Marrying the Guide (Forestville Silver Foxes)

Chapter 7

7

ONNO

T he moment the door of Howell’s cottage clicked shut behind us, it was as if a dam broke loose within me, releasing a torrent of longing held at bay for far too long. His lips crashed against mine with an urgency that set my entire body aflame. The soft hairs from his beard grazed my skin, sending sparks of electricity dancing down my spine.

“God, Onno.” Howell groaned against my mouth, his voice muffled by our fervent kiss. His hands, strong and certain, roamed over my back, gripped my waist, and pulled me closer until not even a sheet of paper would fit between us.

I clung to him, tangling my fingers in his hair, reveling in his solid, muscled frame pressed against mine. His heartbeat thundered against my chest, echoing my rapid pulse.

“Where’s your bedroom?” I managed, lost in the heady blend of desire and the sweet taste of Howell on my tongue.

Without breaking our kiss, he guided me down the dimly lit hallway, our mouths locked together in a dance as old as time. We stumbled, laughter bubbling up between kisses, my nerves dissipating in the face of Howell’s calm certainty. He steered me forward with one hand on my back, his other tracing the line of my jaw, tilting my head back to deepen our connection. The carpet muffled our clumsy steps, cocooning us in our own world where nothing existed but the magnetic pull drawing us toward his bedroom.

“Can’t wait to feel you,” Howell whispered, his breath hot across my cheek, his voice low and husky with promise. Anticipation built, a bubbling fountain of need that eclipsed all thought beyond the overwhelming desire to be one with this man who had so unexpectedly captured my heart.

“Please,” was all I could utter, a plea wrapped in a sigh. We crossed the threshold into the sanctuary of his room. I had never wanted anything more. Had never wanted anyone more.

The door clicked shut behind us, and the world outside fell away. The urgency in Howell’s grasp ebbed, and he drew back. Confusion fluttered through me. It was quickly assuaged when he reached past me and flicked on a dimmer switch. A warm, amber glow suffused the room, casting shadows across his muscled form. He moved with a fluid grace, born from years of physical activity, and I was enraptured by his elegance.

“Wait here,” he murmured, delicately tracing my lower lip with his fingertip in a too-brief touch. The loss of contact left a tingling absence on my skin, a yearning for more.

He walked to an old-fashioned record player perched on a mahogany dresser. The needle dropped with a satisfying crackle, starting the sultry strains of a romantic ballad, a song that spoke of endless nights and fervent whispers. The music enveloped us, a velvet caress against my eardrums that pulsed in sync with the throbbing desire coursing through my veins.

Howell’s consideration pierced through the fog of lust clouding my mind. His concern was such a stark contrast to Gerard’s cold, calculating ways, where every encounter had felt transactional, devoid of care or forethought. Here was Howell, creating a bubble of intimacy, each detail a testament to his thoughtfulness, attention, and preparation in case I came home with him. Inside me, something profound built higher and higher and higher.

“Wow.” The word felt clumsy on my tongue, my voice betraying the swell of emotions rising like a tide within me. “This… It’s beautiful.”

He returned to me, his gaze tender. “For you,” he said simply. And those two words held a promise, a commitment that required no grand gestures, just a silent shared understanding.

His lips curved into a smile that made my heart stutter. He bridged the gap and captured my mouth with renewed passion. The taste of him was intoxicating, a heady mix of mint and the earthy hint of the forest that clung to him like a second skin. His scent—a whiff of sweat and the subtle cologne that seemed to embody the very essence of masculinity—filled my nostrils, anchoring me to the present when everything felt possible.

Howell’s hands, strong and sure, found the hem of my shirt and lifted it with a tantalizing slowness. As the fabric whispered over my skin, every nerve in my body stood at attention. His gaze roamed over me, dark and hungry.

“Beautiful,” he murmured, brushing his fingertips over the line where tension had once made a home across my shoulders, now melting under his touch.

