CHAPTER ELEVEN SABRINA #2
An orgasm pounds through me, more release than legible pleasure.
I’ve never experienced them back to back before, and it leaves me unexpectedly limp.
Everything is hot, satisfied. Sweat dots my chest. He pulls his mouth from my pussy and moans, brushing it wet over the inside of my thigh.
His lips pull back, and his teeth graze the sensitive skin. My thigh trembles.
“You mind if I fuck you, baby?” His voice is a low rasp.
Do I mind?
I shake my head, too weak to speak. He pushes himself up on his knees and unzips his pants, taking his cock out. Seeing it in the broad daylight has me inhaling sharply. No wonder it felt like that. He’s very blessed.
I clear my throat. He pauses, condom in hand.
“You alright?” His forehead creases.
“More than.” I swallow hard. “Don’t stop.”
The corner of his mouth jerks up. His hand wraps around his length and pumps it once, his jaw flexing.
He’s so pretty, and I’m done for. After this, I’m going to be skipping around the house like he’s my first crush.
My mind drifts and is sharply jerked back by his rolling on the condom and moving over me.
I flick my gaze to the side. God, he’s got nice hands—long fingers, square tips, veins standing out across the backs.
I turn my head up, and he kisses me, lips apart, tasting like my pussy.
His cock slides in.
Fuck, I’m wet.
He pushes in the head and then pauses, lips brushing mine.
“You feel fucking perfect,” he murmurs as he slides all the way in. The taste of my own pleasure off Coen Taylor’s mouth is exhilarating.
We both gasp as he sheathes himself. He smiles, flexing inside me.
He’s getting a little cocky. I wonder if he was just shy before, maybe afraid of coming on too strong.
This new side of him makes me understand how he could be a star, up on a stage, bright lights burning his skin, probably making sweat trickle down his abs.
Creak.
Slam.
We both go completely still. My mouth goes dry, and I grip his upper arms.
“Who is that?” he mouths.
“I don’t know,” I whisper. “They can’t be back already.”
“Can’t? You sure?”
Honestly, I’m not. We’re both quiet, holding our breath. He’s still rock hard inside me, which is flattering. Downstairs, the door opens again, and several pairs of boots tread loudly across the floor, followed by a barrage of loud voices.
“Fuck,” I hiss. “It’s the AG club meeting.”
His brows rise. “The what?”
“It’s all these eighty-year-old men who meet here every month,” I whisper. “Dad is probably with them. I forgot it’s always the first Tuesday.”
He smiles.
“Okay, you go out first and go down the front stairs. I’ll stay up here for a while.”
He doesn’t answer. Then, eyes locked with mine, he pulls out halfway and thrusts all the way in.
The adrenaline makes everything so sensitive.
My fingers seize, and my nails drag down his arms. He moans, so quietly, I only see his lips move and his eyes roll back.
A rush shoots up my spine, and my body aches in the sweetest way.
Downstairs, they’re still clomping and chattering.
Upstairs, I don’t care.
He’s good at being quiet. Faintly, I wonder if he’s so discreet because he’s used to fucking on tour buses.
I hope not, but that’s also not my business.
My thighs shake. He braces one knee on the bed and pulls out in a controlled movement, so slow, I feel every vein.
Then, he pushes in and shifts, grinding so his groin hits my clit.
“Oh, God,” I gasp.
“Shh,” he murmurs. “You need me to cover your mouth?”
Need? Maybe. Want? Absolutely.
He thrusts. I gasp, adding a yelp. He cocks his head, and the hard palm of his hand slides over my mouth.
The next thrust is far more punishing. My eyes roll back to the fluttering curtain and fading pattern on the wallpaper.
Warm pleasure pools between my thighs. I wonder if he’s going to make magic happen and push me over the edge with just his cock.
There’s a pressure deep inside. It gets stronger, like I might explode, not come.
I whimper against the palm of his hand. He slides his other free hand beneath my body and lifts my lower back.
The pressure is explosive. A tear slides from the corner of my eye and runs into my hair.
Oh no. I’m going to get attached to this one.
