Chapter 17 #2
“Too far.”
She laughed, low and rough, and bit my lower lip. “It’s thirty yards.”
“Way too fucking far, little bird.” I pulled up the hem of her shirt and pressed my palms flat against her stomach. Her skin was hot from the day and cool where the evening air hit it.
I dragged my hands up her ribs, my thumbs tracing the underside of her bra, and her back arched off the fence and her hips ground into mine hard enough that I felt every detail of her through two layers of denim.
Her fingers found my zipper and pulled it down, and she slid her hand inside. She wrapped her fingers around me, firm and sure, and my hips pitched forward and my breath left me in a rush and I had to grab the fence rail to keep my balance.
“There he is.” Her voice was low and knowing. “The Logan who’s been staring at me all day.”
“I wasn’t staring.”
“You were absolutely staring.” She stroked me, slow and deliberate, her thumb circling the head, and my thoughts scattered. “Every time I bent down to pick up a rabbit.”
She wasn’t wrong.
I undid the button of her jeans and slid my hand inside.
My fingers found her slick and swollen, and when I pressed against her clit, she made a sound that carried across the whole property.
I tortured her in slow circles, watching her face as her eyes went unfocused and her mouth fell open and her hips rocked into my hand.
“Right there.” Her voice had dropped to something low and strained. “God, right there. Don’t you dare st—”
“I know.” I increased the pressure and slid two fingers inside her.
She clenched around them, and the sound she made was guttural and raw and it made my cock throb.
I curled my fingers and found the spot that made her breathing fracture, and I worked it while my thumb kept the pressure on her clit and her whole body started to shake.
She was still stroking me, matching the rhythm of my hand, and for a suspended minute, we just stood there taking each other apart against a fence rail while the sun dropped behind the mountains.
I pulled my hand back. She made a sound of protest that turned into a sharp inhale when she saw me reach for my wallet. Teeth and one hand on the condom. She shoved her jeans down her hips while I dealt with mine.
“Turn around and face the fence.” I almost didn’t recognize my own voice it was so low.
She bit her lip then turned in my arms and braced her hands on the rail. The line of her back was bare where her shirt had ridden up and I ran my palm down her spine, and she arched into it and pressed back against me.
I gripped her hip with one hand and guided myself into her with the other.
Holy shit.
The angle was deeper than anything we’d had before. God, she was so fucking tight. So wet. I groaned against the back of her neck as the tight, slick heat of her took me in, and I didn’t stop until my hips were flush against her and I couldn’t go any farther.
“God.” Her voice was raw, and her fingers were white on the rail. “Logan.”
I pulled back and thrust into her, and the sound she made carried across the empty paddock. I did it again, harder, and her head dropped between her arms. The moan that came out of her was guttural and unguarded, and it made me grip her hips with both hands and drive deeper.
The angle was everything. Every thrust hit deep, and I could feel every inch of friction, every clench of her body around me.
I found the rhythm that made her push back to meet me, her hips rocking against mine, the rail creaking under her grip.
The sounds between us were rough and real.
My breathing, hers, the slap of skin on skin, the creak of wood.
I leaned over her and slid my hand around her hip and between her thighs.
When my fingers found her clit, she jerked against me hard enough to shift us both, and the sound she made was close to a scream.
I kept my hips moving and worked her with my hand, circling and pressing in rhythm with my thrusts, and I felt her start to come apart piece by piece.
“Don’t stop.” Her voice was wrecked, barely a voice at all. “Don’t— God, right there—”
I wasn’t going to stop. No fucking way was that possible.
The tension was coiling through my gut and my thighs and winding tighter with every stroke.
My rhythm was getting ragged. She was clenching around me in pulses that told me she was close, and the grip of her was dragging me toward the edge faster than I could hold back.
She came hard with a sound that echoed off the hills. Her body locked down around me, her back arching, her knuckles white on the rail, the rhythmic clench of her around my cock relentless and devastating.
I lasted three more strokes before it pulled me over.
Every muscle went tight and then let go at once, a wave that tore through me and left nothing standing.
I drove into her one last time and held there, shaking, emptying, curled over her back with my face pressed against her shoulder and her name the only word left in my head.
We stayed like that. Bent over the fence, my chest against her back, both of us breathing too hard to move. I could feel her heartbeat under my palm where my hand was still pressed flat against her stomach.
Eventually, she straightened up and turned around, and I pulled her against me and we leaned on the rail together. My legs gave out about ten seconds later and hers went with them, and we slid down the fence post until we were sitting in the dirt, tangled in each other, half dressed and wrecked.
Somewhere in the barn, Tova barked once, as if to remind us she existed.
“We just had sex against a fence,” Lark said.
“We did.”
“In broad daylight.”
“Technically, it’s dusk.”
“In front of the alpaca.”
“He wasn’t watching. He’d consider such a thing way beneath him.”
She laughed, raw and warm and entirely her, and leaned into me. I put my arm around her, and we sat in the dirt beside the paddock fence with the sky going dark above us and no reason to move yet.
We put ourselves back together eventually. She had a splinter in the material of her shirt. She pulled it out and held it up.
“I’m framing this,” she said.
I grinned. “You put that on a wall, and I’m denying everything.”
We finished settling the animals. I checked the water troughs while she did a head count in the barn, and when we met back at her front porch, the property was quiet and everything was where it belonged.
She held the door open. I walked through it, followed by Tova, who promptly settled on the kitchen floor, her chin on her paws, her tail giving one lazy sweep.
Lark set the check on the counter beside the coffeemaker and looked at it for a long moment. Then she turned off the kitchen light, took my hand, and led me down the hallway.