Rough and Rugged: A Meet Me In Milwaukee Charity Anthology

Chapter Five

Ellis

She feels so good in my arms, even if I have to keep swinging her away from me and doing this awkward cross body, hand holding thing, skipping around this tent like I’m not a giant of a man among minions. However, I see a few other fellas, equally whipped by a woman, stomping and rocking like fools. I’m not certain we are officially dancing as much as hootenanny-ing and laughing our asses off.

By the time the round is finished, I’m sweltering in my sweatshirt which I’ve had on and off throughout the day. I’m also breathless and need a break.

“Fresh air.” I hitch my thumb over my shoulder, pointing toward the open side of the tent.

Ginger laughs and nods. I grab her hand, and she allows me to lead her out of the confines.

Once free of the tent, and standing beneath the starry sky, I glance upward and take a long inhale of the fresh air, dewy and evergreen scented.

“It’s so beautiful here,” she whispers as if afraid to disturb the murmuring around us of couples breaking off and standing apart to catch their breaths. And sneak a kiss.

My head lowers. She’s beautiful. And I want to kiss her.

But she’s told me where she’s at. No longer engaged, I read the pain etched in her face. The hurt. The heartache. She might even go back to him. Apologies. Flowers. Promises. I’ve seen it happen. My sister did that with her man. Too bad it cost her in the end.

The thought reminds me of Poppy. Like Cinderella, I’ll need to leave soon.

Watching Ginger, I should cut my losses while I can.

“It’s been a great day,” I admit.

She glances up at me, a slow smile curling her lush lips. “I’ve had fun.”

My fingers twitch, eager to brush the curls, sweaty from dancing, back from her flushed cheeks. To run my knuckles along the column of her neck. To bring her closer to me.

“But I need to go.”

“Go?” The question is loud and fast, like the crack of a whip. She stands straighter, surprised. “Where do you need to be?”

I could tease her that someone is waiting for me. I could tell her the truth but it’s too complicated.

We’ve had a great day, and I don’t want to spoil it with tales from the past.

“I just need to go.” It’s better I leave on this high. Her wearing my shirt. Her ring in my pocket.

She’s no longer engaged. The idea elates me.

Her teeth sink into her bottom lip, then she twists them side to side. “Okay. I’ll walk you to your truck. I need to get my things.”

I tip my head to the right, and we walk silently, awkwardly, to where I’m parked. I’ve ruined things but perhaps it’s best.

She’s not engaged. But she isn’t mine.

“I can give you a ride,” I tell her once we reach my truck, knowing Grant is God knows where, with whomever.

“I’ll just find Grant. Or Uber it.”

“Gonna be hard pressed to find a ride share out here,” I remind her. We’re in the middle of the woods near a lake on the back end of my personal property. We don’t have taxis or car services around here.

“I’ll figure it out.”

“Let me give you a ride.” Not a drop of what I’ve said or how I’ve said it is intended to seduce her, but her eyes light up. Her breath hitches a bit.

While I open the driver’s door, she leans against the side of my truck, crossing her arms. Her shorts and blouse from earlier are surely dried but may be damp again from the falling dew.

“You didn’t call in your favor.” She arches one brow. “For the dance.”

I stare at her, knowing exactly what I want to ask, but decide against it. “Nah. We’ll consider it a free pass.”

“Ellis.” She presses off the truck and steps closer to me. Her fingers fidget with the hem of my shirt brushing at the sides of her exposed thighs. “Ask.”

I run my tongue over my top teeth, sucking in air, knowing I can’t ask for what I really want. Instead, I say: “Tell me what you’re wearing underneath my flannel.”

Our eyes lock together. This is it. Either she slaps me or tells me I’m an idiot.

Instead, she steps even closer. Her head tipping back so she can continue to look me in the eyes.

“Why don’t you reach underneath and find out?”

My mouth pops open. Is she serious? Maybe she’s had more than I thought to drink today. But then I consider her consumption. After her third beer, she stopped a while back.

Still, she can’t mean it. She’s desperate for a rebound, using me to get back at the douche canoe.

I know my worth.

However, she sounded damn determined, confident, and strong. He wasn’t getting anywhere near her again. Not with his attitude and behavior.

Could I earn her?

After mentally arguing with myself, I snap. “Don’t toy with me,” I demand, suddenly on edge. A man on the brink after a day of wrestling with my thoughts, wondering what’s going on beneath my shirt that’s covering all those lush curves.

She takes my hand and places my fingers on the hem of the flannel. The part where I can touch soft, worn material, and cool, tender flesh.

Dammit.

With our eyes on one another, nostrils flaring like bulls ready to charge, I move my shaky fingers beneath the flannel and caress the side of her thigh, lifting the material against her hip, coasting over smooth flesh until I find a thin scrap of fabric.

A thong. Fuck! Her ass has been exposed, rubbing up and down my shirt all day and I haven’t been able to experience it.

Until now.

Sliding my hand around her backside, I cup her ass hard and tug her toward me. She stumbles but catches herself by placing her hands on my chest. My heart hammers beneath the sweatshirt I’m wearing.

“You’re warm,” she whispers.

