Chapter 13 #2
His hand slid down my stomach, beneath the waistband of my underwear. When his fingers found me—slick and ready—we both moaned.
"God, you're wet," he said against my neck.
"That's your fault."
He worked me with his fingers, slow and deliberate, learning what made me gasp, what made me arch, what made me whisper his name like a plea. I was climbing, reaching, desperate for something only he could give.
"Blaine—I need?—"
"I know." He pulled back, stripping off his boxers. I had a moment to appreciate the full sight of him—thick and hard and straining toward me—before he was reaching for his jeans on the floor.
"Wait," I said, catching his hand. "I'm on birth control. And I'm clean. If you?—"
"I'm clean too." His voice was rough. "Are you sure?"
"I want to feel you. Just you."
Something shifted in his expression—a rawness that made my heart stutter.
He settled between my thighs, the tip of him pressing against my entrance. His eyes locked on mine.
"Tell me if?—"
"Blaine." I pulled him down, kissed him deeply. "Stop talking."
He entered me slowly, inch by inch, giving my body time to stretch around him. The fullness was exquisite—almost too much and not nearly enough all at once. When he was fully seated inside me, we both went still.
"Okay?" he asked.
"More than okay." I rolled my hips experimentally, and we both gasped. "Move. Please."
He did.
We found our rhythm—slow at first, savoring, then faster as the need built. His hands gripped my hips; mine clawed at his back. The sounds we made filled the room—gasps and moans and whispered words that didn't quite make sense.
"Look at me," he said, and I did.
His eyes were dark, intense, locked on mine as he drove into me. There was something raw in his gaze—vulnerable and fierce all at once. Like he was giving me something he'd never given anyone.
The pressure built, coiling tighter with every thrust. I could feel myself getting close, could feel him getting close too—the tension in his shoulders, the raggedness of his breath.
"Blaine—I'm?—"
"I know. Let go. I've got you."
I shattered. The orgasm crashed over me in waves, pulling a cry from my throat that I couldn't have silenced if I'd tried. I felt myself clench around him, felt him thrust once, twice, three more times before he followed—burying himself deep and groaning my name as he spilled inside me.
For a long moment, neither of us moved. Just lay there tangled together, breathing hard, hearts pounding in sync.
Then Blaine lifted his head and smiled at me—sated, happy, completely undone.
"Hi," he said.
"Hi."
"That was..."
"Yeah." I laughed, still breathless. "It really was."
He rolled onto his side, pulling me with him, staying inside me as long as he could before finally slipping free. I felt the loss immediately.
"Stay," I said. "Tonight."
"Try to make me leave."
I smiled against his skin and let my eyes drift closed.
I woke up to sunlight streaming through my curtains and the warmth of Blaine's body curved around mine.
His arm was draped over my waist, his breath soft against the back of my neck. I could feel him stirring behind me—in more ways than one. The hard length of him pressed against my lower back, and I smiled.
"Morning," he murmured, his voice rough with sleep.
"Morning yourself." I pressed back against him deliberately, and his arm tightened around me.
"Careful," he warned. "Or we'll never get out of this bed."
"Is that supposed to discourage me?"
His hand slid down my stomach, lower, finding me already wet. "Apparently not."
He touched me slowly, lazily, like we had all the time in the world. It was different from last night—less urgent, more exploratory. He learned the rhythms of my body, paid attention to what made me gasp and what made me moan.
"I want to taste you," he said against my ear.
"Later." I turned in his arms to face him, wrapping my leg over his hip. "Right now I just want you inside me again."
He obliged. This time was slower—a gentle rocking, face to face, watching each other's expressions shift and tighten as the pleasure built. Intimate in a way that felt almost too vulnerable.
We came together, his forehead pressed against mine, breathing each other's air.
Afterward, we lay tangled together, neither willing to move.
"Shower?" he eventually suggested.
"Only if you join me."
His grin was answer enough.
The shower was small—barely room for one person, let alone two—but we made it work. Hot water streamed over us as Blaine pressed me against the tile, his mouth tracing rivers down my neck, my shoulders, my breasts.
"Turn around," he said.
I did. His hands slid over my wet skin—soaping my back, my hips, reaching around to cup my breasts. I braced my palms against the tile as his hand slipped between my thighs.
"Again?" I gasped.
"Again." He positioned himself behind me. "Unless you want me to stop."
"Don't you dare."
He slid into me from behind, and this angle was deeper, more intense. The water pounded down on us as he moved—slow at first, then faster, one hand on my hip, the other working my clit in tight circles.
I came with a cry that echoed off the tile, and he followed moments later, groaning against my shoulder.
We stayed there for a long moment, letting the water wash over us, catching our breath.
"We should probably actually get clean at some point," I said.
"Probably."
But neither of us reached for the soap.
Eventually, we made it out of the shower. And then the bedroom. And finally to the kitchen, where Blaine made coffee while I sat on the counter in his shirt, watching him move through my space like he belonged there.
"I should probably get back to the ranch," he said eventually. "Before the guys send a search party."
"Probably."
Neither of us moved.
"Five more minutes," he said.
"Ten."
"Deal."
We ended up taking thirty.
It started with Blaine setting down his coffee cup and crossing the kitchen to stand between my legs where I sat on the counter. His hands slid up my thighs—his shirt had ridden up, leaving me bare underneath.
"You're not wearing anything under this," he said, his voice dropping.
"Observant."
"Dangerous." His thumbs traced circles on my inner thighs, inching higher. "Very dangerous."
"What are you going to do about it?"
He answered by dropping to his knees.
"Blaine—"
"Shh." He hooked his hands behind my knees and pulled me to the edge of the counter. "Let me."
The first stroke of his tongue made me cry out. He explored me slowly, learning what I liked all over again—soft licks, then firmer pressure, circling my clit before dipping lower to taste all of me.
My hands found his hair, gripping tight. My head fell back against the cabinet. The morning sun was warm on my skin, and Blaine's mouth was hot between my legs, and I couldn't remember ever feeling this wanted.
"You taste incredible," he murmured against me, and the vibration of his words sent sparks up my spine.
He slid a finger inside me, then two, curling them just right while his tongue worked my clit in relentless circles. I was already sensitive from the night before, from the morning, from the shower—it didn't take long.
"I'm close," I gasped. "Blaine—I'm?—"
He sucked my clit into his mouth and curled his fingers, and I shattered. The orgasm ripped through me, my thighs clamping around his head, my hands pulling his hair, his name torn from my throat.
He worked me through it, gentling his touch as the waves subsided, pressing soft kisses to my inner thighs.
When he finally stood, his chin was wet and his smile was smug.
"Now I really need to get back to the ranch," he said.
"You can't just—" I was still breathless, still trembling. "That's not fair."
"What's not fair?"
"You can't do that and then leave."
He leaned in, kissed me deeply. I could taste myself on his lips.
"Tonight," he promised. "Your turn to drive me crazy."
"Count on it."
He kissed me once more—soft, sweet, completely at odds with what he'd just done to me on my kitchen counter—and then he was gone.
I sat there for a long moment, spent and satisfied and already counting the hours until I'd see him again.