Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
RED
We make it to the evening like two people pretending not to think about what happened earlier on the couch. We fail.
The storm’s still howling outside, but the power remains off, and the fire keeps the cabin warm. The atmosphere’s different now, and there’s a low hum between us that hasn’t stopped since our kiss. I keep catching her looking at me, and I’m not gonna lie; it feels good.
Bear snores, then decides the rug directly in front of the hearth is his and collapses there like a furry boulder.
She tucks hair behind her ear and tries to look casual. “So, about earlier.”
I go still. “Yeah?”
Here we go…
“I’m just making sure we agree. We paused because of the branch, right? Not because it was a bad idea.”
I look at her and see everything I’ve been trying not to want. Then I nod slowly. “Not because it was a bad idea.”
Her heart’s hammering—I can see it in the pulse at her throat. She wets her lips. I track the movement because I’m only human.
She takes a step toward me, then another. I don’t move, but everything in me goes tight.
“You keep asking if I’m okay,” she whispers.
“Yeah.” My voice comes out all gruff.
“Ask me now.”
“Are you okay?”
“Yes,” she breathes, opening her arms.
That’s all it takes.
I close the distance in three strides and she’s in my hands, her back hitting the edge of the table, her mouth on mine reminding me that being without it made me feel empty. She makes a sound I didn’t know she could make—like she’s hungry and desperate. It goes straight to my cock.
She tastes like sugar and something that’s distinctly her. She fists my shirt and drags me closer, and I go, no fight in me for once, only need. My fingers span her waist, grip firm, and the way she melts into my touch makes me want to do dangerous things.
“Red,” she murmurs into my mouth, and hearing my name in her voice while I’m touching her does something to me.
“Cookie,” I say back, like a warning and a promise, and then my tongue slides against hers and she forgets how to stand.
She doesn’t fall, though, because I’m already lifting her—my big hands under her thighs, an effortless scoop.
She gasps and clutches at my shoulders. I turn, set her on the table in one smooth move, step between her knees, and kiss her like I’ve been starving for three years, and didn’t know it until she showed up on my porch in that ridiculous costume.
“Is this still okay?” I say again against her lips. I can’t help it; I need to hear it.
“More,” she begs.
I answer by dragging my mouth down her jaw to her neck. The way she shivers when my beard scrapes her skin makes me want to mark every inch of her. I groan, low and broken, and suck there, hard enough to mark her. Hard enough that she’ll feel it tomorrow and remember.
“Do you want everyone to know about us?” she breathes.
She must mean the town folk. Like I give a fuck.
“Yeah.” I drag my teeth over her pulse point. “I want them to see you’re mine.”
Because I do—because she is.
The way her body responds—it sends me crazy.
She’s pulling at my shirt before I even register it, shoving it up, needing more. I yank it over my head and toss it toward a chair. Her hands are on me immediately—palms over muscle, thumbs along my ribs, hands flattening over my heart. It kicks against her skin like it’s as rattled as she is.
“Jesus,” I mutter when she drags her nails up my stomach, watching the muscles contract under her touch. Everything in me has gone primal. “You’re going to kill me.”
“Please don’t die,” she says, breathless. “We’re busy.”
That cracks something in me. The smallest smile, filthy and real, creeps across my face. “You’re trouble.”
“You invited me in.”
“Nah, the storm did.” My hands slide down her sides like I’m memorizing her shape, thumbs brushing the undersides of her breasts through the sweater. I pause at the hem and look at her. “Tell me I can have you. All of you.”
“Yes.” The word comes out desperate. “God, yes.”
I fist the hem, and she raises her arms. The sweater goes up and off, leaving her hair full of static, her in her bra and panties and a blush I can feel radiating from her skin. She doesn’t cover herself; she doesn’t hide. And I can’t look away—my eyes search hers hungrily, taking her in fully.
“Fuck,” I breathe.
“Keep looking,” she whispers, and the boldness in her voice when my hands shake slightly on her waist makes me harder.
“I can’t stop.” My voice is rough, almost angry with want. “Look at you. You’re so beautiful, Cookie.”
“Tell me again.” Her head tilts back like my words slow everything down.
“You’re beautiful.” My voice drops. “All of you.”
I bend, my mouth over the top of her bra, and her back arches into me. I’m careful, but then I’m not—my hands drag her forward, closer to the edge, closer to me, and she hooks her ankles behind my thighs without being told.
Good girl.
One big hand cups her ass, and I drag her flush against me.
