Chapter 38
Thank Fuck
Sawyer
“Thank fuck,” he murmurs into my neck, holding himself still inside me.
My mind is a cacophony of thoughts. Hope replacing the dread that had taken up residence during the drive home. His words and reassurances chase away the doubt that had been hanging over me like a cloud.
“I’m old enough not to throw away something this good and pretend it’s nothing.”
“I’ll take you every single way I can have you.”
I have no idea where it leaves us, but it’s comforting to know that he’s falling just as impossibly fast as I am. And maybe, just maybe, this won’t have to end.
I’m strung up, unable to touch him or myself. Being restrained this way is thrilling. I pull at the rope binding my wrist, wanting his entire body pressed against mine.
The feeling of the fibers digging into my wrists is both grounding and stimulating, and my skin heats from the friction.
Every touch is intensified. The brush of his lips against my ear, the light sweep of his fingertips over my hips, the teasing graze of his beard against my neck—each sensation pulls me impossibly closer to the edge.
It’s the sweetest torture to be at his mercy like this. His fingers skim over my ribs, and my skin sings under his touch. I shiver from the combination of cold and anticipation.
He pulls out, his dark gaze consuming every piece of me. When he pushes back in, his eyes lock on mine. My breath catches in my throat at the look of open adoration on his face.
“How does your pussy still feel so amazing? You fit me like a glove. Like you were made for me.”
He rocks into me, his pelvis rubbing against my clit as his cock hits deep inside me. His hands knead the flesh of my ass as he rolls his hips in a rhythm that has me ascending to new heights.
“Wes, you feel so good.”
His lips ghost over mine, and I grip the top of the rope as he teases my lips apart with his tongue.
I arch into him, meeting his eagerness with my own.
I suck his bottom lip into my mouth, letting a bit of my wildness seep into the kiss.
He groans and grabs the back of my neck, his thumb finding my racing pulse at my throat.
My body is alive and buzzing as he pounds into me with one hand digging into my hip and the other on my neck possessively. The rope holding me up rubs against my wrists, but the abrasiveness of it only heightens all the feelings warring in my body at once.
Wes tames my wildness with a gentle squeeze of his hand at my neck, and I clamp down around him.
“Atta girl. Strangle my cock just like that, Red.”
I pull at my restraints again, trying to meet him thrust for thrust as he tightens his hold on my neck. I can still breathe, but the feeling of restricted airflow brings a new high.
I’m trembling, making inarticulate sounds, and when I don’t think my body can take being on edge any longer, Wes loosens his grip and strokes my clit, and I plummet from the precipice, spasming around him as I scream his name.
My climax brings on his own. He pulls out of me and paints my stomach and chest with his release, hot and slippery. It feels just as dirty and possessive as the first time he did it, as if he’s claiming me. And I love it.
His heavy gaze falls on the mess he made, and he gives me a proud smirk.
I smile sleepily at him. “I love when you fuck me like a real cowboy.”
He chuckles. “You look good like this, Red. Covered in my cum, strung up, and flushed head to toe from the orgasm I just gave you.”
He drags his fingers through his cum, spreading it over my breast before placing his fingers on my lips. “Open.”
I take his fingers on the flat of my tongue, licking them clean while my sultry gaze holds his.
“You’re something special, Sawyer.” He reaches behind me and unhooks the rope. He carefully unwraps the lariat from my wrists and rubs at the red marks marring my skin. The imprint of the amplified sensation still lingers.
My mind spins, like tires churning helplessly in mud as we silently redress. Wes is falling for me, and if my reaction to Hannah is any indication, I’m falling too. And I still have no idea where that leaves us.
I shiver under his light touch, and he gives me a soft smile. “We should get you inside. You’re going to get cold out here.”
"Will you stay tonight?" I ask, throwing my no sleepover rule out the window. I need him curled up beside me tonight.
His eyes crinkle at the corners and the look he gives me is so tender it borders on painful. "Of course," he says before placing a kiss on the top of my head.
When we get inside, he runs me a hot shower, and I reluctantly wash him off my skin. I put on pajamas before slipping under the covers next to Wes, whose breathing has already turned deep as he sleeps on his stomach.
I study his face, the slope of his nose, the cut of his jaw, all the sharp edges that have gone soft while he sleeps. He’s shirtless and his hands curl under his face like a pillow, and my heart squeezes at the bittersweetness of this moment.
I desperately want Wes to stay, but I’ll never ask that of him. As much as I want him to stay for me, I won’t be another person he’s scared to disappoint.
It’s in this moment I realize just how far gone I am. Wes has branded himself on my skin, on my heart, on my soul. And I don’t think I’ll ever recover.