20. Ginger
20
GINGER
T he smiles this man gives me makes my heart explode. He backs me into my room and closes the door behind him. I latch on with force, crashing our mouths together and pouring every frustrating second of not being able to touch him like this into the kiss.
Sawyer eliminates every inch of space between us, and I bask in how massive he is, with wide shoulders, thick arms, and all of the muscles I can feel under his shirt.
He doesn’t seem like he’s in a rush to undress either of us. The luxury of time spoils me as he cups and squeezes every part of me that he can reach. It’s so erotic that my insides are tying themselves up in knots.
A small moan slips out between us. Sawyer leans down to nibble my ear and whisper, “Shh.”
I can’t help but laugh at him. As serious as he is most of the time, he knows how to make me smile. Laugh.
And watching him today with my daughter…how well he took care of her after her our little scare. The way he looked at her when she was crying—it’s clear that he would be a great father.
He’s nibbling down my neck, and my knees go weak. Suddenly, Sawyer’s lifting me, carrying me to my bathroom and propping me up on the counter.
I yank at the back of his shirt and kiss him again, wanting to feel his skin. I find the heat of his back, his skin soft and pliable under my grip. He’s already hard against me, his intrusion blunted by our jeans.
Nipping at his mouth, I tell him, “You have too many clothes on.”
His full smile greets me again, and it’s fucking dazzling. God, I need him inside of me right now.
I trace my thumb over the smile lines on his face. “You want to know a surefire way to get me to drop my panties?”
Sawyer’s brows raise.
“Smile at me like that.”
His laugh is rough and low, but the way he cups the back of my head for a gentle kiss is sweet. And he is that—sweet. Caring. Attentive.
He lets me strip the shirt off of him and remains still as I explore his skin. Sawyer is so unbelievably strong. Solid. A brick house. His muscles clench, flex for me, and I catch the kernel of pride in his gaze.
“Yes. You look good.” I draw a line down his abs. “Very good. This is all from your job?”
Sawyer shrugs, and I follow the way his muscles move. “I like to move my body.”
“And eat well.” It’s the opposite of how my body looks, all soft and squishy from my love of baking and allergy to cardio.
His fingers play with the bottom hem of my shirt.
“Your turn?” I nuzzle his cheek and plant a kiss on his throat. Even though we’ve been out by the falls for the past twenty-four hours, he still smells good. Like man and campfire smoke.
He peels my shirt up slowly, catching my mouth with his as he tosses my shirt onto the floor. His hands cascade over my body. Rough calluses make me shiver and grab onto him with my legs.
The tortured moan low in his throat as I scratch my nails down his back turns me molten inside. I need him naked, in the shower, touching me. Yanking at his belt, I nudge him with my nose.
“Take these off.”
Sawyer pulls back to look at me, tucking my hair behind my ear. I feel so utterly seen. It makes me desperate.
“I want to feel your hands all over me. Please.”
His pupils blow wide, and his kiss detonates the last of my sanity. Clothes are coming off in jagged, rough movements until we’re both bare. I let him go only long enough for him to turn the hot water on.
I stroke him, his hard length so heavy in my hands. He’s breathing heavily and hips seem to rotate on their own. Being able to unravel a man like him is intoxicating.
Like I hold the power to control him in my hands.
Maybe I do.
It doesn’t take long for him to take control again, lifting me and carrying me into the shower. The two of us barely fit inside together, but he keeps us pressed together as the hot water sprays both of us.
I tip my head back into it, letting it wet my hair, drawing it back from my face. Our skin becomes slick, and his hands glide over me with confidence, grabbing handfuls of my breasts, waist, hips, ass, and thighs. All the while his hard length is pressed between us where I can’t reach.
“Shampoo?” His voice is low as his teeth find a sweet spot along my throat.
My moan echoes against the tile, wet hands sinking into his damp hair as he sucks a bit of my tender flesh into his mouth.
His grip shifts, and he’s massaging the back of my head, reminding me of his question. It would feel so glorious to have him wash my hair, but I need other things first.
“After.” And that’s the only word I need to direct him where I want him.
Sawyer takes another inventory of my body before he takes my loofah and sweet peony body wash from the shower caddy. Building up a good lather, he rubs me down, front and back, until he’s got me nestled against his body, my ass wiggling against his cock as he lavishes attention over my breasts, using the slick water to pull and pinch at them until I’m grinding against him.
But he doesn’t let me shift to take him. Instead, his hand buries itself between my thighs. The soap clears with a few ministrations, and his fingers dive into me. It’s an easy slide. One finger. Then two.
A cry falls from my mouth before I can stop it, and Sawyer’s wet hand lifts to cover my mouth.
Yes. Yes, I have to be quiet. But, yes .
Pleasure pumps into me with his every thrust, so I divert myself, pulling one of his fingers into my mouth to suck on it.