His thumbs skimmed the waistband of my slacks, and I moved my hips forward to encourage him. A zipper parted like the prelude to an orchestra’s crescendo. The bedroom was warm, but as the thin material slid down my legs, the cool air kissed my heated skin, and a shiver raced through me.

Howell kneeled before me, the reverence in his eyes searing me more than any touch. He removed my socks one at a time, pressing a soft kiss to each ankle. Goosebumps trailed in the wake of his lips.

My boxer briefs were the last to come off, and he eased them down with care, kissing every inch of skin he revealed. I felt cherished, worshipped, precious. He only needed a few seconds to take his clothes off and then he lifted me off the ground as if I weighed nothing and carried me to the bed. Jesus, this man would be the death of me.

I was laid bare, vulnerable in the soft glow of the bedside lamps, yet there was no room for insecurities. Howell’s tender ministrations were a balm to the scars Gerard had left on my soul. Each caress was an affirmation, each kiss a promise of something pure.

“You’re so beautiful.” Howell mapped the territory of my flesh, fingers dancing over my ribs, teasing the sensitive skin until I was writhing beneath him, endless moans spilling from my lips.

His mouth followed the trail blazed by his hands, tasting every inch of exposed skin. I arched into the warmth of his touch, his lips, his tongue. When he wrapped his lips around a nipple, sucking gently, a low growl rumbled from my throat, and I tangled my hands in his hair, urging him closer, deeper.

And Howell, with the patience of a saint and the devilish intent of a sinner, complied. He worshipped my body with an intensity that bordered on devout, igniting fires in places I’d forgotten could burn. His tongue drew patterns down my stomach, swirling around my navel, stoking the flames higher with each lap.

“Please,” I gasped, hips bucking up in silent supplication.

His hot breath against my thigh teased the edge of desperation clawing inside me. Every muscle tensed, coiled tight as a drum. With a smile promising untold pleasures, he looked up at me, and my heart stumbled and fell. I was his, utterly, completely, irrevocably.

The world blurred into a haze of heat and need as Howell closed his lips around my cock, already wet at the tip. I hadn’t expected him to be comfortable doing this right away, but he took me in with calm confidence. What a turn-on. He licked and lapped, swirled and sucked. His mouth was a cocoon of warmth, his movements deliberate, skillful, each motion designed to unravel me piece by piece.

A symphony of sounds escaped from deep moans to ragged breaths, each note underscored by the sloppy, wet noises of Howell sucking me off. Fuck, he was good at this.

“Howell…” I panted, the world narrowing to the overwhelming presence of this man between my legs. Sweat beaded on my forehead, and my skin was flushed.

And then there was the sight of him—brown eyes filled with a hunger mirroring my own. It was a look of pure intent, one that spoke of his desire not just to please but also to cherish.

“Close…so close,” I murmured, teetering on the edge as Howell doubled his efforts, digging his fingers into my hips with possessive intensity.

With a cry, I came undone, and waves of release crashed over me as my cock spurted its load. Howell kept suckling me, drawing out every shuddering pulse of ecstasy until I was spent, a tangle of trembling limbs and raw nerves.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, looking like a man who was mighty pleased with himself—as he should be. He stretched out next to me and held out his arm, and I snuggled close.

A maelstrom of emotions welled inside me. The contrast between this selfless act and the years of Gerard’s selfish demands struck me with the force of a tidal wave. Where Gerard had taken, Howell had given—freely, completely, generously, asking for nothing but my pleasure.

Gratitude washed over me. For this man, for his kindness, for the way he saw me—not as a project or a prize but as a partner. He was healing me, closing wounds that had hurt too long.

“Thank you,” I whispered, the words inadequate to express the enormity of my emotions.

“I mean it when I say it was my pleasure.”

I put my head on his shoulder. His embrace felt so…powerful. Protective. I played with his chest hair, then ventured lower. His stomach was flat, though he didn’t have a six-pack. Not that he needed one. The man was ruggedly handsome in the best way. He’d literally carried me to the bed…and I was well over six feet tall.

