CHAPTER FOUR
Landry
Sleep was a fucking joke.
I lay there on the couch, staring up at the ceiling beams, counting the knots in the wood, listening to the rain hammer the tin roof and the steady crackle of the fire. The sounds should have been soothing. Should have lulled me into unconsciousness. But I wasn’t tired. And I sure as hell wasn’t cold.
I was burning alive.
Every damn breath I took was thick with her scent. Rainwater, soap and…. Sally. Something sweet and sinful that made me stay hard, aching against the rough denim of my jeans. Like honeysuckle and heat, filling my lungs, clouding my mind with thoughts I had no business entertaining. But I couldn’t stop them. Couldn’t push them away. Not anymore.
I clenched my jaw and threw an arm over my eyes, but it was useless. The darkness behind my eyelids only made it worse—giving my mind freedom to conjure images I’d been fighting for months.
I’d been holding back since the second she walked through my door. Since the moment I first saw her, really. Keeping tight reins on desires I had no business feeling. But the second I saw her crawling into my sheets last night, wearing my shirt and those little scrap-of-nothing panties, her hair messy and wild from the rain, it was over.
I was done.
I swung my legs off the couch and sat forward, elbows braced on my knees, dragging in a slow breath that did nothing to calm the storm brewing inside me. The floorboards were cool beneath my bare feet, grounding me for a moment in reality rather than fantasy.
I could ride this out. Wait for morning, wait for my brothers to come clear the road, wait for her to drive away and pretend that none of this had happened. That I hadn’t kissed her today like a man drowning. That I hadn’t felt her body respond to mine with an eagerness that matched my own.
But there was no more pretending. No more lying to myself.
I wanted her.
And tonight, I was going to have her.
And when I did, I wasn’t going to be gentle because I fucking didn’t know how to do gentle.
I stood slowly, my feet silent on the worn floorboards as I crossed the room. I reached the edge of the bed and stared down at her. She was lying on her side, facing away from me, one arm under her head, the other curled close to her chest, her fingers tangled in the sheets. One long, bare leg was kicked free of the covers. The sight of her there, in my bed, surrounded by my things, sent a wave of possessiveness through me so fierce it nearly knocked me back.
That damn t-shirt barely covered her ass, riding up to expose the curve of her hip, the dip of her waist.
And those panties…
Blue. Thin. Stretching over her perfect ass like they’d been made for my hands to tear off. I could see the edge of lace at the waistband, delicate against her skin in a way that made my mouth water. Made me want to trace that edge with my tongue, feel the contrast between rough lace and smooth skin.
I’d thought about this. Dreamed about it. Woken up hard and aching with the memory of fantasies so vivid they felt like memories. Wondered what she’d sound like when I got her under me. How she’d move. How tight she’d feel gripping my cock. If she’d be loud or quiet, demanding or yielding.
But no fantasy came close to this.
To her, here.
Waiting.
I dragged a knuckle over the curve of her hip, slow and deliberate, watching the goosebumps rise in its wake, feeling her shiver under my touch. Her skin was warm, impossibly soft, and I wanted to feel every inch of it against mine.
“Carter.” My voice was rough, heavy with the need I’d been choking on for too long. Not just tonight. Not just this morning. For months. Since the first time I saw her standing behind that counter, all attitude and curves and fire.
She turned slowly, those dark eyes finding mine, wide and bright in the firelight. Her lips parted on a breath I wanted to swallow, to taste, to claim as my own. Her hair was a mess, tumbling around her shoulders in waves that begged for my fingers to tangle in them.
I stripped off my shirt in one smooth motion, tossing it aside. The cool night air hit my bare chest, a welcome relief against skin that felt too hot, too tight. Her eyes widened, drinking in the sight of me, and I felt a surge of primitive satisfaction at the hunger in her gaze. At the way her tongue darted out to wet her lips, at the way her breath quickened.
My hands went to my belt next, and her gaze dropped, watching me unfasten it with deft, deliberate movements. The leather sliding through the loops made a soft hissing sound that seemed to fill the quiet cabin. Her breath picked up speed, her chest rising and falling in a rhythm that matched the pounding of my heart.