I’m a damn inferno ready to burn down this festival and the surrounding forest.

To my surprise, she lifts her leg, hitching her foot on the edge of the opening to the driver’s seat. The position opens her up to me, tempting me to explore more of her, like trace the line of that thin material through the crack of her ass and lower.

“Ginger. Darlin’,” I groan, kneading my fingers on her skin while her fingers fist in my sweatshirt.

“You rejected me when I was fourteen.”

“You wanted me to take your lip-virginity.” I chuckle at the reminder of that moment. Her innocent smile. Her sweet words. I’d thought she was joking with me. The hurt in her eyes, the chew of her lips that followed my laughter told me she hadn’t been kidding. Her proposal was a bona fide offer. A gift. And I’d thrown it away.

“I’m not a virgin anymore,” she whispers, lowering her eyes to my chest.

“You just got out of an engagement.” The rock is burning a hole in my pocket.

“I wasn’t his. Haven’t been for a long time.” She lifts those lashes, eyes desperate, hesitant. Her confidence wanes but I don’t ever want her to feel she isn’t strong. Isn’t desirable. Isn’t worthy of so much more than that dickhead and his tennis shoes, and wool sweaters, and whatever other bullshit.

She’s wearing my flannel, and I’m feeling her up beneath it. She’s opening my heart like a crowbar prying apart a locked door.

“Kiss me.” Her soft command is the final crack. My chest rips open and my mouth crashes onto hers, taking what she offered me twenty-two years ago.

No laughter.

No second thoughts.

Her mouth melds with mine and I breathe her in. She’s oxygen feeding a flame, igniting the blaze, sparking it to grow, and engulf, and I’m the forest, certain she’ll incinerate me.

But I can’t stop. Not with her mouth on mine, lips eager, hungry, begging for more.

“Let me touch you,” I grunt against her lips.

Her tongue invades my mouth and I have my answer. My fingers delve forward, pushing aside the scrap covering her wet heat, and sliding into her.

We both moan.

She breaks the kiss. Her eyes closing. Her head tipping back. “Yes,” she whispers as her pussy sucks my finger inward, milking it. I pull free and she levels me with a glare.

Chuckling, I add a second finger, rushing forward to fill her once more. To feel her coating my rough digits with her sweet essence.

Her mouth opens. Her fingers tighten in my sweatshirt. She leans into me, tipping up on her toes to accept the intrusion of my fingers.

“That fill you up, darlin’?”

“So good,” she whines before rocking back, working my fingers to her advantage.

I’m touching Ginger Solomon. Woman of my fantasies. Girl of my heart.

“You feel good,” I tell her, returning my lips to hers, tongue slipping into her mouth. I want to fill her everywhere.

Her sweet pussy. Her fresh mouth. Her kind heart.

My fingers slide in and out of her, the sound wet and slick around us. Eventually, our mouths break apart again and she presses her head into my chest while her hips dance.

“You like me fucking you like this?” Her body language says she does. Her whimpers and sighs. The music of her wetness. The way she’s clutching at me.

“Yes. Please, Ellis. Please.”

“Whatcha need, darlin’?”

She doesn’t say. She shakes her head like she can’t ask but that’s now it works with me. I want to hear her.

“Tell me,” I grit my teeth, hardly restraining the demand.

Her head lifts. Her eyes bright despite the darkness around us. “Make me come.”

“On my hand. With my fingers,” I grit out, working her faster, delving deeper.

She meets the thrusts with the rock of her hips, the curve of her spine, her body chasing my fingers. “Yes.”

“Gonna one day let me go down on you like I teased earlier?”

“Yes.” She squeaks.

“Gonna wear my shirt and let my dick enter your body?”

“Yes.” Her whisper is strained, breathless, ragged.

“Gonna come, coating my fingers with your sweet—”

“Yes,” she cries out, and I capture her mouth with mine, not wanting the world to hear her ecstasy, but selfishly swallowing them. Feeling them echo inside me.

Yes. She said yes to me.

While I kiss her deep and long, my fingers glide forward and back, until she releases my lips, lowers her head to my chest again, and relaxes.

“Oh my God, Ellis.” Her body stills, and I slowly remove my fingers.

Ginger doesn’t step back but looks up at me once more. Her eyes are tired but satisfied. A cocky smirk on her swollen lips.

I hold up my hand and suck my fingers like the popsicle she made me eat earlier in the day. This is better.

“Gonna let me give you a ride somewhere now?” I ask once I finish.

“Is that a euphemism for something more?”

“Not yet.” I wink at her. “But one day.”

One day soon, she’s going to ride my lumber like she teased early this morning.

The festival has worked its magic again.

Only this isn’t lust.

This isn’t a one-night stand or a random hookup.

This is Ginger Solomon.

I’m in love with my best friend’s younger sister, and I intend to keep her.

Somehow, someway.

Slapping her ass, I tell her to get in my truck. Then I help her up, getting a peek at the cheeks I just fondled and the slickness of what we’d done still glistening between her legs. Her scent invades my nose, and with her kiss on my lips, and her taste only a tease in my mouth, I’m one happy lumberjack.

For now.