He also had a really, really nice cock. It had been hard as iron the whole time but had now flagged a bit. But I intended to remedy that. I just needed a moment to recover, both physically and emotionally.

I propped myself up on one elbow, gazing down at Howell. His chest rose and fell with steady breaths, the muscled contours shadowed in the soft light. A surge of warmth filled me, not only from the afterglow but also from a newfound determination. I wanted to give him the same earth-shattering pleasure he’d given me.

“Your turn,” I murmured, voice husky with desire, and I found his lips in a gentle kiss, tasting the lingering salt of my release. He hummed, lifting his hands to tangle in my hair. But I was already moving, trailing kisses over his face, his ears, his temples, every now and then finding his lips again.

“You don’t have to…” he said.

“Hush. I want to. I very much want to.”

His skin was hot under my touch, each muscle tensing as I explored farther. I nipped and sucked at his neck, drawing a deep groan from him that vibrated against my tongue.

“Onno,” he breathed out, a plea and a benediction all at once.

My hands roamed lower, mapping the expanse of his broad chest, toying with a nipple, rolling it between my fingers until it hardened. Howell arched underneath me, seeking more contact. I obliged him by playing with his nipples until he squirmed on the bed.

His cock stood proud and beckoning, and I didn’t waste any time. He’d waited long enough. I wrapped my hand around him, relishing the velvety firmness and the way he bucked into my grasp.

“Ah, Onno.” Howell’s voice was strained, thick with need.

I loved hearing my name on his lips, loved knowing I was the cause of him coming undone. For a moment, I had to let go of him so I could position myself between his legs. When I looked up, he was watching me with brown eyes burning with want.

I lowered my mouth onto him, taking him in, sucking until his cock hit the back of my throat. The taste of him was intoxicating, a heady blend of musk and arousal, and my desire flared anew.

With my lips wrapped around him, I set a rhythm, hollowing my cheeks, applying pressure in all the right places. Howell’s fingers were back in my hair, guiding without forcing. His moans mingled with my wet slurps and the low, romantic strains of music playing in the background.

“Oh… Fuck, sweetheart. Yes, just like that.” Howell’s voice hitched as I took him deeper. He unraveled beneath me, his body taut like a bowstring, his thighs tensed. I knew he was close.

“Come for me, Howell,” I whispered and enveloped him once more. That was all it took—my words, my mouth, my hands. With a guttural cry, Howell spilled into me, his climax pulsing, and I drank him down, savoring every twitch and throb and tremble.

As he sprawled on the bed, panting and spent, I crawled up his body to claim his lips again. We lay on our sides, face-to-face, and kissed lazily, the urgency replaced by a tender languor. He trailed his fingers over my back, igniting tiny sparks that settled deep within my core.

I snuggled into Howell’s embrace, my skin tingling from his touch, the scent of our desire lingering like a heady perfume. His chest rose and fell against mine, each breath a silent testimony to the passion we’d just shared. The taste of him was still on my lips, salty and sweet, and it made me hunger for more. I flicked my tongue out, chasing the lingering flavor.

“Stay with me,” Howell murmured. He traced the line of my jaw, a tender gesture that spoke louder than any declaration. “I want to fall asleep with you tonight and wake up with you tomorrow.”

The earnestness in his tone settled inside me, soothing the scars left by a marriage where every offer had an angle, every compliment a price. Howell’s kindness was a balm, healing wounds I’d had for so long I hadn’t known they could be treated.

“Okay.” The word lifted a burden I hadn’t realized I was still carrying until it was gone. “Yes, I’ll stay.”

A smile spread across Howell’s rugged features, crinkling the corners of his eyes, revealing sexy dimples.

As he kissed me again, slow and sweet, I savored the taste of him, committing it to memory. Because in less than three weeks, I would be gone…and this would have to end.