Chapter 11 West
Eleven
West
Kissing Maddy in the shower is like trying to wrangle a sexy, wet octopus.
She’s all hands, raking her nails down my chest and reaching around to squeeze my arse.
She cups the sides of my neck, then cards her fingers through my soaked hair.
Every part of me gets grabbed and cataloged, like she’s making sure I’m really here.
All present and correct, crowding her against the tiles and kissing her until we’re both light-headed from steam.
Minutes later, we both tumble onto my bed, our bodies still damp and freshly scrubbed. My aching thigh throbs with relief after standing for hours and hours in the cold, the muscle spasming as I crawl on top of Maddy’s perfect bare body.
She’s warm and soft, her skin flushed pink from the heat. As my hard chest meets the pillowy swell of her breasts, sheer bliss swirls through my insides.
“Quick,” Maddy says, twining her arms around my neck. “Quick, quick, quick. I can’t wait a second longer.”
Her legs part, knees coming up to bracket my waist. We’re sealed together now, my shaft pressed against the slick heat of her core. So slippery and tight, beckoning to me to tilt my hips and thrust—
“We can’t rush.” My words are strained, and they’re as much a reminder for me as for her. “It’s your first time. I don’t want to hurt you.”
Not again. Never again.
But Maddy wails with frustration, jamming a hand between us to rub at her own clit. When she pulls that same hand back, her fingers are glossy with arousal.
“See this?” she demands.
Lunging down, I catch those fingers in my mouth, moaning at the taste. My heart pounds in my chest, and heat crackles through my veins.
“I don’t want to be careful. I don’t want to go slow.” Maddy sucks in a shuddering breath, then spears me with the sternest expression her sweet face is capable of. “I want you to fuck me now, Lord Westmore. Make me yours. Please, I’ve thought about this so many times.”
Christ.
So have I.
And I’m a weak man, because already I’m giving in, notching the head of my cock at her entrance. Already my muscles are taut, ready to move.
But first, I make one final bid for restraint.
“I should bring you off first. With my mouth or my hands. To soften the way.”
Maddy glares. “If I don’t feel your cock inside me in the next ten seconds, I will literally die.”
Ha. Well, how can I argue with that?
After all her bravado, Maddy’s breath catches as I begin to press inside. The first inch or two is easy, a delicious glide into her wet heat, but then I meet resistance and pause.
Down below me, Maddy’s tangled hair is splayed across my pillow, dampening the fabric. She’s biting her bottom lip hard, and I duck down and steal a long, drugging kiss, drawing it out until her tense body relaxes. She melts into the mattress, her tongue sliding against mine.
“So perfect,” I mutter against her lips between kisses. “You’re so fucking perfect, Madeleine. Relax, darling. Let me in.”
She nods, hazy, then holds her breath as I thrust forward, breaking through the flimsy barrier inside her. A tiny noise escapes her, but when I kiss her cheek and throat, Maddy starts giggling.
“Is that what all the fuss was about? It wasn’t so bad. I’ve had worse paper cuts.”
Her hips tilt up, coaxing me another inch deeper. Pleasure zings down my spine and twists low in my belly.
Christ. She feels so good.
Maddy’s tight channel grips me, her inner muscles flexing at the intrusion. She’s hot and slick and needy, her body trying to suck me deeper, and the breathy little moans that she’s making in my ear are enough to drive a man wild.
I start to thrust slowly, the bed frame creaking quietly beneath us.
Maddy’s thighs squeeze my waist, and her nails rake down my back. Her moans are louder now, tinged with delight.
I move faster, sweat dampening the back of my neck.
“Mine.” With every thrust, the pleasure ratchets tighter and tighter in my belly, reverberating through me until my teeth ache. So fucking good, I can barely stand it. “You’re mine, Maddy. Mine.”
“Yours,” she agrees, body arching against me, meeting every roll of my hips. “Oh, god. West.”
“I’ve got you. I’ll always have you.”
Her nails dig hard enough into my back to draw blood.
And it’s so raw and desperate and overheated, both of us clumsy from sleep deprivation, the mattress springs plunking in the quiet room, but I wouldn’t change a single detail.
Not when Maddy’s teeth graze my earlobe, her inner muscles fluttering around my shaft.
Not when I snake a hand between us to rub at her clit, and she arches her back with a husky cry at the ceiling.
We tangle together on that bed, sun brightening outside the window, wrestling to get impossibly closer. Outside, the distant waves crash against the rocks.
Sweat gathers in every nook and cranny of my body, and we’ll need to shower again after this. Every part of me is hot and sticky and damp, my thigh muscle singing out with pain and strain, and I don’t care an inch.
I feel young again. Primal.
