13. Tess
Big.
This man is big all over. Jeez Louise. As his cock nudges inside me, my body tenses up and my breath seizes in my chest. Ash murmurs support, rubbing gentle circles on my back, and he stops and refuses to move another inch until the tension has drained from my muscles once again.
That’s the pattern at first: press forward, tense up, pause. Press forward, tense up, pause. And it’s probably the least sexy routine ever, but Ash doesn’t seem to mind one bit.
No, he’s too busy peppering my face and neck with hot kisses, rumbling under his breath about how perfect I am, how lucky he is, how he’ll spend his whole life working to deserve me. And all the while, my body stings where his thick girth nudges inside, until finally… I start to relax.
It gets slicker down there, with a pleasant tickle every time his body moves against mine. My inner muscles stop fighting him, and try to suck him deeper instead. And he’s still big enough to make my eyes cross, but oh god, this feels good too.
Because it’s Ash. Inside me, and plastered against my front. Clutching me against his chest, and all around me.
In this moment, Ash is my whole universe. And you know what? I’ve never felt safer. Never been more cherished or turned on.
I love him. Holy shit, I love this man.
How did that happen, and in only a few days? How did my whole world tip upside down?
“Yes.” My nails dig into his shoulders, and my hips roll to coax him deeper. Ash lets out a low grunt, feeding me another inch. “Yes. Oh my god, yes.”
His chuckle is breathless. “You’re doing wonders for my ego right now, angel.”
Ha! Well, good.
Of all the people I’ve ever met, this man deserves to feel like a hero. Like a king.
“Can feel your heartbeat down there.” Ash’s jaw is taut, his words gritted between clenched teeth. As though his control is hanging by a thread, and if he lets go, he’ll pound me into oblivion.
Don’t hate that thought.
“You’re so tight. So wet. Goddamn, Tess, you feel like heaven.”
Our chests both heave in tandem as Ash thrusts an another inch inside. When he draws out again slowly, his shaft is glossy with my slick.
Want him. Need him. Need this, his body claiming mine, molding me to take his girth.
“Does that feel good? Do you like this, angel?”
“Yes. S-so good.” My teeth are chattering from the pleasure, but I still manage to mouth at his neck, trailing messy kisses from his ear to his shirt collar. “Please.”
Ash thrusts forward again, and finally, he’s buried all the way to the hilt. We both stare down between our bodies, blinking in shock, like there’s no way my body could have taken him like that. As though it’s some optical illusion.
“Huh,” Ash says, then swivels his hips. I gasp and tilt back my head.
He grins, fingers flexing on my hip.
Sunshine filters through the trees all around us, and this is right. So right.
The first thrust is harder than I expect—so hard my teeth clack together. After such a gentle beginning, it takes me by surprise. But it’s good, so good, and yeah, this is exactly what I want: to be held in place and fucked mercilessly, a toy for his pleasure, as the best man I know goes to town on me. My feet dangle into the empty air behind his back, jiggling helplessly, and the hammock creaks and sways with every thrust.
“Ash!”
“I’m here, angel.” He palms my boob through my polo shirt, kneading me like he owns me, and there’s a rush of moisture between my legs in response. “I’ve got you. Fuck, you feel good.”
The mountain breeze ruffles the trees, and birds chatter to each other overhead.
It’s so perfect. Like a scene from a dream, except that the edge of the hammock is digging into my ass, and there’s an insect whining near my ear.
I don’t mind those things. If anything I’m grateful: they keep this grounded, keep it real, when otherwise it’d be so easy to write this whole encounter off as a vivid hallucination. Because believe me, I’ve daydreamed about doing this with Ash a hundred times over the last few days, in every possible position and location, but never once in those daydreams did I get a friction burn on my ass cheek.
When he crams a hand between us and thumbs my clit, I moan loud and long. Everything else empties out of my brain: the friction, the bugs, my sore feet from my shift. It’s all gone.
There’s nothing but his thick cock plunging in and out of me, the shameless wet noises drifting through the trees, and that maddening rub of his thumb.
Tension spirals low in my belly. My teeth clench and my muscles draw taut.
Close. I’m so close.
“Never giving you up again,” Ash mutters, his words a low oath. “Not for anyone or anything. Even if it makes me a bad person, I can’t ever do it again. You hear? You’re mine, Tess.”
