12. Sawyer
12
SAWYER
G inger presses her mouth to mine, and I’m frozen even as heat burns inside of me. Her soft mouth forms another kiss against mine, and I break through my own hesitation, my hand finding the small of her back to tug her closer.
Those slender fingers wrap themselves in my hair as she leans into me. A soft nip of her teeth on my lower lip has desire raging through me. It’s always so close to the surface when she’s nearby.
Fuck, I want to devour her. I’m barely able to keep myself restrained. This is so incredibly inappropriate, but I can’t seem to stop completely.
My thigh slips between hers, wanting to be closer, naked, inside of her.
Her grip twists in my hair like she’s thinking the same thing. Fuck, I’m a goner.
Ginger’s hips move against my thigh, rocking and seeking pleasure that I’m sure I can give her. I squeeze her waist in both hands, doing nothing to stop her movements. It’s taking every ounce of mental fortitude not to strip her bare right now.
Her touch smooths over my chest, like she’s testing the density of my muscles. I’d let her weigh and measure every one of them if we had the time. The drop to my belt, as she tugs at it impatiently, undoing it in record time.
My mouth drops from hers. “Ginger.”
It’s a soft plea. For what, I’m not sure. To slow down? To stop? To hurry the fuck up, so I can give her what she’s silently asking me for?
“Don’t start saying my name now.” She pops open the button of my jeans, and I know this train is speeding down the tracks too fast for me to stop.
I lift her in my grip and I’m rewarded with her gasp against my mouth. Ginger holds on, trusting me to handle her with care. Which I will.
Kneeling on the step behind her, I plant her ass on the one above it. She’s quick, snapping open her own jeans to give me a peek of her creamy flesh. Fuck, I want to taste every inch of it.
But there’s no time.
I yank the jeans off her hips and pull back only long enough to free her from them. When I glide back to her, she spreads her knees to let me between them. I smooth my palms up her calves and thighs. They’re soft and supple under my rough skin.
This isn’t how I pictured this, but I will take whatever she’s willing to give me.
Her touch is low on my stomach, gliding my zipper down and staring me straight in the eyes. Confident. Sexy. Her longing starts a fire burning within me.
I push my jeans down enough to spring my cock free into her waiting hand. We gasp together as she gives me a few tentative strokes.
“ Fuck ,” she says against my ear, and she squeezes once.
Kissing along her throat, my hips rock involuntarily into her palm. I certainly don’t need any foreplay, but she does.
Yet, when I reach to stroke her folds, I find her soaking wet. A groan gets strangled low in my throat. One finger slips into her so easily.
Her head falls back, and her soft murmuring urges me to work another finger into her, teasing her clit. I love feeling her clenching around me and the way she grinds her pussy down into my hand. I even love the taste of her skin as she wriggles under me.
Every little piece of her is vibrant, a siren’s call to my baser instincts to claim her and make her mine. And the way to do that is to be inside of her.
When I slide my hand from her tender sex, she whimpers, but her head comes up to watch when my hand closes around the base of my cock. She follows my strokes, her hand so much smaller than my own, making me look massive.
Ginger’s hand falls away as I lean forward, drawing my head through her silky folds, wetting myself with her arousal. She’s so wet for me that it blows my mind.
I’ve never had a woman want me like this before.
She grabs onto my shoulders, forehead meeting mine as I work myself into her. It takes a few strokes, but once I’m fully seated, we both let out a sigh.
Her touch travels down my arms as she churns her hips. Every little groove and ridge undulates over my sensitive shaft. My teeth clench with the need to piston my cock into her. After a few breaths, I allow myself to move.
The slow glide of our bodies meeting and retreating has me entranced. I’m lost to her and every small move she makes. Her hands roam, reaching under my shirt to touch my skin. Fuck, it practically burns me.
When I meet her gaze, I know I’m going to need more and more and more of her. To have her all to myself. To make her feel good every day.
I draw her closer, and her legs wrap around me squeezing my waist.
One hand bracing her outer thigh, I keep up our momentum, rocking us together as I lower my mouth over hers again. She tastes so sweet, and the way Ginger explores and conquers me has me shaking in her grasp.
“Ginger…” My voice is rough and worn. She can likely read my every emotion by the way I say her name, but I can’t help it. I don’t want to hide from her.
Her sweet little moan does me in. We’re close enough that I can taste it on my tongue.
Fuck, I want this to stay slow, to build her up to breaking, and keep her there for as long as I possibly can, but the blaring warning in the back of my head says that I need to hurry, that I need her to come for me now before another problem yanks her away. It has me bracing my body on the stairs and lifting her hips into my hands.
God, she’s so small and so light, so easy to control and manipulate like this.
We both look down, watching me disappear into her. She’s slick and pink and plump, and I want to have her in my mouth.
