6. George
Chapter 6
George
He stands from the bed, and I watch, my breath caught somewhere between anticipation and awe, as he removes his clothes with slow, deliberate movements—like he’s in no rush, like he knows I’m already hanging on his every motion.
First, his shirt. He grips the back of the fabric and tugs it over his head in one smooth motion, exposing broad, muscled shoulders that taper into a firm chest, his abs cut with precision, the kind of body built for power, not vanity. Scars litter his skin, some faded, others still pronounced—a thin, jagged line across his ribs, another that curves over his left pectoral, a longer one slicing down the ridges of his abdomen.
What the hell happened to him?
I don’t ask. No questions.
But I can’t stop wondering.
The tough ridges of old wounds tell a story I don’t know, a history he hasn’t shared. And somehow, they make him even more devastating.
His boots hit the floor, heavy and final.
Socks. Gone.
Then his jeans. He unbuttons them, slow and controlled, shoving them down thick, powerful thighs until they pool at his feet.
And finally, his boxers.
The last barrier falls, and my stomach tightens as his cock springs free, thick, hard, straining.
Magnificent.
That’s the only word that comes to mind.
Every inch of him is lethal and commanding, honed to precision, like he was built to ruin me in the best possible way.
My gaze hungrily traces every inch of him. From the deep grooves of his abs… to the cut of his hips… to the way he stands before me, completely unapologetic in his own skin.
But it’s the contrast that undoes me.
The strength in his body. The scars marking his skin.
And his eyes—hot, dark, full of hunger.
He’s controlled. Disciplined. But right now?
That control is all for me.
Plucking a foil packet from the wallet in his discarded jeans, he tosses it on the nightstand. Before I have time to wonder how often he’s done this before, he’s on me, exploring every curve of my body, learning every line, every secret place that makes me gasp and arch into his touch.
His body is incredibly hot, his cock prodding my stomach until he slides his hand beneath my ass and hitches me upward. His hand grips a rounded globe to hold me tight against him, and he presses against my core. A shock of sensation darts through me, followed by a surge of lust so acute that I dig my fingers into his shoulders. God, he’s solid everywhere.
His cock nudges higher, pressing exactly where I need him, the heat of him scorching. I swear I can feel every ridge, every thick, pulsing inch, and it’s wrecking me.
“Jesus.” My voice is barely a whisper, my head dropping back against the pillow as pleasure crashes over me in hot, electric waves.
He chuckles, low and deep, his breath teasing over my throat as his hips roll, slow and deliberate. "That’s just the beginning, sweetheart."
The promise in his voice sends another sharp jolt of need straight to my core, and I realize?—
I am so completely, utterly fucked. Well, not yet, but the fucking part is imminent.
Gripping his neck, I push my face against the dense muscle of his shoulder. His fingers slide farther between my thighs, becoming damp as he strokes the soft furrow of my sex in a lazy rhythm. For a long, blissful minute, he holds me like that, warming me with his body until I strain against the ridge of his erection.
His mouth follows his hands, kissing, tasting, teasing until his head is positioned between my thighs and I’m a trembling mess of need and desire. He shoulders my thighs wide, his hot breath fanning my skin. His thumbs sweep over the pulse in the sensitive crease between my thigh and groin, and I wriggle and jerk under the tiny flicks of his tongue.
Gripping my hands, he pins them to my sides. “Don’t move,” he mutters as his head lowers to the strip of curls between my legs.
Do I have razor burn down there? Why didn’t I invest in that epilator on QVC, the one with the wide head and trimmer attachment that?—
“Oh, God.”
My thoughts scatter as his thumbs part my folds. His breath fills my cleft with steamy heat. A moan rises in my throat, and my wrists twist in his grasp.
I glance down, unbearably aroused by his absorbed expression, his attention focused on my quivering flesh. His tongue searches and he licks one side of my sex, then the other, the tip of his tongue teasing delicately. It slips over my melting flesh to find the entrance to my body, filling me with silky heat… withdrawing… filling.