“You’ve got one chance to tell me no,” I said, my tone low. Final. A promise and a warning all at once. “One word and I walk back to that couch.”
Because I needed to hear it. Needed to know she wanted this as badly as I did. That she understood what crossing this line meant. That there would be no going back. No pretending it hadn’t happened. No ignoring whatever this was between us.
Her chest rose on a shaky inhale. Her teeth caught her bottom lip, worrying it in a way that made me want to soothe the sting with my tongue. For a second, doubt flickered through me. A moment of hesitation that felt like standing on the edge of a cliff, waiting to see if I’d fall or fly.
And then she shook her head. Her eyes never leaving mine, challenge and desire burning in their depths. “No.”
My heart stopped for a moment. “No?”
“No, I’m not telling you to stop,” she whispered, her voice husky with need. “I want you to stay right here.”
The words hit me like a physical blow, sending heat surging through my veins. The last thread of my control snapped, torn apart by the raw want in her voice, the invitation in her eyes.
I was going to ruin this woman.
And I was going to love every fucking second of it.
I climbed onto the bed, the mattress dipping beneath my weight, crowding her space, bracing my hands on either side of her shoulders. I watched the pulse hammering in her throat, the flush creeping up her chest, turning her golden skin pink. I wanted to mark every inch of that skin. Wanted to leave evidence of my presence on her body that would linger long after this night ended.
“You sure you’re ready for this, sweetheart?” My voice dropped. “Because I’ve been holding back for too long.”
Holding back feelings I didn’t want to name. Desires I didn’t want to acknowledge. A need that went deeper than lust, ran hotter than simple attraction.
She reached up, her fingers sliding over my jaw, tracing the stubble that roughened it. Her touch was gentle, curious, her thumb grazing my lower lip in a way that made my cock throb. “Then don’t hold back.”
Fuck.
That was it.
That was all I needed.
I slammed my mouth to hers, claiming her in a kiss that was all teeth and tongue and filthy, desperate need. She met me with a hunger that nearly knocked me on my ass. No hesitation, no shyness. Just pure, undiluted want. Her nails scraped over my shoulders, digging in, pulling me closer like she couldn’t get enough. Like she’d been starving for this as long as I had.
“Fuck, Sally,” I groaned against her mouth, biting at her bottom lip, soothing the sting with my tongue. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me.”
“I think I do,” she whispered, and then she moaned, a sound that went straight to my groin. She lifted her hips to rub against me, seeking friction, seeking relief from the ache I knew was building between her thighs. Her pussy pressed against the hard line of my cock, separated by two thin layers of fabric.
And still, I could feel the heat of her.
The wet.
She was soaked.
For me.
The knowledge was intoxicating. Heady. A rush of power and pleasure that made my head spin.
I broke the kiss to look down, to watch her as I palmed her breast through my shirt and rolled my thumb over her nipple until she arched into my touch. The thin cotton did nothing to hide the hard peak, the fullness of her breast filling my hand perfectly. Like she was made for me.
“Off,” I growled, yanking the hem up, needing to see all of her. Needing to feel her skin against mine. “Take it off, Sally.”
She obeyed, lifting her arms, and I stripped it away in one smooth motion, tossing it aside to join mine on the floor. She lay before me, bare but for those panties that were about to be history. Her body was a revelation—soft curves and valleys I wanted to explore with my hands, my mouth. Golden skin I wanted to taste, to mark.
Her tits were perfect—full, round, her nipples dark and tight, begging for my mouth. For attention I’d been dying to give.
So I gave them what they wanted.
I ducked down, sucking one deep into my mouth while my hand played with the other, my calloused fingers a rough contrast to the softness of her skin. She cried out, back arching off the bed, legs shifting restlessly beneath me. The sound was sweeter than anything I’d ever heard.
“Landry,” she gasped, her hands in my hair, tugging, urging me on. Her fingers tightened, the slight pain only adding to my pleasure, spurring me to suck harder, to graze my teeth against the sensitive peak.