There’s nothing between us but two layers of fabric. I can feel how hot she is, how ready. I’m hard as steel, the thick length of me pressing exactly where she needs it. She rocks against me once, shamelessly, and I suck air through my teeth.
“Can you feel what you do to me?” My voice is wrecked. “Can you feel how much I want you?”
“Yes.” She grinds against me again, slower this time, deliberate. “Show me more.”
Christ. I press my forehead to her shoulder for a second, needing a beat to get right or I’m going to embarrass myself like a teenager.
“You wreck me, Cookie.”
Sliding a hand behind her back, I find the clasp—like muscle memory—and pop the bra off, tossing it aside.
I just want to look at her all night and day, my eyes tracking over her like I’m memorizing every curve, every freckle, every imperfection she’s probably spent years hating that I find perfect.
And then my mouth is on her nipple, my tongue circling slowly before I seal my lips around it and suck hard enough to make her cry out.
“Fuck, Red—”
“That’s it.” My voice is muffled against her breast. “Don't hold back; not with me. I want to know every sound you make when I touch you.”
She grabs the back of my head, and I groan like the sound is dragged out of me. I switch to the other nipple, and give it the same attention until she’s breathless and rocking against me.
"Red—I can't—"
“You can,” I say, mouth against her skin. My hand is on her hip again, grip firm, guiding her in a rhythm that makes her melt. “That’s it; ride my hand. Show me what you need.”
She’s panting now, grinding against my palm while I watch her with eyes that can’t see enough. “You keep talking like that and I’m going to—”
“Not yet.” I drag her panties to the side. My fingers press where she needs them most, testing how wet she is—and she’s soaked, dripping for me. I groan like it hurts. “Fuck, Cookie. You’re drenched.”
“It’s your fault,” she gasps.
“It’s my reward.” I circle her clit, finding her pace, learning the language of her body. “Let me make you come. I want to feel you fall apart before I’m even inside you.”
She groans, then opens for me, and I give her what she needs. The sound of her breathy voice begging for more while I give it, the wet slide of my fingers working her—is enough to make me explode.
I look up at her face—all fierce, tender, yet utterly wrecked. “You’re so fucking beautiful like this. Spread that pussy open for me and keep taking what I give you.”
“Oh my God—”
“Tell me,” I growl softly. “I need to hear it from you.”
She gasps. “I’m so—Red, I’m going to—”
I slide two fingers inside her, slowly, and her head drops back with a broken sound that makes my cock throb. I watch her face and curl them just right, finding that spot that makes her thighs shake. My thumb never stops circling her clit. The combination is devastating.
“Look at me,” I say, rough. She does, then she comes hard, surprise and pleasure lighting her up from the inside.
It rips through her in waves, her whole body bowing into my hand, clenching around my fingers.
I hold her through it—working her through every aftershock—murmuring filth that sounds like yes and good girl and fuck, that’s it, and I’ve got you.
Whatever leaves my mouth. I have zero control when it comes to her.
When she slumps, soft and spent, I kiss her like I’m thirsty for it.
“That was—” She can barely form her words.
“Just the start.” My voice is destroyed. “I’m not done with you yet.”
“Condoms?” she breathes against my mouth, and relief floods through me that we’re on the same page.
“Yeah.” I glance toward to the bed. “Bottom drawer, next to the bed.”
She blinks. “You’re telling me you have a designated drawer?”
“I’m prepared,” I say, dead serious.
She laughs and hops off the table on shaky legs. Her knees give a wobble but my hand steadies her. We move together, a clumsy shuffle past Bear (who opens one eye like, are you kidding me?) to the bed alcove. She yanks the drawer open and finds what we need.
She tosses me a foil packet.
I catch it one-handed, my eyes never leaving hers, and reach for my belt. The sound of leather sliding through loops makes her bite her lip. I strip fast—my shirt is already gone, then my belt, jeans, briefs—and watch her struggle to breathe.
I’m broad everywhere. I know what I look like—I’m built for combat, for survival. The line of my V, the trail of hair that disappears lower. My cock is thick, hard, and already leaking for her. I roll the condom on with desperate hands.
“See something you want?” I look over at her. Her eyes are locked onto my cock.
“Everything,” she breathes. “I want everything.”
“Come here,” I say, voice low, and she does.
My hands catch her hips and turn her gently, guiding her to the edge of the bed facing the fire. I stand behind, then drag her panties down with one decisive tug, and they pool at her ankles. She steps out of them and shivers.