He’s thrusting short and fast now, the tip of his cock hitting the front wall of my pussy. The pressure mounts so fast and hard, I bite my mouth hard to keep quiet.
They’re laughing downstairs. They probably wouldn’t hear it if I screamed.
I feel like I might.
He shifts up, less than an inch. My body seizes, and I release all my breath in a shuddering gasp.
His fingers part, turning to push between my lips.
Like that last time, I wrap my tongue around them and suck, and this time, to my shock, I crest the pounding wave and cry out as I come around his cock.
His hips pump hard. Someone is whimpering—it’s me, coming out strangled around his fingers.
“Oh, fuck,” he groans.
He pushes deep, covering my mouth fully again. A shudder rolls down his body. His face falls against my neck.
We both fall still. A chair scrapes downstairs, the back door opens and shuts. Another round of laughter wafts up the stairs. He brushes his mouth over my shoulder and kisses it, smiling against my collarbone.
“How are we supposed to get out?” I whisper.
Gently, he disengages his hips and pulls out.
I’m almost disappointed, and a hollow forms as I briefly wonder how long until the next time our bodies tangle together like they did today.
It’s a constant ache, has been since the first time.
When he’s with me, his mouth and hands on my body, the ache dulls and pleasure replaces it like a balm.
I’m addicted already.
He takes the condom off and fastens his pants. I pull my clothes back on.
“There’s a hall bathroom, right?” he asks.
“Yeah, down at the end.”
He pushes open the spare room door and waits. “Hold on. It sounds like they’re leaving.”
We both wait, breath held. The door slams once, then a second time. I scurry across the room and pull back the curtain. Down below is what looks like the entire AG club standing around with their hands on their hips. I don’t see my dad, though, and that makes me nervous.
“I’m gonna go down first,” I say, slipping out into the hall. “I’ll get him out in the yard. You go through the side door and around.”
He reaches into the hall and pulls me back in, kissing me hard.
“Thanks for that,” he murmurs, eyes roving over my face.
“Anytime,” I whisper before I can bite it back.
Before I have to face that, I dip back into the hall and go halfway down the stairs, stopping to listen.
It doesn’t sound like anyone is around. Stepping on the sides of my shoes, I creep down and enter the empty kitchen.
There’s nobody here, but they did leave a lot of dusty, muddy boot prints on my floor.
Scowling, I make my way to Dad’s office and find the door open. He’s setting down a folder and reaching for a metal cane he uses sometimes when his hip bothers him.
“Hey, Brina,” he says. “I wondered where you were. Serena was asking when we got back.”
“I was just looking for some…of my old clothes,” I say. “In the attic. Where is Serena?”
He skirts around me, and I follow him through the living room to the back porch.
“I think she went outside. Said something about needing to grab something from the bunkhouse.”
Behind him, I roll my eyes. Then, I feel silly, because…
I was doing the same thing she’s doing right now, just with a lot more risk and heavier consequences.
A weight shifts to my shoulders. Dad pushes the door open, and I grab it, holding it so he can get through.
Then, I follow him out to the back porch.
“Where you all headed?” I ask.
“Gonna go to the other barn and look at some seeds,” Dad says.
Sounds riveting. I stand and wait for the men to wander off, chattering as they go.
Then, I glance up at the spare bedroom window.
Through the thin curtain is the outline of his body.
Quickly, I give him a thumbs-up, and he melts out of view.
I loiter, hands on my hips like I’m just hanging out, just in case somebody is watching from the barn or something.
Far away, I hear the side door slam.
I circle to the front door and go inside, treading back down the hall again and peering through the back. There he is, with a spring in his step that wasn’t there the last time I saw him.
I’m left in the quiet of the house. It’s been a long time since something excited me or piqued my interest the way this man does.
My chest is tender, confused with excitement and dread for when he disappears.
Inevitably, he will. He’ll go back to Nashville, to concert halls full of faces that distract him, and I’ll be nothing but a girl he met one summer when he went west.
Slowly, I make a cup of coffee. Then, I go sit on the porch and let the hot mug almost burn me so I can feel something else.
At least when it’s just me again, I’ll still have these hills, these mountains.
Those will never leave.