2. Fox
CHAPTER TWO
FOX
M y hands slide up her thighs, pushing the borrowed flannel shirt higher.
Everything about her drives me wild—her scent, the way she arches into my touch, that little half-smile that says she's enjoying herself despite her better judgment.
I lift her onto the island counter in one fluid motion, enjoying her surprised gasp.
"What are you doing?" she asks, her voice husky.
"Showing my appreciation for your company," I murmur against her neck, trailing kisses down her throat. "Unless you want me to stop?"
"Don't you dare," she breathes, fingers threading through my hair.
I unbutton the flannel slowly, revealing her body inch by inch. The morning light filtering through the kitchen window bathes her skin in gold. She's fucking perfect—all lean muscle and soft curves. I've been with women before, but none of them have gotten under my skin like Prue Griffin.
"You're staring," she says, a hint of vulnerability in her voice that she tries to mask with bravado.
"Can't help it." I push the shirt off her shoulders, letting it pool around her waist. "You're beautiful."
Her cheeks flush, and she tugs me closer for a kiss that's all heat and hunger.
I could get lost in her mouth forever, but I have other destinations in mind.
I trail kisses down her neck, across her collarbone, taking my time.
She's impatient, tugging at my hair, trying to direct me where she wants me.
"Slow down," I whisper against her skin. "We've got time."
"I thought I was leaving after pancakes," she reminds me, but there's no conviction in her voice.
"Plans change." I cup her breasts, teasing her nipples with my thumbs until she moans. "Tell me what you want, Prue."
Her blue eyes lock with mine, darkened with desire. "Your mouth. I want your mouth on me."
Fuck, she's sexy when she's direct. I drop to my knees, positioning myself between her thighs. She watches me, bottom lip caught between her teeth, as I push the flannel up around her waist. Her legs part for me, an invitation I have no intention of refusing.
I kiss the inside of her thigh, working my way up slowly. She's already wet, her body honest even when her words try to keep me at a distance. I breathe her in, savoring the moment before I taste her.
"Fox," she whispers, impatient. "Please."
I give her what she wants, my tongue finding her center. The sound she makes—half-gasp, half-moan—goes straight to my cock. I take my time, exploring her with long, deliberate strokes, learning what makes her breath catch, what makes her fingers tighten in my hair.
"God, you're good at that," she pants, hips moving against my mouth.
I slip one finger inside her, then two, pumping them furiously as I focus my attention on her clit. Her thighs begin to tremble on either side of my head.
"Don't stop," she commands, and I have no intention of disobeying.
I work her with my mouth and fingers until she's right on the edge, her body tensing beneath me. When she comes, it's with my name on her lips, her back arching off the counter. I don't let up, drawing out her pleasure until she's pushing weakly at my shoulders.
"Too much," she gasps. "I can't?—"
I rise to my feet, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. Her cheeks are flushed, hair wild, eyes slightly unfocused. She's never looked more beautiful.
"Come here," she says, reaching for me.
I step between her legs again, and she pulls me down for a deep kiss, tasting herself on my lips. Her hand slips between us, finding me hard and ready through my sweatpants.
"These need to go," she murmurs, tugging at the waistband.
I strip them off, standing naked before her. Her eyes travel down my body, lingering appreciatively. She wraps her legs around my waist, pulling me closer until I'm pressed against her wet heat.
"Protection?" she asks, ever practical.
"Bedroom," I start to say, but she shakes her head.
"Did you bring any in here earlier? For pancakes?" There's a teasing glint in her eye.
"No, but?—"
"I'm on birth control, and I'm clean," she says. "Got tested after my last relationship. You?"
"Same. Tested three months ago. Nothing since."
She raises an eyebrow. "Nothing?"
"No one worth the effort," I admit, and her expression softens for a moment before she masks it.
"Well then," she says, shifting her hips forward. "What are you waiting for?"
I align myself at her entrance, my gaze fixed on her face as I gently press forward.
The sensation is overwhelming; she's incredibly tight and radiates heat around me, demanding every ounce of my self-control to maintain composure.
Her nails bite into my shoulders, leaving small crescents as I gradually fill her, feeling her envelop me entirely.
"Fuck," I groan, overwhelmed by the sensation. "You feel amazing."
