Chapter Twenty-One #2
My lips tipped up automatically, not knowing why, but always finding comfort in his snark.
Maybe because it was him. I remember hearing once that when you meet a potential partner at first, you aren’t meeting them, you are meeting their representative.
The vast majority of people show you their pretty for the first few weeks or even months, terrified of showing any flaws.
That wasn’t how Sawyer operated. Like Marg said, he knew how short life could be, so he didn’t waste any time on bullshit.
He was always one hundred percent himself.
And after having dated men who either didn’t know who they were or were pretending to be someone they weren’t, it was comforting, reassuring to know you just know someone.
I lifted my chin and reached for the hem of my shirt, pulling it upward and discarding it to the side.
I slipped out of my pants and socks, leaving me in mismatched underthings—a hot pink bra and hunter green panties, never really being the type to spend much time on things like matching bras and panties.
Sawyer’s eyes dropped and moved slowly over me from the bottom up, each inch of skin seeming to warm under the inspection as I reached behind my back to unclasp my bra and then shimmied out of my panties.
Naked, I subconsciously ran a hand down my belly, wondering how different it would look in a couple of months.
I heard that stretch marks were something that were inherited, and that was why some women had smooth bellies and others earned tiger stripes.
Not knowing my birth mother, I had no idea what mine would look like when all was said and done.
Catching the small movement—because he caught every damn thing—he moved closer, one arm going around my back and the other resting over mine on my lower belly.
He ducked down slightly, resting his forehead against mine.
We stood that way for a long moment, me taking a deep breath and exhaling it slowly, letting the worry about my body fall away for the moment.
I shivered, my nipples prickling, my skin breaking into goosebumps.
“Let’s go get you warmed up,” he suggested, his hand falling but only so he could grab mine again, then pulling me into the shower, letting me hog the water until I warmed up.
Then he moved in with me, plastering my body to his, wrapping me up tight and holding me for a long minute.
I wondered then how many nights or mornings he might come home to me just like this—tired, adrenaline-drained.
I wondered too if it would always be intimacy and comfort he wanted or if there would be nights he would come home, wound up, needing an outlet for the energy and fucking me hard and fast and dirty until he was spent.
I found I was anxious to find out.
It should have been scary.
All I had really known were men I shouldn’t trust whom I had misjudged and poured everything into.
But I had come to Sawyer with my life in pieces around my feet, and he hadn’t shied away from the mess or the work. He had rolled up his sleeves, gotten out the glue, and helped me reconstruct it.
I could trust him.
And I would trust him.
Not just with me.
I could and would trust him with the life we had made and possibly with the lives of children we might adopt in the future.
“Alright, water hog. You’re clean. Meet me in bed,” he said, slapping my ass and moving under the spray as he reached for his soap.
I dried off and headed to the bed, crawling under the sheets naked because I figured that was what he had in mind, and, well, I did too.
He came in five minutes later, a towel slung indecently low on his hips, his Adonis belt muscles catching the small bit of light from the side of his bed.
He moved to the foot of the bed, standing there for a long moment before reaching for the comforter and slowly sliding it downward, the smooth material slipping sensuously down my skin, making it almost feel electric in the aftermath.
He didn’t stop pulling until the whole thing slid to the floor at his feet, exposing me completely.
“This is uneven,” I said, moving to fold up and crawl toward the edge of the bed, a motion that made his eyes heat and his breath hiss out of his mouth. My knees hit the edge of the mattress, my body a few inches from his.
I watched his face as my finger pressed between his pecs, then moved an excruciatingly slow line downward between his abs, over the small trail of hair that disappeared into the towel, then across his stomach to where he had the material tucked, snagging it and pulling.
The towel fell.
And he was naked before me, his cock hard and straining, a drop of precum already beaded at the head.
“So,” I said, moving my chest forward so it pressed into his, the scratch of his chest hair making my nipples harden further. My lips pressed into his neck. “You know what I was wondering before?”
“Hmm?” he asked, his chest rumbling with the sound.
“I was wondering if, after a job, you came home needing sweet and intimate or hard and rough and dirty?”
When I pulled back, his lips were tipped up. “Babe, I’ll take you whatever-the-fuck way you’ll have me.”
“Well, see,” I said, my hand moving downward to touch the hipbone muscles I found so fascinating, “we’re already so clean…”
Taking the cue, his hands finally reached out, sinking into my hips and throwing me backward on the bed.
