Chapter Three #2
He found it, drew it down. The cool air hit my skin as the fabric fell away, and then his hands were on my bare back, warm and rough.
"No bra?" His voice had gone rough.
"It, um, has built-in support."
He peeled the costume down, and I lifted my arms to help. When it pooled at my waist, I fought the urge to cover myself. But the way he looked at me—like I was the best thing he'd ever seen—made me brave.
"Beautiful," he said, and I believed him.
His hands came up to frame my face, thumbs gentle on my cheekbones. "Can I take these off?" His finger traced the frame of my glasses. "Want to see all of you."
My heart stuttered. The glasses were armor, something to hide behind. But the way he asked—so gentle, so careful—made me nod.
"Yes."
He removed them slowly, carefully, folding them and setting them safely aside. Then he looked at me, really looked, and the desire in his eyes made my breath catch.
"There you are," he said softly.
His mouth closed over my nipple, and I gasped. It felt hot and wet and perfect. He focused on one breast while his hand cupped the other, and I arched into him, wanting more.
"Sensitive," he murmured. "That's real good."
He worked the dress lower, over my hips, until I was sitting on the counter in nothing but the striped tights.
"These too?" His fingers hooked in the waistband of the tights.
"Yes. Please."
He knelt, drawing them down, pressing kisses to my thighs, my knees, my calves as he went. By the time he stood again, I was completely naked, trembling with want, and overwhelmed.
"You're shaking." His hands ran up and down my arms.
"I've never been naked in front of anyone before."
"And you're perfect." He kissed me softly. "Every inch. But if this is too much—"
"It's not too much. I just..." I bit my lip. "I want to see you too."
Desire flared in his eyes. "Yeah?"
"Fair is fair."
He stepped back and pulled his shirt over his head in one smooth motion. I'd seen shirtless men before—this was Texas, after all—but this was different. This was for me.
Broad shoulders. Solid muscle. Dark hair dusted across his chest and arrowed down past his belt buckle.
I stared, trying to memorize every detail like I was cataloging a particularly interesting book—except no book had ever made me feel like this.
My heroines in those romance novels always knew what to do when confronted with a shirtless man, but apparently I'd skipped that chapter.
"You can touch," he said when I just stared.
I reached out tentatively, pressing my palm to his chest. His heart thundered under my hand. I explored, learning the texture of his skin, the ridges of muscle, the way he inhaled sharply when my fingers grazed his nipple.
"You too?" I asked.
"Me too."
His hands went to his belt, and I watched him unbuckle it, unbutton his jeans. When he pushed them down with his boxers, I couldn't help staring.
He was... impressive. How was that supposed to fit?
"We'll make it work," he said, reading my expression. "I promise."
I wanted to touch him. Needed to. My hand moved before I could overthink it, fingers wrapping around him tentatively.
He sucked in a breath, his whole body going taut. "Christ, Flannery."
"Is this okay?" I stroked experimentally, fascinated by the heat of him, the way he felt—hard and soft at the same time.
"More than okay." His voice was strained. His hand covered mine, showing me the rhythm he liked. "Just like that. Squeeze a little—yeah, perfect."
I watched his face as I touched him, learning what made his breath catch, what made him groan. The power of it thrilled me—that I could make him react like this.
"You keep doing that and this'll be over before we even start." He gently removed my hand, kissing my palm. "And I've got other plans first."
He stepped between my legs again, skin to skin now, and the sensation made me gasp. He was so warm, so solid. His arousal pressed against my inner thigh, hard and hot.
"I want to taste you," he said, his hands sliding up my thighs. "Make you come on my tongue. Would you like that?"
I could barely form words. "I don't know. I've never—"
"I know." He kissed me deeply. "That's what makes it so good. Trust me?"
"Yes."
He knelt between my legs, spreading them wider, and I fought the urge to close them. This was so intimate, so vulnerable. But the way he looked at me—like he was starving and I was a feast—made me brave.
"So pretty," he murmured, his breath hot against my inner thigh. "Been wanting to do this all night."
The first touch of his tongue made me cry out. Nothing I'd read had prepared me for this—the wet heat, the gentle suction, the way he explored me like he had all the time in the world.
"Oh God, Shep—"
"That's it. Let me hear you."
He licked and sucked, finding my clit and circling it with maddening precision. When he slid a finger inside me, curling to find that spot, I nearly came apart.
"Please—"
"Please what?"
