CHAPTER FIVE
Maggie
I was shaking so badly, I knew he could see it.
I stood there in his bedroom, watching him watch me, and I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. All I could do was feel—the heat of his gaze on my skin, the anticipation coiling tight in my belly, the nervous excitement that made my hands shake.
This was happening. This was really happening.
“You’re thinking too much again.” He moved closer, his hands sliding up my arms to cup my face. “I can see it all over your face. Whatever you’re worried about, stop.”
“I’m not worried, I’m just—” I didn’t know how to finish that sentence. Terrified? Excited? Both?
“Just what?” His thumbs stroked along my upper arms, gentle despite the heat in his eyes.
“Nervous,” I admitted. “I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know how to... I’ve never...”
“I know.” He pressed a soft kiss to my forehead. “That’s why I’m going to take care of everything. All you have to do is feel. Can you do that for me?”
I nodded, not trusting my voice.
“Words, Maggie.”
“Yes. I can do that.”
“Good girl.” The praise made warmth bloom in my chest, and his smile told me he knew exactly what effect those words had on me. “Now, I’m going to undress you. Slow. And I’m going to tell you exactly what I’m thinking while I do it. Alright?”
“Okay.”
His hands moved to the top button of my dress, and he worked it free with practiced ease. “I’ve been thinking about this all day,” he said, his voice dropping lower. “About getting you out of your clothes. About seeing all these curves you keep hiding from me.”
Another button. Then another. His knuckles brushed against my skin with each one, sending shivers racing through me.
“You have no idea how beautiful you are,” he continued, his eyes following the path his hands were making. “How many times I’ve imagined this. How hard it’s been to keep my hands to myself when all I wanted was to touch you, taste you, make you mine.”
The dress fell open, and cool air hit my skin. I was wearing simple underwear—nothing sexy, just plain cotton, because I hadn’t exactly packed lingerie when I moved to a ranch—and I felt a flash of embarrassment. He probably expected something better, something—
“Perfect,” he breathed, and the raw want in his voice stopped that thought in its tracks. His hands came up to push the dress off my shoulders, letting it pool at my feet. “Fuck, Maggie. Look at you.”
I wanted to cover myself. I wanted to hide the softness of my stomach, the thickness of my thighs, all the parts of me I’d spent years being self-conscious about. But the way he was looking at me—like I was something he wanted—made me freeze.
“Don’t,” he said, catching my wrists before I could cross my arms over my chest. “Don’t hide from me. I want to see all of you.”
“Rhett, I’m not—I know I’m not—”
“Not what? Not perfect?” He pulled me flush against him, and I could feel every hard plane of his body through his clothes.
Feel the evidence of how much he wanted me pressing against my stomach.
“Because from where I’m standing, you’re exactly what I want.
These curves, this softness—do you have any idea what you do to me? ”
His hands slid down my sides, over my waist, my hips, squeezing gently. “I want to put my mouth everywhere. I want to taste every inch of your skin. I want to make you come so many times you forget your own name.” He smiled. “Maybe even mine.”
“As if that could happen,” I murmured. Heat flooded through me, pooling low in my belly, and I felt an ache between my thighs that I’d only ever felt alone in the dark, touching myself and imagining something I’d never thought I’d actually experience.
He laughed. His hands were on my hips kneading my flesh. “Tell me what you want, Maggie. Use your words.”
My face went hot. “I don’t know how to—”
“Try.” His hands gripped harder, his fingers biting into my flesh. “Tell me what you’ve been thinking about.”
“Your hands,” I managed. “I’ve been thinking about your hands on me. About what it would feel like when you—when you touch me.”
“Touch you where?” He was pushing, I knew he was pushing, but something about the way he demanded honesty made me want to give it to him.
“Everywhere.” My voice came out barely above a whisper. “I want you to touch me everywhere.”
“Good girl.” He kissed me then, deep and thorough, his tongue sweeping into my mouth like he owned it. Like he owned me. And God help me, I thought maybe he did.
As his mouth took mine, he reached behind me, and I felt the clasp of my bra give way. He pulled the straps down my arms slowly before breaking off the kiss. The bra fell away, and I was bare from the waist up. My first instinct was to cover myself, but his hands caught mine again.