I licked and sucked, bit and soothed, taking my time with her. Savoring her responses. Learning what made her moan, what made her grip my hair tighter, what made her hips lift in silent plea. I switched to the other side and gave it the same treatment, determined to leave no part of her untouched, untasted.
She was panting by the time I kissed my way down her ribs, across her stomach. She made a soft sound—almost a whimper—and I froze. “What?”
“I’m. It’s nothing.” She shook her head, but her eyes gave her away.
“It’s not nothing.” I rose, trailing my mouth back up her body until we were face to face, my arms braced on either side of her head. “Tell me, baby. Am I making you uncomfortable?”
I’d cut off my left ball before I did something that made her feel anything other than worshipped.
She didn’t answer right away, just looked at me, biting her lip. But I saw it. The flicker of doubt. The hesitation.
She was self-conscious.
Of this body. The one driving me completely out of my fucking mind.
I leaned in, pressing my forehead to hers. “Whatever you’re thinking right now? Stop. You are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen in my entire fucking life. Do you understand me?”
She didn’t nod. Didn’t speak. Just stared at me with those big brown eyes, like she wanted to believe me but couldn’t quite get there.
So I showed her.
I took her hand. She tried to protest, but I didn’t let her. I guided her until her palm was flush against the thick, aching length of me, straining against my zipper.
“This—” I pressed into her hand, forcing her to feel exactly how hard she made me. “This is because of you . Your big, beautiful breasts. That perfect ass, just begging me to spank it. And these thighs?” My voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. “I want them wrapped around my fucking head.”
I tried to curl her fingers around me, but I was so hard, so swollen, her hand couldn’t manage it.
I grinned, wicked and slow. “See what you’ve done, baby?”
I kissed her, hard and deep before kissing my way back down her body. I traced the path with my tongue, tasting salt and sweetness, adding a few not so gentle nips to punish her for her doubts, making her moan and tug me closer.
When I hooked my fingers in the waistband of her panties, she lifted her hips without being told. Eager. Willing. So damn perfect. “Good girl,” I whispered.
I peeled them down slowly, dragging the fabric over her hips, her thighs, until she was bare and open for me. The piece of blue lace joined the rest of our clothes on the floor.
And holy fuck.
She was glistening, slick and ready. Her pussy was perfect—pink and swollen and so damn wet it made my mouth water. I could see how aroused she was, how much she wanted this. Wanted me.
“Look at you,” I murmured, running my hand up her inner thigh, pushing her legs wider, exposing her completely to my gaze. “So damn pretty, Carter.”
She whimpered, hips lifting toward my hand, seeking contact, seeking relief. Her eyes were half-lidded, her lips swollen from my kisses, her chest heaving with each breath.
“Please.”
The word wrecked me. Broke something open inside me that I’d thought long dead. She wasn’t begging—not quite. But there was a need in her voice that matched my own. A vulnerability I hadn’t expected from someone so fierce. I shoved two fingers into her, groaning at the tight, wet heat that clenched around me. She was so fucking tight, so hot, so perfect it made my head spin.
She moaned, her back bowing, her hands fisting in the sheets. Her inner muscles gripped my fingers, pulling them deeper, her body greedy for more. “More,” she gasped, her hips moving against my hand. “I need more.”
I didn’t make her beg again.
I pressed my thumb against her clit, rubbing slow, tight circles while my fingers pumped deep, hitting her just right. Watching her face, learning what she liked, what made her breath catch, what made her moan louder. She was a mess in minutes, writhing, crying out my name like a prayer and a curse all in one. Her inner walls fluttered around my fingers, her thighs trembling as she approached the edge.
“Landry, I—”
“Come for me, Sally,” I ordered. “Now.”
And she did.
Hard.
Her pussy clamped down on my fingers, her body going rigid, then trembling as she shattered apart beneath me. Her cries filled the cabin, echoing off the walls, mingling with the sound of rain on the roof. I watched every second of it, burned it into my fucking memory. The way her eyes squeezed shut, the way her mouth fell open, the way her whole body shook with the force of her orgasm. It was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.
