Chapter 31 #2
I bow my head glancing at our connection as he pushes inside me and then drags himself back out, his cock glistening with my arousal.
I’ve never been one for needing the visual when it comes to sex, but watching my body welcome Shepherd’s heightens the experience in ways I’ve never known.
His eyes are locked on where we’re joined, seeing himself disappear inside me with each thrust, and the raw hunger in his expression makes me feel powerful and desired in a way I’ve never experienced before.
This is what real intimacy feels like; being completely exposed and still feeling utterly safe.
I moan his name when his hand slides between our bodies, his thumb finding my clit with perfect pressure. “Oh God, Shepherd. Yes.” The dual sensation of him filling me completely while touching me exactly where I need it makes my thighs shake.
“That’s it, baby,” he encourages, his voice rough with restraint. “I want to see your eyes when you fall apart in my arms. I want to feel you trembling against me, knowing I’m the one who brings you this pleasure, this peace.”
My body tightens around him as the pressure builds, my hips bucking against his. I’m vaguely aware of something clattering to the floor—probably one of his tools—but neither of us pauses.
“Fuck, Shepherd,” I gasp as he hits that perfect spot inside me, the one that makes stars explode behind my eyelids. “Right there. Don’t stop.”
“Never,” he promises, his voice strained with the effort of maintaining control. “I could stay inside you forever.”
The workshop fills with the sounds of our lovemaking, skin against skin, my breathless moans, his deep groans, the rhythmic creaking of the workbench that somehow hasn’t collapsed beneath us. The scent of sawdust mingles with the heady aroma of sex, creating something uniquely us.
Pressure builds inside me, that delicious tightening that signals I’m close. Shepherd must sense it too because his movements become more deliberate, more focused, his thumb finding my clit with unerring accuracy.
“Oh my God, Shepherd…I’m going to come.”
“Good. Let me hear you baby. Don’t hold back. Scream my name for all of Portland to hear.”
The orgasm hits me with such force that I arch back, nearly toppling off the workbench if not for Shepherd’s strong arm keeping me anchored.
My body convulses around him, wave after wave of pleasure crashing through me as his name tears from my throat in a cry that echoes through the workshop, bouncing off the walls around us.
“That’s it,” Shepherd groans, watching me come undone. “So fucking gorgeous.”
I’m still trembling with aftershocks as Shepherd quickens his pace, his control slipping, his breathing ragged against my neck.
His fingers dig into my hips, hard enough that I might have bruises tomorrow, but I don’t care.
I want his marks on me. I want this reminder of how completely I’ve given myself to him, and how completely he’s given himself to me.
“Sutton,” he groans, his voice breaking on my name. “Ah, fuck, I’m close.”
“Don’t stop,” I urge, wrapping my legs tighter around him, holding him against me tightly. “I want to feel all of you.”
His eyes lock with mine and I feel him swell inside me before he buries himself deep, his body shuddering as he finds his release.
“Oh, fuck. Fuck. Goddamn…” The sensation of him pulsing inside me, filling me, triggers another wave of pleasure that makes me whimper his name.
For several moments, we stay connected, our foreheads pressed together, breathing each other’s air. His weight is heavy against me, but I don’t mind. I welcome it, crave it even. I stroke his damp hair as his breathing gradually slows against my neck.
“You okay?” he murmurs against my skin, always checking, always making sure I’m comfortable.
“Better than okay,” I whisper, my voice hoarse from crying out his name. “Though I’m not sure your workbench survived.”
He chuckles, the vibration rumbling through both our bodies as he carefully withdraws from me. I wince slightly at the loss of connection, already missing the fullness of him inside me.
“I’ll build a sturdier one,” he promises, pressing soft kisses along my collarbone. “Specifically designed for fucking you senseless.”
I laugh, my body still humming with pleasure. “Is that going in the product description? ‘Custom workbench: suitable for woodworking and mind-blowing orgasms’?”
“Absolutely,” he grins against my skin. “Maybe I’ll start a whole line. Haynes Furniture: Suitable for working…” He shrugs. “And mind-blowing orgasms.”
I smack his shoulder playfully but can’t stop my smile.
I love this side of him. Playful and passionate all at once.
It’s a beautiful contradiction, just like everything else about Shepherd Haynes, the gentle giant with calloused hands who can touch me like I’m made of glass and the fierce competitor who melts when I tell him I love him.
“I think our dinner is getting cold,” I murmur against his neck, but I make no move to leave his arms. The workshop feels like our own little world, separated from everything else. Safe. Ours.
“I don’t care about dinner right now,” he says, carefully helping me down from the workbench. My legs feel wobbly, and he steadies me with a strong arm around my waist. “I care about getting you cleaned up and then maybe round two in a proper bed.”
“Maybe?” I raise an eyebrow, enjoying the way his eyes darken again.
“Definitely,” he amends, reaching for his discarded shirt and gently pulling it over my head. The fabric is warm from his body and smells like him—sawdust, cologne, and something uniquely Shepherd that I can never quite define but would recognize anywhere.
“I love you, Shepherd Haynes.”
He steps back, our connection breaking, though I know it’s only for a few moments, and smiles, the light in his eyes like a warm infinite sunset I never want to look away from. “Say it again.”
I cup his face and pull it toward me, kissing his soft swollen lips. “I love you, Shepherd Haynes. More than you could ever know.”
He inhales and releases a deep sigh. “Thank God for that. I love you too Sutton Price,” he whispers, brushing his lips against my forehead. “You’ve undone me in the best possible way.”
As I slip my hand into his, our fingers intertwine like they were designed to fit together.
His touch grounds me in a way I never thought possible.
We make our way back to the house, neither of us bothering to clean up the mess we’ve made in his workshop.
The scattered wood shavings, the toppled tools, the memories etched into that workbench. They can all wait until morning.
“So, we’re leaving dinner?” I ask, though food is the last thing on my mind right now.
Shepherd’s thumb traces circles on my palm as we walk and then he lifts me swiftly into his arms and carries me toward his bedroom.
“I’m thinking dessert first.”