"I need—I don't know—"
"You need to come." He did something with his tongue that made stars burst behind my eyelids. "Let go. I've got you."
My orgasm slammed into me, every nerve firing at once. I cried out his name, my hands fisting in his hair, and he worked me through it until I was trembling and oversensitive.
"Oh my God," I panted when I could speak again.
He stood, his lips glistening, looking entirely too pleased with himself. "Just the warm-up." He kissed me, and I could taste myself on his tongue. "Still want to keep going?"
"Yes. Definitely yes."
He reached past me, grabbed one of the condoms still scattered on the counter. I watched him roll it on, fascinated despite my nervousness. He was still hard, maybe even harder than before, and I felt a thrill knowing I'd done that to him.
"You tell me if anything hurts, yeah? We stop immediately."
"I will."
He pressed against me, slow and careful. "Breathe."
I breathed, and he pushed in. The stretch burned, foreign and intense, and I gripped his shoulders.
"You all right?"
"Yeah. Just... big."
"I know. We'll take it easy."
He eased in incrementally, giving me time to adjust. The burn faded to fullness, to pressure, to something that wasn't quite pleasure yet but wasn't pain either.
In all those romance novels I'd read, the heroines always described this moment as transcendent or earth-shattering.
Right now it just felt... full. Strange and intimate and almost too much.
"All the way," he said when he was fully seated. His voice was strained, his forehead pressed to mine. "You did so well. Feel so damn good."
He held still, letting me adjust, pressing kisses to my neck, my jaw, my lips. Gradually, the overwhelming fullness shifted. The discomfort eased.
"You can move," I whispered.
He did, careful at first, watching my face for any sign of pain. Each thrust sent new sensations through me, and I met his rhythm, learning the dance.
"There you go." His voice was strained. "You feel incredible."
One of his hands slipped between us, finding my clit, and suddenly everything intensified. The friction inside, the pressure outside, the weight of him over me, the heat in his eyes.
"I want you to come again," he said. "Come with me inside you."
He kept the rhythm steady, his fingers working magic, and I climbed higher. More intense this time, every nerve alive.
"Shep—"
"I know. Let go. I've got you."
The second orgasm ripped through me. I clenched around him, pulse after pulse of pleasure, and he groaned.
"Fuck, Flannery—" His rhythm turned erratic, desperate. "I'm gonna—"
He drove in deep, his whole body going rigid. I felt him pulse inside me, throbbing with his release, and he made a sound I'd never heard before—raw and desperate and my name mixed with curses.
"Jesus, Flannery—fuck—" His hips jerked with the aftershocks, and he buried his face in my neck, breathing hard.
We stayed like that for a long moment, both breathing hard, both trembling.
"You all right?" he asked finally, his voice rough.
"Better than all right." I laughed, giddy and amazed. "That was..."
"Yeah." He kissed me. "It really was."
He withdrew carefully, and I winced at the sensitivity. He disposed of the condom, then gathered me close.
"Any regrets?" he asked.
"None." I looked up at him. "You?"
"Only that we didn't do this sooner." His hand stroked my back. "Though I'm glad your first time was with me."
"Me too."
We stood there for a moment, wrapped around each other, the storm still raging outside. I felt changed. Not just because I'd had sex, but because of who I'd had it with. Because of how he'd made me feel—safe, wanted, beautiful.
Part of me wanted to curl up in his arms and just exist in this moment. But another part—a bolder part I didn't know I had—was curious about everything else I'd never tried.
"You know," I said, pulling back slightly, "I get an employee discount on everything in the shop."
His eyebrows rose. "That so?"
"Fifty percent off. And I've never actually tried any of the products." I bit my lip. "Never had a reason to."
His gaze heated. "You want to experiment?"
"The inventory isn't going anywhere. And we're still snowed in." I took a breath, committing to this new version of myself. "Unless you're too tired—"
"I could go all night with the right motivation." His hand cupped my face. "And you are definitely the right motivation."
I laughed, feeling nothing like the shy librarian who fumbled through conversations. "What should we try first?"
He looked around the shop, considering. "You're the expert. What did you always wonder about?"
I thought about all the products I'd stocked, read about, handled with professional detachment. "The massage oil. The edible kind. I always wondered if it actually tastes good or if that's just marketing."
"Let's find out." He located the peppermint oil we'd inventoried earlier, reading the label. "Says it warms on contact and tastes like candy cane."
"Very festive."
"Where do you want me to put it?"