I whimper, hips rolling madly, eyes half-lidded. Must look insane, but I don’t care.
No one has ever put me first like this. No one has ever treasured me this way, and you know what? The feeling is mutual.
Because Ash is mine, and I never want to be parted from him again. I’m done putting my own life on hold for other people; done worrying about everyone else first. He’s mine and I’m his, and that is sacred, damn it.
Besides, I’m gonna need this cock at least twice a day from now on. Holy moly.
The hammock ropes creak, and sweat trickles down my back, and my toes curl in my sneakers. When Ash grunts and pinches my clit, applying just the right amount of pressure—I stop breathing. Stop thinking. My whole brain flashes white.
Then I’m back, slamming home into my body as it shakes and trembles, pleasure crashing through me in rough waves. And I don’t even realize that I’m making that wailing sound out loud until I break off to gasp Ash’s name.
He keeps thrusting, jaw tight, chestnut eyes narrowed with focus. My sneakers jiggle behind his back, and my brother’s best friend fucks me like a brute as I come and come.
When I finally slump against his chest, Ash makes a satisfied grunt—then buries deep and swells inside me, filling me long, hot spurts. It tickles my insides and drips down my inner thighs, marking me as his in the most primal way possible.
Heaven.
We cling together for what feels like an age, murmuring sweet nothings to each other, until the sweat cools on my skin and night begins to fall and the sudden drop in temperature makes me shiver.
“Think they’ll cook us dinner?” Ash says, placing me gently on the ground and fishing around for my clothes.
“Think they’ll let us shower?” I shoot back, sticky and sweaty and sore as hell. But happy. So, so happy.
Ash snorts, kneeling down and holding out my shorts and underwear to step in. Leaning one hand on his massive shoulder, I force my trembling legs to move.
Doesn’t really matter. We’ll figure out a plan—tonight, and for the rest of our lives.
We’ve got this.
It’s us against the world.
* * *
One year later
It’s a Saturday morning in summer, and it’s our turn to host family breakfast. Rowan and Evie sit out on our deck, chatting and laughing at their one year old daughter’s antics as she burbles and tugs on her mother’s red hair. It’s a sunny day, but with enough bite in the breeze that they’re all wearing thin sweaters.
“That little mite is growing fast,” Ash says when he squeezes into the kitchen beside where I’m prepping a tray of coffees. A pan of home fries sizzle on the stove, vegetables spitting, all spicy and savory and delicious. My husband rumbles appreciatively and leans in to sniff the food. “Smells good. Will you let me take over now? Go out there and put your feet up.”
I laugh, shake my head, and nudge the coffee tray toward him. “I’m pregnant, not helpless, Ash. Remember when Evie was pregnant, and she was doing mountain hikes and stacking logs?”
Ash mutters something, and I catch: Not a competition…
Turning back to the stove, I smile into the steam and stir the home fries. My husband is protective as hell, always determined to take the best possible care of me.
Honestly, it still feels weird sometimes. Unnatural. I’d never been someone’s number one priority before Ash came along, not like this, and even after a blissful year together, I still catch myself pinching myself sometimes. Checking that it’s real and not an extra long dream.
Of course, it helps to pinch myself with the hand that sparkles with his ring. That’s a nice reminder—along with the bump swelling against the front of my t-shirt this morning. It’s one of Ash’s shirts, an old faded gray one that hangs to my mid-thigh, but even in this baggy tent, my bump is unmistakable.
I’m five months along.
T-minus four months until our worlds change again.
I can’t wait—and neither can Ash. My gentle giant was born to be a father, and our son has a cousin ready and waiting for him.
“Hope you’re stealing lots of chef snacks,” Ash says now, reaching past to swipe a piece of red pepper from the pan. He pops it in his mouth and winks at me as he chews, lifting the tray to carry out to the deck.
“Ash! That’s hot, you maniac!”
He gives a little shoulder wiggle to show he heard me. Choking back laughter, I stir the food and relax into the quiet.
Snippets of happy conversation float in from the deck. The sun shines through our cabin windows, and my basil plant is bushy and green on the windowsill. The air smells like pine.
I draw in a deep breath, then let it go in one big, happy gust.
This is it. This is life.
And it’s really freaking good.
* * *
Thanks for reading Close to the Edge! I hope you loved it. :)
For Jana’s story, check out Out on a Limb. The adventurer finds me sleeping in his bed.