Chapter 13 #2
I reach for him, and everything starts to blur. The smell of pine and snow mingles with leather as I unzip Brantley’s jacket and slip my hands inside, sliding it off his shoulders. It falls forgotten to the floor.
“This doesn’t mean anything, okay?” I tell him earnestly. “But I really need a good fuck.” My words echo his from college.
B raises his eyebrows, guilt flickering across his features. “Wow, you really went there.”
“I really did,” I say huskily, my tongue darting out to lick my lips.
His hazel eyes burn with lust, and he pushes his body against mine with a quiet moan, his head falling to my neck.
B’s fingers fumble with the zipper on my coat, and I arch my back, helping him to remove it.
The chilly air doesn’t register. Ticklish heat builds between my legs and the warmth from our skin seeps through our shirts.
Needy hands run down my back and cup my ass while B’s lips continue to graze my neck, his breath hot and damp on my skin.
He raises his head, and I grip his nape tightly but don’t move. “Stop me, Fi.” His body trembles against mine. “Otherwise, I’m going to kiss you.”
“Do it.”
His mouth presses to mine, but not in the violent way I expect.
This isn’t the Brantley Michaels from college.
This isn’t the hockey star kissing me. This is a new side of B, and I melt.
His lips are soft but insistent, needy but gentle.
And his tongue pushes into my mouth. I open for him with a quiet moan.
The way he’s kissing me makes me feel exposed and wanted and horny as hell.
I kiss him aggressively, unable to hold back the torrent of fire building in my veins. I haven’t needed anyone this way in so long, and I’m riding the high. I want to feel every inch of him inside my body—down to the molecular level.
My fingers fumble with the button on his jeans. B’s hands skim up my body and pinch my nipples through the thin fabric of my T-shirt. The electric pain goes right to my clit, and I whimper.
Brantley’s jeans are undone, and his long, hard erection is peeking from his zipper, the large uncut head already glistening with precum.
B pulls his mouth from mine. “Fuck, Fi.”
“That’s the idea,” I growl.
“Are you sure? We don’t…I mean…”
“Stop, Michaels.” He stills, but swallows hard when I squeeze his length firmly in my hand. “I want to feel every inch of you ripping me apart and putting me back together. Do you think you can do that?”
His eyes widen and his pupils dilate, but he gives me a smirk, and that cocky confidence I’ve been craving for the last three years resurfaces with a vengeance as he unbuttons my jeans and yanks them down my legs.
I kick off my boots so that I’m standing on the straw-strewn floor in nothing but my shirt and woolen cat socks.
Brantley kicks off his own boots, one colliding with a stack of metal buckets with a loud clatter.
Then, his pants hit the floor and he steps free.
Goose bumps pebble our skin and our needy breaths are puffs of white steam, but somehow the cold air just makes everything feel twice as erotic—like we’re doing something taboo by fucking in a barn.
B grips my thighs and I wrap my legs around his waist, grinding my aching, wet pussy into his already bare cock.
He groans with the contact. “Ugh, baby…”
I can’t stop there. I need the connection like I need to breathe, so I reach between us and give his hot length a firm tug. With my other hand, I push my panties to the side and line myself up.
I hover over him, his tip teasing my entrance, and our eyes lock for a split second before I push myself onto his thick dick, my clit pressing deliciously against his body as he slides in.
The sounds I make are loud and animalistic, and B’s match my own as he pulls back and pushes into my cunt forcefully.
Everything is warm, slick skin, the bite of fingernails, and the salty taste of sweat on my upper lip.
The back of my head falls against the wood with a thunk as he pulls back and pushes in impossibly deep and stills.
“I can’t…,” he whispers. “I’m so close.”
An orgasm is already building, teasing my spine and spreading through my thighs. My legs are shaking with the strain of holding our position, and ecstasy pervades my body like ripples in a pond.
B grinds his pelvis against my clit as he thrusts again.
It doesn’t matter that we’re broken. It doesn’t matter that he hurt me. It doesn’t even matter that we’re in a barn in the middle of the snowy woods.
He’s all that matters. The white-hot pleasure exploding between my thighs is all that matters.
And he comes with me with what can only be described as a guttural roar.
He holds himself deep, like he’s filling in all the cracks in my soul and lighting the dark, empty spaces that depression has left in its wake.
The orgasm is so potent that my eyes fill with tears, and I can’t stop them as they trickle down my cheeks.
I swallow a sob and cover my face with my hands so that B won’t see my raw vulnerability.
For a moment, all I can hear is our short panting breaths in the stillness of the barn. Then Brantley’s hands touch mine gently, pulling them from my face.
“Hey,” he whispers, tenderly swiping the wetness from my cheeks. “Did I hurt you?”
“No,” I croak. “I’m sorry, B.”
“Shhh, why are you sorry, Fi? I’m not. I never regret a moment with you.”
We’re still wound together intimately even though B’s cock has softened inside my body. I can feel his heartbeat hammering against my own. His skin is damp and warm and soft.
“I just—” I choke around the lump in my throat. I can’t seem to stop crying. “I think I missed you. A lot.” I look away. “And it’s overwhelming and frightening.”
“Fi—” Brantley starts. But then we hear a scuffling noise.
“What was that?” I tense against him, a prickle of fear overshadowing my emotional turmoil.
There’s another noise that sounds like scratching, and then the stall door across from us slowly creaks open.
B drops me to the floor, pushes me behind him, and faces the stall.
He looks around quickly and grabs a broom, holding it like a baseball bat.
I peer over his shoulder, one hand covering my very hard, very cold nipples through the thin fabric of my shirt.
