She blinks up at me, slowly. Then her hands slide down my chest, lower, until her fingers find my belt buckle. “I don’t want you to stop.”
That’s it. Last thread.
I stand in one motion, lifting her with me. Her legs wrap around my waist instinctively. She’s light and warm, clinging to me like I hung the moon. I carry her through the cabin—past the kitchen, down the short hall—to the bedroom. The door’s already open. Bed’s made. Simple. Heavy quilt. One lamp set to low.
I set her on the edge of the mattress. Kneel between her thighs before she can say anything. Push the flannel up and out of the way. Kiss the soft skin just below her navel. Then lower. She shivers.
“Beck—”
“Shh.” I hook my fingers in the top of those ridiculous wool socks she’s still wearing and peel them off one at a time. Kiss the arch of each foot. The inside of each ankle. Up her calf. Her thigh. She’s trembling now, and it’s not from the cold anymore.
When I reach the black lace between her legs, I press my mouth there through the fabric. Just a slow, open-mouthed kiss. She jerks, her fingers fisting in the quilt.
“God—”
I hook the lace aside with one finger. Look up at her while I drag my tongue along her in one long, deliberate stroke.
Her head falls back, and her back arches. A sound rips out of her—half moan, half plea. I do it again. Slower. Deeper. Then I suck her clit between my lips and flick with my tongue until her hips start rocking against my face, chasing it.
She’s close already. I can feel it in the way her thighs shake, the way her breath stutters. I slide two fingers inside her—tight, wet, hot—and curl them just right. “Beck—please?—”
I don’t let up. Don’t slow down. Just keep licking, sucking, thrusting until she breaks—back bowing, cry echoing off the wood walls, thighs clamping around my head like she’ll never let go. I work her through it. Slow. Gentle. Until the tremors ease and she’s boneless, panting, staring at the ceiling like she’s never seen it before. Only then do I crawl up her body. Kiss her stomach. Her ribs. The hollow of her throat. Her mouth. She tastes herself on my tongue and moans again, softer this time.
I settle between her thighs. Still fully dressed. Still hard enough to hurt.
She reaches for my belt again. Fingers clumsy now, post-orgasm shaky.
I catch her wrists, and pin them gently above her head with one hand. “Not yet,” I murmur against her lips.
Her brows furrow. “Why?”
“Because once I’m inside you, I’m not gonna be gentle.” I rock my hips once—just enough for her to feel exactly how bad I want her. “And I want to make sure you’re ready.”
“I’m ready,” she whispers. Desperate. “Please.”
I kiss her again. Slow. Deep. Then release her wrists and sit back on my heels. “Hands stay up there,” I tell her. “Don’t move them.”
She nods and obeys.
I strip her slowly. Boots first, socks, belt, jeans, shirt. Watch her eyes track every movement. Watch her bite her lip when she sees me—hard, thick, already leaking at the tip. I roll on a condom from the nightstand drawer. She doesn’t ask why I have them. Doesn’t need to. I’m not the settling-down type, but I’mnot stupid. Then I’m back over her. Settling between her thighs. Notching myself at her entrance. “Look at me,” I say.
Her eyes snap to mine. Wide. Trusting. Hungry.
I push in slow. One inch. Two. Her breath catches. Nails dig into her own palms where she’s keeping them above her head. “Fuck,” I groan. “So tight.”
“More,” she breathes.
I give it to her. All of it. Until I’m buried deep and we’re both shaking.
For one long second we just stay like that—locked together, breathing each other in. Then I start to move. Slow at first. Deep rolls of my hips. Letting her feel every inch sliding out, sliding back in. Her legs wrap around my waist. Her heels dig into my ass, urging me faster.
I give her what she wants. Faster. Harder. The headboard thumps against the wall in rhythm with the storm outside. She’s loud now—moans, gasps, my name over and over like a prayer.
I hook one of her knees over my elbow. Open her wider. Drive deeper.
She cries out, and her back arches. Her nails rake down my shoulders—leaving marks I’ll feel tomorrow and smile about. “Beck—I’m?—”
“Come,” I growl against her ear. “Come on my cock. Let me feel it.”