"Move," she commands with a husky urgency, and I comply, initiating a slow, deep rhythm that elicits a moan from her lips with every thrust. Her voice, low and breathy, mingles with the intensity of the moment.
I grip her hips firmly, adjusting her position to just the right angle.
The kitchen becomes a symphony of our synchronized breathing, the rhythmic slap of skin against skin, and the occasional murmurs of encouragement that punctuate the air.
It's raw and primal, a stark contrast to our tentative exploration the night before.
Then, it was about discovery; now, it's about possession.
She leans back on her elbows, altering the angle and allowing me to penetrate deeper. The sight before me—her head thrown back in ecstasy, hair cascading down her shoulders, her breasts moving with each thrust. They’re as perfect as her.
"Touch yourself," I command, and she quickly obliges, her fingers dancing urgently over her swollen clit as I thrust deeply into her.
"More," she moans, her voice a desperate plea. "I'm almost there."
I respond by quickening my rhythm, driving into her with relentless force, the counter's edge biting into my skin, but the pain only fuels my desire.
Nothing else matters but the intoxicating sensation of her tightening around me, the way her breath catches in her throat when I hit that perfect, intoxicating angle.
"That's it," I encourage her. "Come for me again, Prue."
She does, her body clenching around me, pulling me deeper. The sight of her coming undone is all it takes to push me over the edge. I thrust into her one last time, burying myself deep as my release hits.
My hands slide up her thighs, pushing the borrowed flannel shirt higher.
Everything about her drives me wild—her scent, the way she arches into my touch, that little half-smile that says she’s enjoying herself despite her better judgment.
I lift her onto the island counter and smile at her surprised gasp.
“What are you doing?” she asks, her voice husky.
“Showing my appreciation for your company,” I murmur against her neck, trailing kisses down her throat. “Unless you want me to stop?”
“Don’t you dare,” she breathes, fingers threading through my hair.
I unbutton the flannel slowly, revealing her body inch by inch. The morning light filtering through the kitchen window bathes her skin in gold. She’s fucking perfect—all lean muscle and soft curves. I’ve been with women before, but none have gotten under my skin like Prue Griffin.
“You’re staring,” she says, a hint of vulnerability in her voice that she tries to mask with bravado.
“Can’t help it.” I push the shirt off her shoulders, letting it pool around her waist. “You’re beautiful.”
Her cheeks flush, and she tugs me closer for a kiss that’s all heat and hunger. I could get lost in her mouth forever, but I have other destinations in mind. I trail kisses down her neck and collarbone, taking my time. She’s impatient, tugging at my hair, trying to direct me where she wants me.
“Slow down,” I whisper against her skin. “We’ve got time.”
“I thought I was leaving after pancakes,” she reminds me, but her voice has no conviction.
“Plans change.” I cup her breasts, teasing her nipples with my thumbs until she moans. “Tell me what you want, Prue.”
Her blue eyes lock with mine, darkened with desire. “Your mouth. I want your mouth on me.”
Fuck, she’s sexy when she’s direct. I drop to my knees, positioning myself between her thighs. She watches me, bottom lip caught between her teeth, as I push the flannel up around her waist. Her legs part for me, an invitation I have no intention of refusing.
I kiss the inside of her thigh, working my way up slowly. She’s already wet, her body honest even when her words try to keep me at a distance. I breathe her in, savoring the moment before I taste her.
“Fox,” she whispers, impatient. “Please.”
I give her what she wants, my tongue finding her center. The sound she makes—half-gasp, half-moan—goes straight to my cock. I take my time, exploring her with long, deliberate strokes, learning what makes her breath catch and what makes her fingers tighten in my hair.
“God, you’re good at that,” she pants, hips moving against my mouth.
I slip one finger inside her, then two, pumping them furiously as I focus my attention on her clit. Her thighs begin to tremble on either side of my head.
“Don’t stop,” she commands, and I have no intention of disobeying.
I work her with my mouth and fingers until she’s right on the edge, her body tensing beneath me. When she comes, it’s with my name on her lips, her back arching off the counter. I don’t let up, drawing out her pleasure until she’s pushing weakly at my shoulders.