I go weak all over, my sex pulsing urgently. As he nuzzles and plays with me, I try to angle my body so he’ll touch the peak that throbs so desperately. He doesn’t seem to understand what I want as he licks around the sensitive spot but never quite reaches it.
“Please,” I whisper, unable to find words for what I want. “Please.”
But he continues to deny me until I realize he’s doing it deliberately. Frustrated, I reach down and grip his hair to position him where I need him, feeling his breath puff against me as he chuckles.
I hold my breath, aware of a hot trickle of moisture leaking from my body.
Finally, finally, his tongue laps my clit, and I can’t contain my wild cry as I arch into his mouth. He takes his time, licking, nibbling, flattening his tongue against the sensitive nub.
“Don’t stop…” I pull at his dark head frantically, groaning as he swirls his tongue over me once more.
He draws out every sensation until I’m begging him, pleading with him to give me more, to give me everything.
I’m barely aware of him plucking the condom from the nightstand and sheathing himself. Catching my wrists, he pulls them over my head and settles his hips between my thighs, taking care not to crush me. His shaft is cradled in the hot valley between my legs.
His hazel eyes stare directly into mine as he releases my hands. “Leave them there.”
I obey with a gasp as he kisses my breasts, moving from one to the other. With each swipe of his tongue, I nearly rise off the mattress. His cock bumps against me, teasing, rubbing, and tormenting, while his mouth draws hungrily on my nipples. I arch upward as the pleasure builds inside me, gaining intensity…
I hover on the brink, waiting, waiting…
Oh, please…
My orgasm finally washes over me. I cry out as rich spasms spread from the center of my body.
“Fuck, yes,” he growls against my taut throat, his hips working gently over mine.
My climax eases into long shivers as he smooths my hair back from my damp forehead.
Lifting one of my legs, he hooks it over his elbow so my hips tilt and my thighs are splayed wide. I push my fingers into his hair with a groan and wrap my free leg around his thigh so the sole of my foot rests on his calf. It feels good, so good—the weight of him on top of me, his arms around me, his mouth devouring me.
The broad head of his cock presses against my entrance for a split second before he thrusts inside me. I jerk, losing my breath, as pain lances through me.
His head whips up, his eyes burning into mine. “ Shit. Why didn’t you tell me you’re?—”
I press my fingers to his mouth to stall his words. “This is my choice. Mine. And I chose you. Don’t turn this into something bigger than it is.” I swallow. “Please.”
His eyes narrow, dark and dangerous, his jaw tightening beneath my fingers. Tension radiates off him as war wages behind his stormy eyes.
For a moment, I think he’s going to pull away.
For a moment, I think I’ve lost him.
But then—he exhales sharply, his breath hot against my palm. His tongue flicks out, brushing my fingertips, and the simple touch sends a shock of heat straight through me.
He captures my wrist, pulling my hand away from his lips. His fingers thread with mine, pinning my hand to the bed, his other arm still braced beside my head, muscles taut and flexing like he’s barely holding himself together.
His cock twitches inside me, and I shudder, caught between discomfort and the intoxicating burn of fullness. I tighten around him involuntarily, a low gasp slipping from my lips, and his control fractures. His hips shift, and he slips deeper.
His head dips, his forehead pressing against mine, our breaths mingling, hot and uneven.
“Tell me if it hurts.” His voice is raw, gritted with a need so intense it shakes me. "Tell me when you're ready for more."
I take a shaky breath, feeling the stretch, the ache, but underneath it, a hunger that has nothing to do with pain.
I shift my hips experimentally, testing the way he fills me, the way he fits like he’s meant to be there.
His breath hisses through his teeth, his whole body stiffening. “Christ, woman. You’re going to kill me.”
A slow, mischievous smile tugs at my lips as I nudge him to roll over so I’m lying on top of him, my thighs spread over his hips, the broad head of his shaft pulsing at my entrance. “Then die a happy man.”
Pulling my knees higher by his hips, I sit up, letting my weight take him inside me this time. I close my eyes as his heat and hardness spread my soft, wet flesh. It feels good now, and I groan, rocking over the tip, taking him further inside. The sensation of being filled by him is like nothing I’ve ever experienced.