Then I slid my fingers free and, holding her gaze, licked them clean. The taste of her exploded on my tongue, salty-sweet and addictive. Her eyes widened. “You taste even better than I imagined,” I told her.
But I wasn’t done.
Not even close.
I stripped off my jeans and shoved my boxers down, my cock slapping against my abs, thick and hard and aching to be inside her. I kicked the clothes away, standing at the foot of the bed completely naked, letting her look her fill.
Her eyes dropped, and her mouth parted on a shaky exhale. She took in the sight of me—the width of my shoulders, the muscles of my chest, the trail of dark hair leading down to my cock. And then her gaze fixed there, on the evidence of how badly I wanted her.
“Fuck,” she whispered, the word both reverent and hungry.
“Yeah,” I agreed, settling between her thighs. “You ready for me, sweetheart?”
She nodded, biting her lip, her eyes never leaving mine. But that wasn’t enough. I needed to hear it. Needed the words.
“Say it,” I growled, lining myself up, teasing her slit with the thick head of my cock. The feeling of her wet heat against me, so close to where I wanted to be, was maddening. A torture I was inflicting on both of us.
“I want you,” she said, her hands gripping my biceps, nails digging into skin. “I want you inside me, Landry. Now.”
I slammed into her in one hard thrust, seating myself balls deep in her tight, wet heat. The sensation was overwhelming—hot and tight and perfect. Like coming home to a place I’d never been.
Her cry was half pleasure, half shock, and I gave her a second to adjust. To accommodate my size, to get used to the feeling of being filled. I held still, muscles trembling with the effort it took not to move, not to pound into her until we both lost our minds.
“You’re so fucking tight,” I ground out, bracing myself on my elbows, looking down at her face. She was beautiful in a way that made my chest ache. “So good. Like you were made for me.”
She moaned, lifting her hips to take me deeper, her inner walls clenching around me, making my vision blur. Her legs wrapped around my waist, locking me to her, demanding without words what she wanted.
And then I moved.
Long, hard strokes that had her gasping and begging and scratching at my back. Each withdrawal was a torment, each thrust a relief. The tight grip of her body around mine, the slick heat, the sounds she made... It was too much and not enough all at once.
“Faster,” she demanded, her nails raking down my back, leaving trails of fire in their wake. “Harder.”
I gave her both.
I pounded into her, our bodies slapping together, sweat slicking our skin. The bed creaked beneath us, the headboard thumping against the wall in a rhythm that matched our ragged breathing, our racing hearts.
Her legs locked around my waist, and I dipped down, kissing her deep as I drove her to another orgasm. Swallowing her moans, tasting her pleasure, feeling her body tighten around mine as she approached the edge.
She came with a scream, her inner walls clamping down so tight it was almost painful. The feeling of her coming apart beneath me, around me, was too much to bear.
I followed, groaning her name as I emptied inside her, pleasure crashing over me. For a moment, everything disappeared—the cabin, the storm, the world outside. There was only this. Only her.
When it was over, I stayed there, buried deep, breathing hard against her neck. The scent of her skin mingled with the smell of sex and sweat, creating a heady perfume that made me want to start all over again.
She was shaking, her body boneless under me, her hands making lazy patterns on my back. I could feel her heartbeat, fast and strong, in time with mine.
I kissed her temple, her cheek, her swollen lips. Small, tender gestures that felt foreign to my rough hands, my hard mouth. “You okay?” I murmured, studying her face for any sign of regret, of pain.
She smiled, lazy and satisfied. Like a cat who’d gotten the cream. Her eyes were soft with pleasure, but there was a spark of mischief in them that made my spent cock twitch with renewed interest.
“Better than okay.”
I rolled us to the side, keeping her close, her leg still hooked over my hip. I wasn’t ready to let her go. Wasn’t sure I’d ever be.
She traced lazy circles on my chest, her fingertips dancing over scars from years in the woods, mapping me the way I wanted to map her.
“Landry?”
“Yeah?”
“We’re not done.”
I grinned, dark and dangerous. Relief and desire and something deeper, something I wasn’t ready to name, thrumming through me.
“Not even close.”