Chapter 45
Maybe having this hot bear of a man read my dirty text messages aloud when we’re over an hour from a bedroom is a bad idea.
But whoever said good ideas were fun?
Out of the corner of my eye, I watch Arthur’s thick fingers swipe across the glass screen as he navigates to my drunken, horny ramblings.
I was sexy though, wasn’t I? Pretty sure I recall myself saying some very hot things.
Maybe.
Oh God, did I talk about pizza while fingering myself?
Now, I’m wondering if this is a bad idea for more cringe reasons. But Arthur’s deep voice starts before I can retract my suggestion.
If it gets bad, I can always slap the phone out of his hand again. Foolproof method.
“I miss you,” he says. “In bed.”
Yep, I definitely remember that.
“I’m texting this one-handed.” He clears his throat, and I make sure my hands are currently at ten and two.
“The other one is busy,” Arthur rumbles.
A hot, heavy pressure lands on my thigh, and I realize he’s rested his meaty palm there. Holding on to me with his fingers inches away from my suddenly warm core.
“I want your... rock?” He snorts, and I bite back a chuckle. Then he continues, and my humor evaporates.
“I want your cock.”
Damn, I love the way Arthur’s deep voice grinds out that dirty word. I’m about to ask him to say it again, but he’s already on to the next text.
“I want you to crush me into the bed.”
Mmm, yeah. After the van, that might be my favorite position.
“I love it when you crush me, and all I can smell and feel and breathe is you.”
As if to emphasize the message, every inhale I take brings me a wave of his evergreen scent, mixed with dirt and sweat. Shouldn’t the guy reek after multiple days in the woods? Maybe my horny brain just doesn’t care.
“Why . . .” Arthur pauses, clears his throat again, and this time, his voice is gentler on the words. “Why aren’t you here?”
My cheeks grow overly warm. The simple question sounds vulnerable the way he just read it when, really, it was a needy, sexy question.
Right?
“Hell,” he mutters.
“What? What did I say?” Is this where the pizza comes in and everything becomes weird?
Arthur drags in a deep breath, and his grip tightens on my thigh. “I’m wet,” he growls. “You make me soaking wet.”
“Oh,” I say. That’s all I can manage.
I mean, it was the truth. And it’s happening all over again, hearing my dirty thoughts in his gravelly voice.
“God, Robin, this next bit . . .”
I squirm in my seat, feeling his heated eyes on the side of my face. “Read it out loud.”
Arthur swallows. “I like how it sounds when you fuck me.”
His fingers stroke the inseam of my jeans, and I remind myself to stay in my lane.
“All wet when you slip inside. And you grunt.” This comes out on a guttural note, and my pussy clenches in response. “God, I love your grunts. And the bed squeaks. I can’t get the bed to squeak.”
From the corner of my eye, I catch the sight of his jaw clenching, but he still forces the next words out.
“Can’t get my fingers as deep as you go. I want you so bad.”
Good job, past me. I’m getting majorly turned on all over again.
“Did I say anything else?” I try to keep my voice casual, but it comes out strained. Needy.
I want to pull over and climb into Arthur’s lap and ride him.
“I’m thinking about how your beard feels on my thighs,” he says. “And the way you look at me.”
Like I’m precious. That’s how he looks at me. And it gets me there every time.
“There’s one more.” His fingers are like hot iron against my thigh. “You said, Oh fuck. I think I’m... and that’s it.” His breathing sounds loud in the car. Or maybe it’s mine. “Is that when you came?”
I nod, remembering now, struggling with words in a way I wasn’t last night.
The rest of the drive passes in tense silence, even when I eventually switch the radio on to a random country music station. The whole time, all I can think about is the man in my passenger seat and how the miles are decreasing between us and a bed.
Finally, we pull into his driveway, and the car is barely in park before he’s kicking open his door. Arthur stalks around to my side of the car, and when I step out, he hauls me over his shoulder.
And suddenly, I’m giggling. The tension doesn’t break, but only morphs into giddiness.
“Where are you taking me, Bear?” I shout as he bounds up the front stoop.
“Need you. Need a shower. Gonna multitask.”
A few minutes later, as the hot water washes off the grime of his hike, Arthur slips on a condom and pins me against the tiled wall with his thick thighs and hard cock, grunting with each thrust and demanding to know if this is how deep I wanted him to go.
And I decide to make dirty texts a regular part of our communication.