A low curse rumbles in his chest—and then he moves. He raises his knees behind me and sits up so I’m enveloped by him again. His breath comes in short bursts.
He kisses me gently, his fingers brushing my cheeks and into my hair. Then he nuzzles along my jaw to suck on my earlobe. I groan and rock my hips as a flood of wet heat saturates us, and he groans, too.
He lowers his knees a bit and pushes me back so I lie open to him, his cock still inside, pressing against my front wall. Then he plays me, sucking and licking and rubbing my body, the peaks and valleys, the wet flesh and hard nubs.
When I lower my hand to feel his shaft pumping into me, he grunts with approval and moves my fingers over my pussy.
“Show me.”
My eyes widen, and my belly contracts in anticipation. He wants to watch me touch myself. I don’t hesitate, dragging my fingers to circle my swollen clit.
He grips my hips, raising and lowering me over his shaft in time with my rhythm, and I almost explode right there.
“Oh, sweet baby potatoes,” I sob, my eyes closing, “don’t stop.”
His chuckle is low, satisfied. “You like it right there?”
I laugh, then moan, “I like it everywhere.”
He clamps his arm around my hips and pushes me into a kneeling position on the bed. “Hook your legs around my back. Hands on your breasts. I want to see you play with your nipples.”
I’m slow to respond, not wanting to move my fingers when I’m so close.
“Now,” he instructs. “I can’t last much longer.”
I do as he instructs, secretly liking it when he commands me, gliding my hands upward to cup and squeeze my breasts. He shifts position so his thrusts hit a spot inside me over and over as he presses firmly on my clit.
“Ahhh,” I scream, head and eyes rolling back, body boneless and at his mercy, fingers plucking my nipples.
I come apart—and he follows behind me with a feral growl.
* * *
Later, wrapped in sheets that now smell like sex and him, he trails callused fingers along my spine.
Tracing the scars on the knuckles of his other hand, I murmur. “I’m trying to remember all my reasons for keeping you at arm's length.”
His fingers tangle with mine, stilling my restless touch. “You never told me your name.”
“Would it change anything if I did?” Even as I say it, I know it would change everything. Names make things real. Names mean this isn't a story I can lock away in the morning.
He shifts, propping himself up on one elbow to look at me. His eyes are dark like ebony in the muted light from the lamp. “You're already planning your escape,” he says softly. It's not a question.
I turn my face into the pillow. “That obvious?”
“Only because I’m usually the one planning the escape.” His chuckle rumbles through his chest before he sobers. He cups my chin and tilts my face toward him, his eyes holding mine. “Stay.”
“I can’t.” My voice cracks.
It wasn’t meant to be like this. I told myself this was about release. One night. No names. But now, with his scent on my skin and the echo of his hands still burning into me, I feel... unsettled. Like something cracked open and I don’t know how to put it back.
He’s quiet for a long moment, studying me. Then he smiles, slow and dangerous. “My friends call me Shadow.”
My eyes widen. “I told you—no names.”
He leans down, his lips brushing my ear. “Yeah, but now you'll know who made you come on his tongue and his cock when you leave in the morning.” He says it like tonight is the beginning of something, even though we both know it’s not.
“Sleep,” he murmurs, pulling me closer. “Tomorrow will come soon enough.”
I close my eyes, letting his warmth seep into my bones.
Tomorrow, I'll remember my rules.
Tomorrow, I'll be strong.
But tonight? Tonight, I let myself dream of a world where running isn't the answer. Where staying is worth the risk.
* * *
I slip out before dawn while he’s still sleeping. It's better this way—clean and simple. No awkward goodbyes, no morning-after regrets. Just one perfect night with a gorgeous stranger. Well, almost a stranger.
My friends call me Shadow.
It suits him—dangerous, untouchable, and meant to fade with the darkness.
I tell myself it doesn't matter that I never learned his real name.
And as the sun rises and I drive back to Clover Canyon, I can't shake the feeling that I've made a terrible mistake. Not because I had sex for the first time with a man called Shadow—but because I know I left a part of me behind in that room at The Honey Pot.