He puts his hands on my back, urging me closer. When I moan, he slips his tongue into my mouth, strokes my tongue.
I press my chest against his, feeling his heat through the thin material of his t-shirt. He’s so strong and solid.
I remember walking in on him that first day and how golden his chest was, how much I wanted to kiss and lick it.
I call his name in a gasp and pull away long enough to suck in oxygen. I’m lightheaded and dizzy.
This is probably a terrible idea, but right here, tucked away in this tiny workshop where no one can see us, it doesn’t feel real. It feels like we’re the last two people in the world.
He presses kisses to my jaw along my collarbones. The entire time his hands are roaming up under my scrub top, kneading and pressing my flesh, plucking at my nipples through the soft satin of my bra. I arch against him and wiggle.
He raises his head and stares down at me. His look is molten lava. “Can I taste you?”
“Yes.”
He helps me out of my top and spreads me out on the workbench, pausing to put my rumpled top behind my head so I have a makeshift pillow. He stares down at me. “Are you comfortable?”
“I ache,” I admit out loud, my voice trembling as I admit my secret need.
“I’m going to take care of you,” he promises, and the sound of his voice, the commitment in it, makes me think he’s talking about more than just this moment, more than a random orgasm in the middle of the day.
He tugs down my pants, trailing kisses along my stomach. As he goes, he worships every roll and every bit of cellulite. He touches my stretch marks with reverence, going down, down, further down, until he reaches the apex of my thighs.
He presses the softest kiss to my mound. Then he parts my inner lips with his thumbs and licks a stripe from my seam to my clit, devouring me in one long, luscious lick.
I clamp my thighs around his ears, and he growls his approval against the hot skin of my pussy before he goes back to work, licking, sucking, nibbling.
He teases me until I’m a soaking mess, licking me to the best orgasm of my life. When he’s done and I’m completely spent, he raises his head and stares at me as my heart rate comes down, my body heaving from the exertion.
I realize I can no longer hear the hail outside. Now it’s changed to a gentle, thrumming rain on the tin roof. Even though I’m in the middle of this workshop, it was still an amazing orgasm, perhaps the best one of my life.
I reach for his pants, wanting to return the favor.
He stops me and shakes his head. “No. This is not what I want for our first time together. I want your first memory of us together to be in my big bed in my cabin.”
I swallow hard and whisper, “I want that too.”
His eyes soften. “Let me take you there now.”
“Right now?” I ask.
“Right now,” he confirms.
“I’d like that,” I admit, as he helps me sit up and dresses me. He carries me to his truck, despite the fact that I keep telling him I can walk myself, though I secretly love the way he carries me and the way he makes me feel so precious and safe.
Before he starts the truck, he gives me a look. “Are you sure about this?”
I put my hand on his thigh and give it a squeeze, feeling his muscles contract beneath me. I can’t wait to feel those big strong muscles against me in his cabin. So I say the only word I can think of. “Drive.”
Chapter 8
Bree
By the time we arrive at Dalton’s cabin, I’m squeezing my thighs together.
Dalton has said the filthiest things to me on the drive up the mountain, telling me about all the ways he’s going to spread me out on his bed and feast on me. How he’s going to give me his big, hard cock over and over again. He’s promised me dozens of orgasms, and I don’t doubt for a minute that he’s going to deliver.
He parks the truck in his driveway and glances at his cabin. He grimaces. “It’s not much, but pretty soon it’ll be a place you can be proud to come home to.”