“Too much,” she gasps. “I can’t?—”
I rise to my feet, wiping my mouth with my hand. Prue’s cheeks are flushed, her hair wild, eyes slightly unfocused. She’s never looked more beautiful.
“Come here,” she says, reaching for me.
I step between her legs again, and she pulls me down for a deep kiss, tasting herself on my lips. Her hand slips between us, finding me hard and ready through my sweatpants.
“These need to go,” she murmurs, tugging at the waistband.
I strip them off, standing naked before her. Her eyes travel down my body, lingering appreciatively. She wraps her legs around my waist, pulling me closer until I’m pressed against her wet heat.
“What are you waiting for?” She says, shifting her hips forward.
I align myself at her entrance, my gaze fixed on her face as I gently press forward.
The sensation quickly overwhelms me. Prue’s tight pussy radiates heat around me, demanding every ounce of my self-control to maintain composure.
Her nails bite into my shoulders, leaving small crescents as I gradually fill her, feeling her envelop me entirely.
“Fuck,” I groan, overwhelmed by the sensation. “You feel amazing.”
“Move,” she commands with urgency, and I comply, initiating a slow, deep rhythm that elicits a moan from her lips with every thrust. Her breathy voice mingles with the intensity of the moment.
I grip her hips firmly, adjusting her position to just the right angle.
The kitchen becomes a symphony of our synchronized breathing, the rhythmic slap of skin against skin, and the occasional murmurs of encouragement punctuating the air.
It’s raw and primal, a stark contrast to the slow exploration of last night.
That was about discovery. Now is about it’s about possession.
She leans back on her elbows, altering the angle and allowing me to penetrate deeper. The sight before me—her head thrown back in ecstasy, hair cascading down her shoulders, her breasts moving with each thrust. They’re as perfect as her.
“Touch yourself,” I command, and she quickly obliges, her fingers dancing urgently over her swollen clit as I thrust deeply into her.
“More,” she moans, her voice a desperate plea. “I’m almost there,”
I respond by quickening my rhythm, driving into her with relentless force, the counter's edge biting into my skin, but the pain only fuels my desire.
Nothing else matters but the intoxicating sensation of her tightening around me, the way her breath catches in her throat when I hit that perfect, intoxicating angle.
"That's it," I encourage her. "Come for me again, Prue."
She does, her body clenching around me, pulling me deeper. The sight of her coming undone is all it takes to push me over the edge. I thrust into her one last time, burying myself deep as my release hits.
For a moment, we stay locked together, breathing hard. Prue's legs remain wrapped around me, keeping me inside her. I brush damp hair from her forehead, an unexpectedly tender gesture that makes her eyes flutter open.
"Well," she says, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "That was some breakfast."
I laugh, pressing a kiss to her shoulder. "Told you I'd make it worth your while."
"The pancakes weren't bad either," she adds, untangling her legs from around my waist.
I step back, helping her down from the counter. She wobbles slightly, and I steady her with a hand on her hip. The flannel shirt hangs open, framing her naked body. I have a sudden, fierce desire to keep her here, in my kitchen and life.
"What?" she asks, noticing my expression.
"Nothing," I lie. "Just thinking we might need another shower."
She studies me momentarily, like she knows I'm not telling the truth, but doesn't push. "Separate showers this time," she says, buttoning the flannel. "Or I really will never leave."
The thought appeals to me more than it should. "Would that be so terrible?"
Her expression turns guarded. "Fox?—"
"I know, I know," I interrupt, holding up my hands. "No relationships, no expectations. Just sex and pancakes."
"Exactly." She nods, but I don't miss the way her eyes linger on my face. "This was fun, but?—"
"But you're still leaving," I finish for her. "I get it, Prue. No pressure."
She relaxes visibly. "Thank you."
I gather our plates from the counter and set them in the sink. "Use the shower. I'll clean up here."
She hesitates, then stands on tiptoe to press a quick kiss to my cheek. "You're not what I expected, Fox Carmichael."
Before I can respond, she's padding down the hallway to the bathroom. I hear the water start and resist the urge to join her. Instead, I clean the kitchen, thinking about the woman currently naked in my shower and wondering how the hell I'm going to convince her to take a chance on me.
Because one thing's clear—I'm not letting Prue Griffin disappear from my life for good. Not without a fight.