“Yes, filthy dirty,” she says, with a sly smile, making eye contact.
“Hmmm, guess we live in the same club tonight, sweetheart. I’m filthy dirty too.”
She runs her hands down my chest, fingers spreading over the buttons of my shirt, and looks up at me with the clearest, boldest eyes I’ve ever seen on a woman.
“You should see my knees. I’ve been kneeling in mud and cow shit for two hours. My shirt smells like wet hay.” I press my body into hers, loving the way she talks dirty and means it literally.
“That’s fine. You can shower after … or before. Whatever you want.”
She raises an eyebrow, mouth so close her words land on my lips. “After.”
I nod once, grounding myself in the heat of her, and I slide one hand around her, cupping her ass through the damp denim, loving the heat and tension in her body. Her hands are busy on my shirt, fingers working the buttons. When she gets the last one, she pushes it open, exposing my skin to the kitchen's cold air and her hands, revealing all my tattoos.
She traces them on my arms and from my sternum down, slow and deliberate, until she's at my waistband. She doesn't hesitate, just palms the hard line of my cock through my jeansand squeezes. My knees almost buckle. I want to say something sharp, but her mouth is hot on my neck, at the spot just below my ear. She bites there gently, and I make a sound I haven’t heard from myself before.
She likes it, I can tell. I can feel the smile on her lips, the curve of her mouth against my skin. She wants more of it, so I give it to her. I push her tighter to the counter, hips grinding, and she groans and digs in with her heels, urging me closer.
Nicole’s hands roam my upper torso. When she notices the tattoo just below my heart, she pauses and looks up with something in her eyes like a question. But she already knows the answer. It says Trust.
She slides her palm over it and then she kisses me there, gentle. I’m not prepared for how it’s more intimate than anything we’ve done so far.
“I like this,” she whispers, lips against my skin. “It’s real. It’s you.”
Another time, I’d laugh that off. Tonight, I just close my eyes and let her touch me. Then she tugs me in and kisses me with a hunger like she’s starving.
I push her shirt up, hands spanning the bare skin over her ribs, and she lifts her arms just enough for me to pull the fabric off. Beneath, she’s got a simple sports bra, black and damp with sweat. Her nipples are hard, visible through the fabric, and I can’t help myself. I run my hands over them, palms rough, and she arches into it with a little gasp.
She tugs at my belt and the buckle yields. I get her jeans open and lie her back while I pull them down over her hips. She wriggles out of them, and in the process, her thighs squeeze me tighter, pulling me flush. The heat between her legs is palpable, even through the cotton barrier of her underwear. I palm the backs of her thighs, lifting her higher, and she lets out a little sound that’s more growl than moan. She’s so hungryand impatient, which is surprising considering she’s usually so patient in her training of the horses.
Nicole drags my jeans off now, underwear too as my cock slips out hard and glistening on the tip. She wraps her hand around the base.
“You’re huge,” she says, as she slides her palm up the shaft, thumb circling the head, and I forget how to breathe for a second.
“It’s for you and you alone, Nicole.”
She strokes me once, then twice, and plants her feet back on the counter edge, opening her knees wide so I can step in. Her underwear is soaked. I can see the dark patch, and when I hook my finger through the waistband, she tilts her pelvis, a low needy sound in her throat that sets my teeth on edge. I drag her underwear down, slow, and she lifts her hips to help. The fabric peels away, damp with want, and I toss it aside.
I move her legs apart again and push her back a little so she’s propped up by her arms, sitting on the counter. I decide to watch her get off, fingering her clit and placing my finger inside of her. I want to see her lose herself right here on this counter.
I press the pads of my fingers against her, circling slow, letting her get used to the attention. She breathes out hard, tilting her hips into my touch, her hands gripping the counter for leverage. I keep my eyes on her face. She wants me to see it, the way her mouth parts, the way her lashes flutter when I tease her. She’s not shy. She’s demanding, and I want to give her everything she asks for.
“Like that?” I ask.
She just nods, biting her lower lip. I slide a finger inside, slow and smooth. She’s so wet it’s almost obscene and tight around me, hungry for more. She grinds her hips, taking me deeper, and I watch her eyes roll back. The sight of it, the raw,unselfconscious pleasure, nearly makes me lose control right there.
She’s shaking now, knuckles white gripping the counter’s edge. I keep the rhythm, adding a second finger, and she takes it like it’s nothing, like she wants more and more. Her breath goes sharp, then shallow, and I know the signs. I know when a woman is about to go over, and Nicole’s on the edge, trembling. Her mouth is open and her eyes on mine as she comes hard, a long shudder passing through her whole body. She cries out my name, loud enough to echo in the kitchen, and I fucking love it. I’d do anything to hear her make that sound again.
Before she’s done shaking, I line my cock up and slide in. She’s so slick I almost bottom out in one stroke. She lets go of the counter and clutches at me. I lose what’s left of my restraint as I pick up the pace. I pound into her, hard enough that the counter creaks and her body rocks with every thrust. She wraps around me, her arms and legs both, holding me so tight I can barely move, but I do, and it’s like nothing has ever felt this right. She’s not sweet. She’s not delicate. She’s a furnace, and I want to burn up inside her.
The slap of skin and the ragged sound of our breathing mixes with the whine of the counter edge under us. I keep my hand on her ass, squeezing, controlling the angle, and Nicole meets every thrust, like she’s trying to climb inside me.
“Don’t stop,” she shouts, and I don’t. I pin her to the counter, fucking her hard and deep. She comes again, this time with a strangled, breathless sound that’s half laughter, half cry. It rips through her, and she squeezes me so tight I think she might pull the soul out of my body.
My orgasm hits like a punch, full and devastating, every muscle locked and shuddering as I empty myself into her. I don’t hold back, and neither does she. We’re loud, messy, greedy for more than we deserve.
When it’s over, I stay right there, pressed to her, arms braced on either side of her body. We’re both shaking, breathless, barely able to process how hard we just lost ourselves. I kiss her again, hungry for more of her mouth, her sweat, her laughter. She tastes like salt and chocolate and every fucking thing I ever wanted and told myself not to need.
Eventually the shaking stops and we just breathe together. She pulls me in, holding me with her forehead pressed to my collarbone, arms snaked around my ribs like she’s anchoring herself. I keep my hands on her hips, thumbs rubbing lazy circles into the heated skin there.
