Chapter Five #3
I nodded, pulling him down to me. "I've never been more sure of anything."
Our lips met in a kiss that started slow but quickly blazed into something more urgent. His hands ran over my hair as mine explored the solid planes of his back, the heat of his skin burning through his sweater. I tugged at the fabric, suddenly desperate to feel his skin against mine.
He broke the kiss just long enough to pull the sweater over his head, and I took a moment to admire him in the soft lamplight.
His chest was broad and strong, dusted with dark hair silvered at the edges like his temples.
A thin scar ran along his left side—a story for another time.
The evidence of his years was there in the slight softening at his waist, in the laugh lines around his eyes, but it only made him more real, more human, more desirable.
"Your turn," he murmured, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through me.
I sat up, allowing him to pull my sweater off, suddenly self-conscious of my curves under his gaze. But the look in his eyes as they traveled over me wasn't just desire—it was wonder, appreciation, reverence.
"You're exquisite," he whispered, tracing the lace edge of my bra. "I've imagined this, but reality is so much better."
"You've imagined this?" I asked, emboldened by his admission.
His smile was slightly sheepish. "More than I should admit. Since that first day at The Little Red Hen."
The thought of him thinking about me, wanting me for all these days, melted my insides into liquid desire. I reached behind to unhook my bra, but his hands stopped me.
"Let me," he said, his fingers replacing mine. "I want to unwrap you slowly."
With surgical precision, he unhooked the clasp, his knuckles brushing against my spine in a touch so light it made me shiver.
He drew the straps down my arms with deliberate slowness, his eyes never leaving mine until the garment fell away entirely.
Then his gaze dropped, and the naked hunger in his expression made me feel more beautiful than any words could.
"Perfect," he breathed, cupping my breast with a gentleness that belied the desire evident in his eyes. "So perfect."
His thumb circled my nipple, drawing it to a tight peak before he lowered his head to taste me.
The warm, wet heat of his mouth sent electricity shooting through my body, and I arched into him with a gasp.
He lavished attention on one breast and then the other, his hand skimming down my side to my hip, fingers pressing into the soft flesh there with just enough pressure to anchor me to the moment.
I reached for his belt, needing to feel more of him, but he caught my hands, bringing them to his lips to kiss each palm in turn.
"Not yet," he murmured against my skin. "I've waited too long to rush this."
He kissed his way down my torso, lingering at the sensitive spot just below my ribs that made me squirm.
His hands found the waistband of my leggings, and he looked up, silently asking permission.
At my nod, he began to slide them down, his fingertips trailing along my thighs, calves, ankles, until I lay before him in nothing but my underwear.
"You are a work of art," he said, his voice husky with desire.
He ran his hands up my legs, from ankle to thigh, the calluses on his palms creating a delicious friction against my skin.
When he reached the edge of my underwear, he traced the seam with one finger, so close to where I wanted him yet not quite there.
The teasing touch had me lifting my hips in silent invitation.
"Patience," he murmured, a smile playing at his lips. "We have all night."
He lowered his head to press a kiss to my inner thigh, then another slightly higher.
Each touch of his lips sent waves of anticipation through me, building a tension that had me clutching at the sheets.
When he finally hooked his fingers into the waistband of my panties and slowly drew them down, I was already trembling with need.
He settled between my thighs, looking up the length of my body with such raw desire that I felt a fresh wave of heat course through me.
The first touch of his mouth was gentle, exploratory, but as he found the rhythm that made me gasp his name, he grew bolder.
His hands gripped my thighs, holding me steady as his tongue worked magic on my sensitive nub that had me arching off the bed.
"Rhett," I moaned, one hand fisting in his hair. "Oh god, Rhett..."
He hummed against me, the vibration adding another layer of sensation that pushed me closer to the edge. When he slid one finger inside me, then another, curving them just so while his tongue continued its sweet torture, the pleasure built to an almost unbearable intensity.
"Let go," he urged against my sensitive flesh. "Let me see you come apart."
His words, combined with the relentless rhythm of his mouth and hands, sent me hurtling over the edge.
Wave after wave of pleasure crashed through me, leaving me gasping and trembling.
Before I could fully recover, he was already building me up again, his touch more insistent now, drawing a second, even more powerful climax from me that had me calling his name loud enough that I was grateful for the cottage's isolation.
As I lay there, boneless and breathless, he licked and kissed his way back up my body, his expression a mixture of male satisfaction and genuine awe.
"You're so responsive," he said, placing a gentle kiss on my damp forehead. "So beautiful when you let go."
I reached for him, needing to feel his weight on me, in me. "I want you. Now."
He stood to remove his remaining clothes, and I took the opportunity to admire him fully.
He was magnificent—strong thighs, narrow hips, and his thick arousal straining toward me making my mouth go dry with anticipation.
There was no self-consciousness in the way he stood before me, comfortable in his skin in a way that spoke of maturity and self-acceptance.
"Come here," I said, reaching for him.
He shook his head with a small smile. "Not yet. I'm not done with you."
He returned to the bed, positioning himself between my legs once more.
This time, he took his time, building me slowly with long, languid strokes of his tongue that had me writhing beneath him.
He seemed determined to learn every secret of my body, every touch that made me gasp, every rhythm that made me moan.
When he focused his attention on that most sensitive spot, sucking gently while his fingers worked inside me, I shattered for a third time, the pleasure so intense it bordered on pain.
"Enough," I gasped, tugging at his shoulders. "Your turn. Please."