Next time.
I use my hold on her to make my thrusts sharper, deeper, faster. I need more impact. And when I find that spot that has her gasping, I tap it, hammer it, pound against it until she’s quaking under me.
Fire blazes in those teal eyes, her lashes fluttering as she stares into my soul, grabs hold of my heart. She obliterates any remaining traces of my good sense.
Ginger lets out little cries with each thrust. Her soft features turn pained with pleasure, mouth parting as she holds on, one hand around my neck and one at my shoulder. Each stroke has her bearing down on me harder.
I don’t change a thing, but the slap of our hips gets wetter, smacking in the near silence around us.
Her nails dig into my skin as she hits that edge, the peak, her body bowing and arching as I slam my way through it.
Releasing another cry, Ginger relaxes into my thrusts, then her thighs are tight around my hips. Offering me a small little whimper, her mouth pouts as I fold her in half and grind against that spot that made her come a second ago.
Her core slams down on me again, writhing and wringing out a new wave of pleasure. I brace one hand on the step above her and focus on rubbing her there with the head of my cock until she’s twisting herself under me, around me.
Ginger’s teeth sink into my neck, and I revel in the fire it sends down to the deepest part of me. Fuck, it’s so good that I could come just watching her wild orgasms.
I’ll feel lucky getting to see each one.
Breath puffing against my damp skin, she moves with me, caught in the gravity of her second climax. She’s so goddamn responsive. So goddamn perfect.
I want her to know.
“Perfect.” My voice is barely a rumble against her ear.
Her face tips back, taking me in. She shifts, touching my chin.
Ginger has no idea the kind of spell she weaves on me. Especially when she doesn’t shy away from my gaze, from the intensity I’m aware I give off. It usually makes it harder to connect with me, but not for Ginger.
She leans up to nip at my bottom lip. I take the invitation, kissing her and relaxing my grip on her thighs to let us rock together more naturally. We move slowly until her hips urge me to give her more.
I break our kiss as she coils around me again. I’m selfish; I want to see her break.
The sweet agony of her features prods me todraw it out. But I fight that instinct, simply taking the pleasure her writhing core offers me. God, she feels so fucking good.
Ginger sucks in a deep breath and comes back to herself, stroking the slick hair at the back of my neck as she smiles sweetly at me.
Her phone rings, muffled by her jeans as they lay heaped in a pile on the floor.
I don’t like the sweep of cold that hits me when I retreat to retrieve it for her. She’s stretched across the stairs, bare from the waist down, red hair mussed, mouth pink from my kisses. Fuck, she takes my breath away.
It’s her smile that stops my heart, though.
She climbs to her feet as I hand her the phone. Swiping open the call, she teases me with a look as she answers. “Yeah?”
I can’t hear the other side, but I imagine she needs to run back to the hospital to do her job.
Fuck, I’m selfish, distracting her like this.
Her hand trails down my chest before she bends to grab what she dropped earlier—a garment bag—and she dashes to the downstairs bathroom.
I wipe myself off with a towel in the kitchen and stuff it in my back pocket to clean later. Tucking everything back in place, I can’t help but linger.
Ginger reappears a minute later, dressed like the elf we’ve been teasing her about, but by God, the reality of her in that costume…
I suck in a slow breath, taking in the candy cane striped thighs and elf shoes with the bell, the volume of her tight red dress and fluffy white skirt. A green cape drapes over her shoulders and just the barest hint of her chest remains exposed.
I want to lick every freckle across her skin.
She twirls to give me the full view. “Everything you imagined?”
I swallow hard, all of my words tied together low in my throat.
Her laugh has heat thrumming just under the surface, but she leans in and plants a kiss on me—soft and tender—before she retreats. “Don’t forget to lock up.”
Ginger dashes out the front door to run back to work, and I struggle to breathe.
I can’t believe I was so brazen. Now, every time I’m in this house, I’m going to picture taking her on those damn stairs. My cock, which was at half-mast, rears back to throbbing hardness.
It doesn’t matter that I didn’t get off. Those entire seven minutes were bliss, a high that sparks an addiction. God, she came so quickly for me.
It’s not always the finished product, but the time making something that satisfies me.
I rub my hand down my face and shake myself out of my stupor. Grabbing the tool I’d originally come here for, I follow Ginger back to the hospital to fix the booth I’d been asked to fix.
It’s easy to catch glimpses of Ginger as she hops between booths and people, interacting so easily with adults and kids alike. I’m completely enchanted by her.
A hand comes down on my shoulder, and Jackson leans in. “Are those bite marks on your neck, brother?”
Forcing the guilty feelings away, I turn to find him following my far-off stare—Ginger dancing with a young girl and offering her a candy cane.
“It seems she’s in a particularly feisty mood today.”