Chapter 5 – Abigail
"Scott," I whisper, my voice barely audible above the crackling fire.
He doesn't answer with words. Instead, his hand rises again, cupping my cheek fully, his thumb tracing the curve of my cheekbone with exquisite care. The roughness of his palm against my skin sends a shiver through me that has nothing to do with the cold.
I lean into his touch, my eyes fluttering closed for a heartbeat. When I open them, his face is closer, the flecks of darker blue in his irises visible in the golden firelight.
"We shouldn't," he murmurs, even as his other hand finds my waist, drawing me imperceptibly closer.
"Why not?" I challenge softly, my heart racing so wildly I'm certain he must hear it.
"Because you're making me forget every reason I had to keep my distance."
I reach up, threading my fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck, reveling in its softness against my skin.
"Good," I breathe, and close the final distance between us.
The first brush of his lips against mine is tentative, questioning, a whisper of contact that nonetheless sends electricity coursing through my veins. His lips are softer than I expected, warm and slightly chapped from the cold.
Then, as if a dam has broken, the gentleness gives way to hunger.
His mouth claims mine fully, hot and insistent, his lips parting mine with deliberate pressure.
A low groan rumbles from his chest as his arms encircle me completely, one hand sliding up my back to cradle my head, fingers tangling in my hair.
I respond with the same fervor, opening to him, my tongue meeting his. My fingers tighten in his hair, drawing a deeper growl that vibrates against my lips.
The kiss deepens, becoming messy, desperate. His teeth graze my bottom lip, tugging gently before soothing the sting with his tongue. I gasp into his mouth, my body arching instinctively toward his, seeking closer contact. The blanket slips from my shoulders, but I barely notice the chill.
Suddenly we're moving. Scott rises to his knees, lifting me with him without breaking our kiss.
In a fluid motion he presses me against the rough wooden wall of the barn, his body pinning mine with delicious pressure.
The contrast of cold wood at my back and his heat against my front sends shivers across my skin.
"Abigail," he breathes against my neck, trailing open-mouthed kisses down the sensitive column of my throat. His breath is hot against my skin, raising goosebumps in its wake. "I've wanted this since I first saw you in that meeting room."
"Even while you were arguing with me?" I gasp as his teeth graze my pulse point, the sharp sensation followed by the wet heat of his tongue. My head falls back against the wall, giving him better access.
"Especially then," he admits, his voice husky with desire. "You were so goddamn passionate about everything."
His hands slide beneath my cardigan, fingertips tracing the curve of my waist, the swell of my ribs, leaving trails of fire in their wake. I arch into his touch, hungry for more, my own hands exploring the broad expanse of his shoulders.
I can feel the heat of him through the fabric, the firm muscle underneath, the steady thud of his heartbeat matching the frantic pace of my own.
His mouth reclaims mine, his kiss deeper now, more demanding, as if he's trying to consume me from the outside in.
The wooden wall creaks as he presses me harder against it, his hips aligning with mine in a way that draws a moan from deep in my throat.
With trembling fingers, I tug at the hem of his shirt, needing to feel skin against skin. He helps me, breaking our kiss just long enough to pull the fabric over his head and toss it aside. A dusting of dark hair covers his chest, narrowing to a trail that disappears beneath his jeans.
"Your turn," he murmurs, eyes darkening as his fingers find the buttons of my cardigan.
He undoes them slowly, deliberately, his gaze never leaving mine.
The first button reveals the hollow of my throat, which he immediately bends to kiss, his tongue dipping into the sensitive depression.
The second exposes the curve of my breasts above my bra, drawing a sharp intake of breath from him and a rush of heat to my core.
By the time he reaches the last button, I'm trembling with need, my skin hypersensitive to every touch.
When the cardigan finally falls open, revealing my simple cotton bra, his sharp intake of breath is the sweetest form of appreciation.
His eyes darken further, pupils dilating until only a thin ring of blue remains.
His hands cup my breasts through the thin fabric, the weight of them filling his palms perfectly. His thumbs circle my nipples until they peak against his touch. I moan, my head falling back against the wall, offering myself more fully to his exploration.