I was almost desperate to touch him, to give him the same pleasure he'd given me. The feel of his stiff eretcion in my hand, hot and heavy, sent a renewed surge of want through me.
Pushing gently at his shoulder, I guided him onto his back.
The surprise in his eyes quickly gave way to desire as I straddled him, lowering my mouth to his chest. I took my time exploring him as thoroughly as he had me, tasting the salt of his skin, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath my lips.
The small sounds he made—a sharp intake of breath when I nipped at his collarbone, a low groan when my hand wrapped around him—were intoxicating.
I moved lower, tracing the line of hair that disappeared below his navel with my tongue. His muscles tensed in anticipation, and when I finally took him into my mouth, his hips bucked involuntarily.
"Piper," he groaned, his hands gentle in my hair. "God, your lips..."
I loved watching this controlled man lose himself to sensation, loved knowing I was the cause of it.
I varied my rhythm, learning what made his breath catch, what made his fingers tighten in my hair.
The taste of him, the weight of him against my tongue, the sounds he made—all of it combined to renew my own arousal.
"Stop," he said finally, voice strained. "I don't want to finish like this."
I released him, unable to resist one final, slow lick that made him shudder. He sat up, pulling me onto his lap, his hands gripping my waist.
"I need to be inside you," he said, his voice rough with desire. "I need to feel you."
I positioned myself over him, sinking down slowly, taking him inch by inch, adjusting to the feel of him stretching me. His eyes never left mine, watching my every reaction, gauging my comfort. When I was fully seated, we both remained still for a moment, savoring the connection.
"You feel incredible," he said, his thumb tracing my lower lip. "Better than I ever imagined."
I began to move, finding a rhythm that had us both gasping.
His hands guided me, supporting me, one sliding up to cup my breast while the other held my hip.
The dual sensations—his thumb circling my nipple, his length moving inside me—had me racing toward another peak faster than I thought possible.
"That's it," he encouraged, watching me with dark eyes. "Show me what you need."
I adjusted the angle slightly, taking him deeper, and he groaned. "Just like that, Piper. God, you're perfect."
His words, combined with the building pressure inside me, pushed me toward the edge.
He must have sensed it because his hand slipped between us, finding that sensitive bundle of nerves.
The additional stimulation was all it took to send me spiraling into another intense orgasm that had me crying out his name.
As I clenched around him, his control finally snapped. In one fluid movement, he flipped us over, pressing me into the mattress as he drove into me with renewed urgency. The change in position allowed him to go deeper, hitting a spot inside me that had me gasping with each thrust.
"Piper," he groaned, his face buried in my neck. "You feel so good. So tight, so wet..."
I wrapped my legs around his waist, urging him on, meeting each thrust with one of my own. His movements grew more erratic, his breathing harsh against my ear. When he lifted his head to look at me, the vulnerability in his eyes took my breath away.
"Come with me," he urged, his hand slipping between us once more. "One more time, Piper. Together."
His fingers circled with expert precision, and impossibly, I felt myself building toward yet another release. This one was different—slower, deeper, more all-encompassing. When it hit, it wasn't the sharp, bright explosion of before but a rolling wave that seemed to go on and on.
"Rhett," I gasped, clutching at his shoulders. "Oh god, Rhett..."
He followed immediately, his body tensing above me, my name a groan torn from his throat as he found his own release. For several long moments, we stayed like that, connected in the most intimate way possible, our hearts racing in tandem.
Finally, he eased himself down beside me, keeping one arm around my waist as if afraid I might disappear. His free hand cupped my cheek, his touch gentler than seemed possible from hands so strong.
"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice still husky from exertion.
"More than okay," I answered honestly. "That was... wow."
A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Eloquent."
"You've effectively short-circuited my brain. Eloquence is not currently available."
He laughed, a warm, rich sound that I felt as much as heard. "Fair enough."
We lay in comfortable silence for a while, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on my skin.
I studied his face in the soft lamplight—the strong line of his jaw, now relaxed; the crinkles around his eyes that deepened when he smiled; the small scar near his right eyebrow that I'd noticed before but never this close.
"What are you thinking?" he asked, catching me studying him.
"How did you get this?" I traced the scar with my fingertip.
"Fell off my bike when I was ten. Hit a rock on the way down." He caught my hand, pressing a kiss to my palm. "Not a very exciting story."
"I like it anyway." I settled more comfortably against him. "I like learning these little pieces of you."
His expression grew more serious. "What we did just now...wasn't part of our deal," he said finally, echoing my earlier thoughts.
"No," I agreed, my fingers playing with the hair on his chest. "It wasn't."
"So what happens now?"
I considered the question carefully. This wasn't just sex—it was a fundamental shift in whatever was growing between us. "I'm not sure. I only know I'm not ready for it to end."
Relief flickered across his features. "Neither am I."
"Then we figure it out as we go?"
He nodded, pulling me closer. "As we go."
I rested my head on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. His arms around me felt like shelter, like safety. Not the safety of something predictable, but the safety of being seen, being wanted, being chosen.
Outside, snow began to fall, dusting the harbor with white. Christmas lights twinkled on distant boats, and somewhere, faintly, holiday music played from another cottage. The world beyond this room seemed distant, unimportant. For now, at least, the complications of tomorrow could wait.
Tonight, in this room with this man—his heartbeat steady beneath my ear, his scent surrounding me, the evidence of our shared passion still humming through my body—I had everything I needed.
Even if I had no idea what came next.