“Let me look,” he said, voice strained. “Let me see you.”
I forced myself to stay still, to let him look his fill, even though every insecurity I’d ever had was screaming at me. My breasts were large, heavy, and I’d always thought they were too much. Too big, too—
“Perfect,” he breathed again, and then his hands were on me, cupping my breasts, thumbs brushing over my nipples, and I gasped at the sensation. “So damn perfect.”
He dipped his head, and then his mouth was on my breast, hot and wet, and I made a sound I’d never made before. My hands flew to his hair, holding on as he sucked and licked and used his teeth in ways that made pleasure spike through me.
“Rhett—oh God—”
“That’s it,” he murmured against my skin. “Let me hear you. Let me know I’m making you feel good.”
His hands were everywhere—on my breasts, my waist, my hips—and I was drowning in sensation. In the feel of his mouth on me, his hands claiming every curve, his body solid and strong against mine.
He walked me backward until my legs hit the bed. Then before I could react, he lifted me under my arms, and tossing me into the center. He followed me down, covering me with his body. The weight of him, the heat of him, it was overwhelming in the best possible way.
“I’m going to make you come,” he said, his mouth moving to my neck. “I’m going to make you come so hard you’ll be shaking with it. And then, when you’re ready, I’m going to bury myself inside you and make you mine for real.”
I couldn’t form words. Could only nod and arch into him and hope he understood that yes, I wanted all of it, wanted everything he was promising.
His hand slid down my stomach, over the soft flesh there that I’d always hated, and I tensed.
“Relax,” he murmured. “You’re beautiful, Maggie. Every inch of you. Stop thinking and just feel.”
His fingers hooked into the waistband of my underwear. He rubbed his finger along the edge, teasing me. My breath hitched when he plunged his hand down the front, his fingers touching the soft nest of curls. “Damn, woman,” he groaned as if he liked the fact that I wasn’t clean shaven.
Then his hand moved lower. His palm covered my mound. And then—
I jerked when one finger slid along slit, stroking down my center. I’d never been touched like that. Never.
“So damn wet. Have you been thinking about tonight, too, Maggie? Thinking about how I would touch you?”
“Yes,” I gasped. “All day long.”
“Good.” Then, he was pulling my panties down, his eyes dark with want. And now, I was completely bare beneath him. Completely exposed. And instead of feeling embarrassed, I felt...powerful. Wanted. Desired in a way I’d never experienced before.
“Spread your legs for me,” he commanded, and the authority in his voice made my thighs part without thought. “That’s my good girl. Now let me see what’s mine.”
His hand moved between my thighs, his fingers finding my center once again. His touch was rough, hard, as if he couldn’t control himself.
And I loved it. I loved the fact that I was making him loose control.
That he wanted me so much.
“Fuck, Maggie,” he groaned, “you’re soaked for me. Does it feel good when I touch you like this?” He added another finger to his exploration.
“Yes—God, yes—”
“Tell me what you need. Tell me what you want me to do.”
“I don’t—I don’t know—just don’t stop—”
He circled a spot that made my hips buck, pleasure shooting through me so intense it almost hurt. “Right here? Do you want me to rub your clit? Make you come all over my hand?”
The dirty talk combined with his touch made my head spin. He was relentless, working me with steady pressure and occasional dips lower that made me whimper. Building something inside me, coiling it tighter and tighter until I thought I might break apart.
“Let go,” he urged, his mouth on mine once again. “Stop fighting it and let go. Come for me, Maggie.”
And I did. The pleasure crashed over me in waves, so intense I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, could only ride it out while he worked me through it, murmuring praise and encouragement the whole time.
When I came back to myself, I was trembling, gasping for air, and he was watching me with an expression so fierce and possessive it should have scared me.
Instead, it made me want more.
“That was just the beginning. Now I’m going to taste you. And then, when you’re ready, I’m going to take you properly and make you mine.”
Before I could respond, he was moving down my body, settling between my thighs, and oh God, his mouth was on me, his tongue doing things that made me see stars.
This was going to be a very long night.
And I couldn’t wait.