The door opens wider and out steps…
“A chicken?” Brantley says, relaxing his rigid stance.
The chicken—a rooster from the look of it—pokes his beaked face around the corner and cocks his head at us curiously. He makes a little clucking noise, bobbing his feathered mohawk, and I start to giggle.
B glances back at me with a grin.
“Hey, B, put some clothes on.”
He blushes. “Oh right.” He reaches for his pants and boots, and I do the same. We glance at the rooster and then turn the other direction to dress.
“Is it weird that I feel embarrassed that we were caught by a chicken?” I ask with a nervous laugh as I pull on my coat.
B sets the broom against the wall and pulls on his jeans. “No.” He glances over his shoulder. The rooster blinks its beady eyes. “He’s totally sus.”
I frown. “Do you think he’s cold? Should we bring him somewhere?”
B shakes his head. “He’s probably good in here. My grandparents had chickens, and they’re actually surprisingly comfortable in cold weather.” He steps closer and peers into the stall. “Plus, someone’s been feeding him.”
“What?” I walk up next to him, and sure enough, there’s an autofeeder hanging from a post above the stall, though it’s getting pretty low. “What the heck,” I say. “Maybe the same person who was in the tractor?”
B shrugs with a shiver. “Either way, maybe we should get back.” His cheeks redden as he rubs the back of his head. “The idea of someone else watching us fuck is a little creepy, but also kind of hot.”
He reaches for my hand, and I take it, smirking up at him. “Brantley Michaels, did we unlock a new kink?”
He clears his throat. “Maybe…”
We walk back to the cabin in silence, a weird tension building between us.
It was just sex, right? We’re both at rock bottom, and we wanted to feel good. What’s wrong with that? It doesn’t have to mean anything.
For the next couple hours, we try to avoid each other in the small space.
I’m not the type of person who’s ashamed of sex, but the emotional response I had when Brantley and I finished has confused the hell out of me.
Did B specifically trigger it? Was it because it’s been so long since I’ve had that human connection?
I loved Anna, but the last few months of our relationship were riddled with silence and both emotional and physical distance as I navigated my feelings.
B makes it his mission to tend to the fire, and I just wait. I try to read for a while, but the longer that Seb is gone, the less I can concentrate. So now I’m pacing, checking the entryway window for any sign of headlights while my thoughts spiral.
What if Dennis somehow made it across the border? What if he followed us and found Seb in town? What if he hurt him? Yes, Seb has less conspicuous features, but he still looks like himself. This isn’t a Marvel movie—he can’t hide behind a hat and sunglasses.
“You’ve got to stop, Fi,” B says. “You're going to wear a hole in the floor with all that pacing, and it’s driving me nuts.”
“I’m sorry, but shouldn’t he be back by now? It’s almost completely dark.”
As if summoned, B’s truck rumbles up the road and pulls into the driveway. I feel a warm rush of relief as I stare out at the falling snow flickering in front of the headlights before Seb cuts the engine and climbs out of the cab.
I open the door and step out onto the porch, rubbing my hands together. “Do you need help, Seb?” I call as he walks around to the truck bed and pulls out several bags.
“No, I’m okay.” He looks pointedly at my feet as he approaches. “Are you out here in your socks?”
I look down and grimace when I finally feel the chill seeping through the wool material. “Yeah…”
He rolls his eyes. “You’re going to lose your toes. Go inside.”
Sebastian follows me into the cabin and sets the bags on the kitchen counter. B immediately starts rifling through them, removing various packages and boxes.
“Thank the baby Jesus. I’m starving.” B yanks out some bread and peanut butter.
Seb goes back for a second round and then locks the door behind him.
“The mechanic in town said he can send a tow truck up the road tomorrow,” he says while he takes off his coat and boots.
“I left your keys with him.” Seb gives B a disapproving look when he sees him making a mess all over the counter.
“Sounds like they’re always pulling people out of ditches around here. ”
I stare at the guys, fidgeting nervously between the living room and the kitchen.
Guilt is licking at my nerves, ratcheting up my anxiety.
How many times have I almost kissed Seb?
And then I fucked Brantley, and that feels really wrong for some reason.
I’m not with either of them. I didn’t cheat.
But my actions still feel shitty. Not to mention, I’m just terrible at keeping secrets.
“Fi, come here,” Seb says, sitting down on the couch and patting the cushion next to him.
Oh my God, he knows.
I swallow and walk over hesitantly.
Is he going to be angry? Upset? Why do I care so much?
I sit, and he reaches for my foot. I yelp at the unexpected contact and try to pull away, but his grip is firm.
He gives me an odd look and then peels the wet sock off my foot. “Are you okay? You seem jumpy. Did something happen while I was gone?”
My throat feels like it’s full of sand, and my heart is pounding frantically against my ribs. This stupid secret is going to kill me. “Uhhh…”
Seb grabs my other foot, places it on his lap, and pulls off my other sock. Then he stands and hangs the soggy garments on some nails on the mantle like they’re Christmas stockings.
I stare at him wide-eyed as he turns around, watching me with narrowed eyes.
“What’s going on, Fi?” His voice is a deep rumble.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
I can’t stand it. I might burst if I don’t say something.
“Brantley and I fucked in a barn on the other side of the property and a chicken saw us.” The ridiculous sentence pours from my mouth like word vomit.
There’s a clatter in the kitchen and my head swings around.
Brantley is staring at me, his mouth open in shock. My gaze drops to the counter where the butter knife landed, and he carefully sets the half-made sandwich onto the plate in front of him, his eyes snapping fearfully to Seb’s. “Please don’t hit me again.”