“Fuck.” His voice is low and husky and so ungodly sexy that I clamp down on him. “When you’re clean and mostly dry. I’m going to devour you.”
Thank God his finger is in my mouth because the noise that gurgles out of me is beastly. I’m on the verge of an orgasm already. Who knew those dirty words were waiting behind Sawyer’s silences?
I wish I could delve into his brain and uncover every naughty thought.
But my reality starts to warp as he winds my pleasure into a hazy explosion.
I flutter back to myself, gripping his forearms hard. “Fuck me, Shakespeare.”
His soft laugh puffs against the back of my neck. I lean back enough to catch the head of his cock in my sensitive folds and slip him a few inches inside of me.
Sawyer’s grip turns rock solid, and he guides me back, meeting me in the middle so that I’m so gloriously full of him.
It doesn’t take long for his hips to start pumping, the water enhancing the smacking noises of his hips against my ass. I’m far too lost to the pleasure. Sawyer keeps me upright, angled just right to take the full swing of each of his thrusts.
It’s like his cock is hollowing me out for something bigger. Stronger. More.
My knees wobble, and the extra inch I sink down over him guides him to the perfect spot. My core is quaking. I’m going to explode. Any stroke could detonate me.
The moment that pulsing pleasure takes me, Sawyer arches me back, holding me in place as he roots against the ends of me until I can’t breathe from the overload.
Slowly, he settles behind me, stroking my muscles until they regain the strength to hold me up on their own. His cock slips free, but the gush of warmth that follows is completely me.
I reach back to wrap my hand around his throbbing cock—still so unbelievably hard.
Is it the extra few years he has on me that keeps him from coming when I do? Fuck, before I do? If I’d known older men could perform like this, I’d never have messed with the boys I slept with.
I stifle my laugh as he grabs my shampoo and pours some in his palm. He doesn’t rush through washing my hair, his cock poking and sliding over me through the entire process like an afterthought.
Once I’m washed and he’s combed through my hair, we dry each other off.
Sawyer makes good on his promise, carrying me to my bed and spreading me out like a buffet. His mouth is everywhere, suckling, kissing, biting, until his face is buried between my thighs, and I have to cover my face with a pillow to quiet my moans.
He sends me over the edge twice more before he prowls back up my body like a predator.
Four orgasms, and he hasn’t even come once.
So when he pushes himself back into my core, I make it my mission to break him.
I get the joy of watching him this time, seeing the pleasure soften his features as he builds a slow rhythm.
We glide together, and everything is so slick and hot that we both glisten in the low light streaming around the curtains. Drawing my knees up his sides has him lowering his body over mine, nestling closer.
I rotate and undulate my hips under him until I earn a few small grunts. They puff in my ear as he smooths my wet hair away.
A new angle has me gasping for breath, and we both lean into it. God, he’s so in tune with my body, my breath, my needs.
His own breathing rushes in my ear, and I know I’ve caught him. “Fuck. The way you feel…”
Sawyer’s voice is like a blade cutting the strings I’m using to hold myself together. I’m throbbing around him, pulsing, coming so hard that I can’t maintain my grasp on reality.
When he starts to slow, my lone thought is to take him with me.
My nails find purchase in his ass. I grind against him, egging him on until he’s slamming himself into me, pounding every sensitive inch of my pussy. I’m so fucking wet, and my thighs are shaking, but I don’t let go of him until I feel his frenzied cadence of his hips.
Yes, I want to feel him pulse and empty himself inside of me. And when he does, the pained look in his features is sweet. His jaw clenches against a gravely noise as his overheated body sinks into mine.
My soft moan has him planting small kisses against my shoulder and throat. I angle up for a kiss, and the one he lays on me is like I’m being worshiped.
After a minute, Sawyer gestures for me to stay where I am and saunters to my bathroom, bringing back a wet washcloth to clean me up with.
His body is a masterpiece, and I can’t help but watch how every muscle moves until he’s pressed naked into my side.
Curling up with him is as blissful as the orgasms. Lazily stroking every part of him I can reach, I sink into a dreamy place between awake and asleep. Until Sawyer sighs and slides out of my bed.
I reach for him, and he brings my hand up to his mouth, kissing my palm and wrist tenderly. “One more?”
His laugh is as bright as it is silent. He bends down to kiss me. “You need some rest, too.”
I flop back in defeat as he dresses, watching until the last moment, when I spring up and wrap myself in a robe to walk him to the door.
I wish he could spend the night, but that would prompt too many questions that I’m not ready to answer. Ones he doesn’t seem ready to field either. But when he kisses me goodbye, I don’t have any question about whether he would stay if I really tried to convince him.
My toes curl, and I’m out of my depth by the time he retreats.
God, that man knocks my socks clean off.