Chapter 9 Ava
NINE
AVA
The fire blazes in the grate, built up to last until we’re ready to call it a night. Its golden glow casts over the living room, extinguishing the dimness from the log walls.
Curling up in the armchair closest to the warmth, I draw a thick blanket from the basket on my side over my lap. I’ve been trying to lose myself in a paperback that’s been mocking me from my nightstand back home for the last six months, but I’m distracted.
I make it another three pages, and the sexy tattooed biker takes the heroine—someone he just met at a roadside bar—into the dingy bathroom where he fucks her senseless.
My thighs clench beneath the blanket, instinctively pressing together to dull the throbbing pulse between them.
I shift in my seat, hoping the friction will ease the ache.
But fifteen minutes later, my cheeks burn hot, and the ache hasn’t dulled in the least. When I press my fingers against my face, it’s warm to the touch, but it’s not the roaring fire’s fault.
Across from me, Scott looks completely unaware, settled into the deep cushions of the leather couch.
The firelight dances over his face as he reads, making the silver in his beard shimmer.
His dark hair flops forward over his brow, and he keeps pushing it back with the hand not holding the book.
The reading glasses perched low on his nose should make him look more fatherly.
Instead, they have me delving into old fantasies of professors making excuses to lean a little too close, ethics board be damned.
I force myself to look away from his mouth, from the way his jaw flexes as his eyes scan the page, and clear my throat as I jolt up from my seat.
He looks up, startled, brow arched. “Everything alright?”
“I’m bored,” I say, more breathless than I anticipated.
He chuckles and closes his book with a soft thud, pushing his glasses to the top of his head. “Not used to being cut off from the world of social media, huh?”
“If you start your next sentence with ‘when I was your age,’ I might actually puke.”
He throws his hands up in mock surrender. “We wouldn’t want that. So, what’s your solution to this tragic boredom?” He teases.
“Drinking?” I offer hopefully, knowing it would take the edge off.
He tilts his head, eyes narrowing slightly. The look is enough of an answer.
“Strip poker?” I try, voice lilting.
His eyes darken, but I don’t think it’s from disapproval. I see the shift. His jaw tightens, his shoulders tense slightly. He’s battling it, whatever line we’ve been toeing since we woke up this morning. And I’m baiting him, shamelessly.
“Ava.”
His thick rasp coils around my name, making my toes curl into the soft carpet. It sends a hot flush rushing from my chest to my ears.
God, I want to climb into his lap and forget the consequences. I want to rip that book out of his hands and replace it with my body.
But crossing that line would be a huge mistake. This man will always be around and involved. Is it worth the potential awkwardness for a night of fun?
“Come here.”
Two words. That’s all it takes for my brain to blank. My breath catches, and my body moves from his command.
I cross the space in two quick steps. When I stand in front of him, I suddenly don’t know what to do with my hands, let alone my body. My pulse roars in my ears, palms clammy against clenched fingers. My knees tremble, knocking against his.
His thick fingers reach up and grip my thighs, hard. The possessive touch makes my breath hitch, and goosebumps rise across my skin despite the room’s warmth. He looks from where his hands dig into my flesh, to the V between my legs, and up, deliberately, until our eyes lock.
“We shouldn’t do this,” I breathe, but there’s no conviction in my tone. My brain knows this is a terrible idea, but my body’s in control.
“You’re right. We probably shouldn’t,” he agrees, but his words don’t align with the desperate hunger in his eyes.
It’s the first time since this morning that we’ve touched skin to skin.
If he walks away now, I’ll be ruined. I’ll crawl to my room, shut the door, and finish what the biker novel started.
Even if I have to do it the old-fashioned way, with nothing but my fingers and the echo of his voice in my head.
“Tell me to stop, Ava.” His ragged voice is a plea for help.
I shake my head. The red line of sanity between us evaporates instantly. I don’t care. I want him.
“I can smell you.” His voice rumbles, unfiltered lust dripping from each syllable. “That sweet little cunt of yours is weeping for me already.”
A whimper escapes me before I can stop it. My knees threaten to buckle. The way he says it—like he owns my reaction—makes my whole body needy for him.
But nothing could have prepared me for what he does next.
In a flash, he leans forward, burying his face between my thighs. His nose drags over the damp fabric of my sleep shorts, pressing the thin cotton deep between my folds as he inhales hard. A raw, hungry sound vibrates from his chest.
“Scott, please,” I beg, though I’m not sure what I’m asking for. For him to stop? For him to rip the shorts from my body and work faster?
“Please, what, temptress?” His voice is like silk over gravel. “Tell me exactly what you want,” he demands, in the same way he ordered me around when he first arrived.
And I want to. I want to give him every filthy detail running around in my mind. Captured in his hands and under his heated gaze, I’ve never wanted to do something more in my entire life.
My mouth opens, but no words come. Shaky air slips past my lips, shallow and stilted. My body buzzes with pent-up need, but my brain spins in circles, too consumed by the feel of his breath between my legs, the burn of his fingers still clamped around my thighs.
“I—” I try again, voice paper-thin. “I want... you.”
He looks up through the dark fringe of his lashes, and whatever war he’s been fighting with himself vanishes.
“You’ve got me,” he says. “But we do things my way.”
He doesn’t give me time to second-guess his offer. One hand slides up beneath the hem of my shorts, calloused palm rough against my inner thigh. He doesn’t touch where I need him most. No, he skims past it on purpose, the tease intentional. My hips rock forward, chasing contact, and he smirks.
“Desperate little thing,” he murmurs, leaning back to study me. “How long have you been sitting over there, soaked and squirming? Desperately hoping I’d look up from my book and take control of this sexy body you’ve been parading around all day?”
I flush scarlet, the truth from his full lips causing a fresh rush of heat to my cheeks and my core. “Since page thirty-one.”
That earns me a low, wicked laugh. “Good girl.”
I nearly collapse on the spot. The only thing keeping me in place is his steady hand at the waistband of my shorts.
He hooks a finger and tugs slowly, but doesn’t remove them, like I’m dying for.
Instead, it’s just low enough to expose the soft curve of my hip.
Then his palm slides across my stomach, warm and heavy, grounding me while everything else inside spirals out of control.
“I want to hear you say it,” he says. “Tell me what you want me to do to you.”
The fire pops behind us, but the drumbeat of my heart mutes it in my ears.
“I want your mouth between my thighs,” I whisper, like we’re not alone in this remote cabin, miles from anyone to hear. “I want your hands tracing across my body. Playing with my tight nipples. And I definitely want that thick cock you’re packing, inside me.”
His eyes flash with a dangerous hunger that foretells wicked plans.
He stands in one fluid motion, towering over me like never before. He pulls my body against his. His hand slips into my hair at the nape of my neck, where he tugs roughly to angle my face up to his. His breath washes over my lips, but he doesn’t kiss me.
“You taste as sweet as you smell?” he asks, voice low.
“Stop stalling and find out.”
His hand in my hair tightens, nearly ripping the strands from my head. But the fire that dances in his eyes is worth the sting radiating through my skull.
He guides me backward, walking me toward the other couch, the heat of his body radiating into mine, burning me alive. When the backs of my knees hit the cushions, he shoves me down, his hands never leaving skin.
And when he kneels between my legs and pushes my shorts aside, the first stroke of his tongue sends my head crashing back into the cushion. My fingers claw into the leather as a broken moan rips free.
Finally, the start to everything I’ve been aching for.