He accepts the invitation, lowering his head to replace fingers with mouth, the wet heat of his tongue soaking through cotton to tease sensitive flesh. Through the fabric, he draws one nipple into his mouth, sucking gently while his hand continues to knead my other breast.
"Scott," I gasp, my hands clutching his shoulders for support as pleasure spirals through me. My nails dig into his skin, leaving crescent marks that I want to soothe with my tongue. "The blankets… please."
He understands immediately, lifting me as if I weigh nothing, his hands gripping the backs of my thighs as my legs wrap around his waist. The movement presses the hard ridge of him against my center, drawing a groan from us both.
In three strides, he's lowering me onto the makeshift bed of blankets spread before the stove.
His expression is a mixture of hunger and something softer, more vulnerable, as he gazes down at me.
His chest rises and falls with rapid breaths, a sheen of sweat making his skin glow in the amber light.
The fire pops and hisses beside us, sending shadows dancing across the planes of his body, highlighting the definition of muscle.
I reach for him, pulling him down until his weight presses me into the blankets.
The delicious friction of his bare chest against my cotton-covered breasts draws a moan from both of us.
His hips settle between my thighs, the hard length of him pressing against me through our jeans, creating a pressure that's both relief and torment.
His hand slides beneath me, unclasping my bra with practiced ease, then drawing the straps down my arms until I'm bare to his gaze.
"Christ, look at you," he breathes, his eyes roving over my exposed skin with such intensity that I feel it like a physical caress.
He lowers his head again, this time taking my nipple directly into his mouth, tongue swirling around the sensitive peak while his hand attends to its twin.
The wet heat of his mouth contrasts sharply with the cooler air, sending shivers across my skin.
He sucks harder, teeth grazing the tender flesh just enough to border on pain before soothing with gentle laps of his tongue.
I arch into his touch, seeking more, my hands exploring the muscled contours of his back, the narrow taper of his waist, the surprising softness of his hair as it brushes against my chest while he moves from one breast to the other.
I reach between us, fumbling with his belt buckle until it gives way.
The metallic clink sounds unnaturally loud in the quiet barn, punctuated only by our heavy breathing and the crackle of the fire.
My fingers brush against the hard ridge straining beneath denim, feeling him twitch at my touch even through the thick fabric.
"Abigail," he warns, voice strained, breath hot against my breast. "If you touch me there, I won't be able to go slow."
"Who said I wanted slow?" I challenge, emboldened by the naked desire in his eyes. I squeeze him gently through his jeans, drawing a hiss of pleasure-pain from between his clenched teeth.
With a growl that sends heat straight to my core, he captures my wrists in one large hand, pinning them gently above my head against the blankets.
The position arches my back, offering my breasts up to him like a feast. His free hand trails down my torso, fingertips skimming the underside of my breast, the curve of my waist, the swell of my stomach, to the waistband of my jeans.
"I want to savor you," he says, his voice rough with desire. His eyes lock with mine, intense and unwavering. "Every. Inch."
His fingers deftly unfasten the button, drawing down the zipper with agonizing slowness. I lift my hips, helping him slide the denim down my legs, the rough fabric catching slightly on my skin before giving way.
He releases my wrists to remove my boots and jeans completely, then pauses, drinking in the sight of me nearly naked before him, clad only in simple cotton panties.
His thumb traces the edge of my panties, barely grazing the sensitive skin of my inner thigh. The light touch sends electricity shooting up my leg, making me squirm. He does it again, this time venturing just slightly higher, but still avoiding where I most want to be touched.
"Please," I whisper, beyond pride or pretense, my body thrumming with desire. "Touch me."
His smile is pure male satisfaction as he hooks his fingers into the waistband and slowly, torturously, draws the fabric down my legs.
The cotton catches slightly where I'm wet, the tiny friction making me gasp.
When I'm finally bare beneath him, he takes a moment just to look, his expression a mixture of awe and hunger that makes me feel both vulnerable and powerful.
When he reaches the juncture of my thighs, he pauses, his eyes meeting mine, seeking permission that I give with a slight nod and a breathless "yes."
His hand slides higher, finally reaching the heat between my legs. At the first brush of his fingers against my center, we both moan. I'm embarrassingly wet, slick and swollen.