I landed with a small bounce, laughing, liking the fact that he wasn’t suddenly treating me like I was fragile.
When I moved to sit up, he grabbed my ankles, yanking me back down a couple of feet until my ass was teetering at the edge of the bed.
Pretty much the second my body stopped moving, his hands pressed my inner thighs down until they spread wide, and he lowered down to his knees.
His mouth was on me before I could draw a breath. There was nothing slow or sweet or reverent about it.
He was devouring me.
His tongue traced my clit, pressed into it. His teeth scraped it. His lips sucked it hard.
“Fuck,” I cried out, my hand slamming into the back of his head as his eyes opened and looked up at me while his tongue started tracing again. He made a “mmm” noise, and the orgasm that had been quickly building crashed through me.
But he didn’t keep licking and sucking me through it.
He rose up, knees to the edge of the mattress, and slammed inside me, the invasion making another wave crash through me, making me arch up off the mattress and fist the sheets in my hands as I let out a loud moan.
“Fucking love your pussy milking me,” he growled, reaching down to hook my knees and yank them up, holding onto them as he started pistoning into me—hard, fast, unrelenting.
He pushed my knees into my chest, half curling over them, getting as deep as he could, eyes intensely holding mine.
“My fucking pussy,” he growled, arching his hips up when he slammed deep, making me feel a delicious little pinch that I wanted again, so when he slammed forward again, I dropped my hips down to get more of it.
Just when I was sure nothing could feel better, he pushed my legs together and rolled them to the side, cocking them up at an angle and creating a new sensation.
“Fuck yeah,” he growled as my walls started tightening around him.
“Come for me,” he added, hips shoving harder into mine, and if his hands weren’t planted on my ankles and my ass, I would have been halfway up the bed with the pressure behind them.
“Come,” he demanded again, voice harsher, losing control himself.
Then just like that, I did.
And he was only seconds behind with my name on his lips.
His body fell down behind mine, his legs cocking up under mine, his arm over my belly, pulling me tight to him.
“I have a request,” I said after a silence fell between us for a long minute, both of our breathing leveling out.
“Anything.”
“Anytime you come home from a job, wake me up to that.”
His answer was a low, rumbling laugh as he scooted back and pulled me onto my other side, facing him.
“Think I can manage that,” he said, leaning forward and claiming my lips. “In fact, I think you will wake to that in, say, six hours from now.”
“Mmm,” I said, closing my eyes a little. “But that time, I get to be on top.”
“Then maybe we should fall asleep like this,” he suggested, hooking an arm around my back and rolling onto his side, somehow snagging the edge of the comforter that was still stuck to the corner of the bed and kicking it up.
He pulled it up to my hips and wrapped his arms around me. “Just to make it easier.”
“Sounds like a plan,” I agreed, nuzzling my face into his neck as he traced shapes over my back. Despite having slept a bit and gotten a nap, I felt beat. Blame the sex, the sickness, the worry, the trip to the police station, but I was dead tired.
I woke up about five and a half hours later, fuzzy, still half-asleep but somehow turned on. It wasn’t until I realized what was causing it that I fully snapped awake.
What caused it was Sawyer’s hard cock pressed against my cleft, his hips moving in a slow, deliberate pattern that had me already halfway to an orgasm before I even woke up.
“There you are,” he smiled up at me when I planted my hands and pushed up to look down at him. “Been trying to wake you for ten minutes.”
“Mmm,” I mumbled, reaching between us and lifting his heavy cock to press it into me, closing my eyes on a moan as I did so.
“Oh my God,” I groaned, pressing my forehead into his shoulder, never realizing how good it would feel to wake up already wet, already ready, and feel that need immediately satisfied.
Somehow, every nerve ending felt more sensitive, more receptive to each sensation.
Sawyer’s arm went around me as he folded upward, crossing his legs under my ass to support me.
I wrapped my legs around his back, my arms around his neck, and started rocking, deciding right then and there that I had a new favorite position, not only because it felt the best but because it was intimate.
I got to look into his eyes; I got to feel his body against mine, his heart against my breast, his breath against my hair.
I started soft and slow and sweet, but before long, my body craved release, and I rode him faster, harder, until the headboard made an almost alarming thud against the wall as I completely shattered apart, clinging to him with everything in me.
Even broken apart, I had never felt more complete before.