And breathless with awe, because Maddy is the finest natural specimen I’ve ever seen up close. She’s hardier than any lichen; more delicately beautiful than any orchid. For the first time in eight years, I feel alive.
And when she reaches between us to pinch both my nipples, my hips jerk in shock, a bark of laughter tearing from my throat. Every sensation is heightened; every nerve ending sparks with electricity.
And each roll of my hips makes Maddy plead and grunt and writhe.
Finally, I angle my thrust just right to make my girl howl with pleasure.
It echoes through the empty manor, loud enough for all the staff to know exactly what we’re doing, but I don’t miss a beat.
The bed keeps creaking; my hips keep rolling.
After all, we’ll be away from this place first thing tomorrow.
Crossing over that land bridge into the great beyond.
One more thrust, two more thrusts—
Maddy clamps down on my shaft, her core muscles twitching. Her head tilts back on the pillow, eyes falling closed, and she holds her breath as she comes and comes and comes.
It’s a miraculous sight. I stare down at her, my hips still rolling, and try to catalog every detail. Committing this moment to memory, all while my nerve endings sing with pleasure and pride.
Then Maddy’s eyes crack open and narrow on me. A fierce look of determination settles over her features, and her ankles lock behind my back, holding me wedged deep inside her.
“Come inside me,” Maddy demands, and those few words are all it takes. Molten heat surges up my body, boiling over like a volcano, and then I empty every last desperate ounce between her thighs. On and on.
It lasts a long, long time.
Long enough that I’m probably dehydrated.
But when I collapse down onto the bed beside my girl, sticky and sore… I’ve never felt better.
* * *
Five years later
“Look at this!” Maddy says, stopping beside a stone wall and bouncing our son on her hip. She points at the ivy climbing up the wall with grasping tendrils, but our son is too busy playing with a fistful of her caramel hair to pay attention.
I know how he feels.
“Look at this plant, Harry. Do you like these leaves?”
Standing beside my wife and child, I stuff my hands in my pockets and hide a smile. Truth be told, Maddy herself doesn’t have any particular awe for plants. She knows that I love them, and so she makes a heroic effort to show enthusiasm too, but really it’s a demonstration of her love for me.
Every time she stops and tries to show Harry a moss or a wildflower, my chest glows with affection. And every time our toddler fails to take an interest, I have to fight tooth and nail to hide my amusement.
“Perhaps he’s not a botanist,” I suggest for the dozenth time.
Maddy blows out a breath and turns away from the wall, squinting into the late morning spring sunshine. “Or perhaps not yet.”
I hum, noncommittal.
The truth is, our son is free to love whatever lights him up inside.
Maddy and I are in agreement about this, because we’ve both found that for ourselves.
For Maddy, it’s the array of new towns and cities and wildernesses we travel to each year, losing ourselves in the thrill of adventure. For me, it’s plants.
And her. Always her.
This morning, the trees lining this country path are a riot of pink and white blossoms. Birds flit busily between their branches, carrying twigs and scraps of fur to make nests, while emerald hills roll away into the distance.
The sea is distant, a strip of pale blue on the horizon, but we’re not far now.
It’s been a long time since we came back to the manor to visit, but I could follow this path to the land bridge with my eyes closed.
“Is your leg okay?” Maddy murmurs, mistaking my quiet for hidden pain.
“Fine,” I assure her.
I’m not in pain. I’m nostalgic, replaying the memories of our other times spent in the manor on that windswept isle. The long, hazy summer nights. One memorable white Christmas. Our first nights together, and later on, the greenhouse where I proposed…
“Come on.” Maddy plants a big kiss on Harry’s cheek and sets off down the path. “Let’s get your dad into a hot bath.”
“I’m fine,” I call after her, following at a leisurely pace, and it’s true. Our bags were sent on ahead, and there’s nothing weighing me down except the clothes on my back. After so many years buried under the weight of guilt and grief, it’s a blissful relief.
I still miss my friends, of course. I’ll always miss them like an amputated limb. And I’m still chipping away at the piles and piles of our expedition notebooks, writing up our lives’ work.
But I’m not trapped any more. Not frozen in misery.
“Keep up,” Maddy sing-songs, and I chuckle before quickening my pace. The sunshine is golden, and the breeze is fresh. My cane clacks against the stone path, and the island with its manor comes into sight.
Home.
Or as close as a building can get. My real home turns around to poke her tongue out at me over her shoulder. My son giggles, his fat little fists waving. Grinning wide, I stride faster to catch up.
There are so many places to travel. So many plants to study; so many nights to spend worshiping my wife.
Really, we’ve just begun.
* * *
Thanks for reading The Lord of the Manor! I hope you loved it. :)