. It does nothing but make me feel more eager to be filled by him, and my nails dig into his skin in desperation.
I’m nothing but a shaking, simpering mess on the table. His hands are braced on either side of me as his mouth claims mine with a sweep of his tongue. I tear at the buttons of his flannel in an effort to get his clothes off, but my old pedestal table can’t handle the weight of both of us. I squeal as it tips precariously, and Wes leans back to take some of his weight off the table so that it rests on its single leg once more.
It’s cold without his body pressed against mine, and I’m about to protest when his hands grip my ass and he lifts me into his arms. My lips collide with his as he walks us through the kitchen and turns down the hall. I’m not exactly tiny, but he tosses me onto the bed like I weigh nothing.
He shrugs out of his flannel shirt and scans me from head to toe before settling his gaze on mine. I prop myself up on my elbows, my nipples pebbling as he shucks off his jeans. I watch as he rolls on a condom and pumps himself a few times, the muscles in his forearms straining as he does. My tongue wets my lips and I trail my hand between my legs.
