Chapter Twelve #3
been something about doing what he did for Carlyle that meant something to him
and he’d have to think about that and what it meant because Chaos wasn’t about
that. Not anymore. Every brother either worked the shop or worked in the
garage. But Dutch was not into builds, or cars, though he was into bikes but
only in the sense of riding them and knowing what he had to know to keep his
running.
They’d also had the necessary conversation about birth
control.
She told him she was on the Pill, hadn’t been “active” in a
while, but she didn’t take anyone ungloved when she was. And he shared he never
went in ungloved. When she learned that, she told him when they got there that
night, she wanted nothing in between.
That was the obvious choice for him too, but he pushed the
discussion so he could make certain she was totally on board with that.
She was.
He still was uncertain.
Until she said, “It’s a matter of trust, Dutch.”
That said it all.
She trusted him.
He trusted her.
And that ended that particular discussion.
It was easy, their flow. Even when he got into the difficult
shit, like where he was going in his life, it was effortless to give her that.
Look in her eyes, their limbs entwined, no judgment, Georgie not jumping in to
suggest shit or say things to make him process it when he wasn’t ready.
So yeah.
It had been a fantastic day, discovering time with Georgie
was that good when there wasn’t drama swirling with Georgiana proving she
wasn’t only gorgeous, but good in a crisis, had a crazy-awesome head on her
shoulders and a spectacular sense of humor.
And on these thoughts, it was not a surprise to him that he
could no longer see her in that dress with her beside him in his truck, her
coat on, but still, when he pulled in his drive beside her Subaru, he had his
door open before he had the ignition shut off.
Georgie wasn’t fucking around either. When he met her at the
hood of his truck, she practically ran on her gold stilettos beside him,
holding his hand, to get to his side door.
He knew Murtagh was well and truly his boy when the cat came
to the doorway to the mudroom, let out a truncated, “Mur—?” but at one look at
them, he turned around and moseyed off.
When their coats were on hooks and Georgie had thrown her
gold bag to the counter, their knuckles slammed together as each sought the
other’s hand.
He shot her a grin.
She returned it.
He enfolded her fingers in his, and even if she was jogging
behind him to keep up with his long strides, he did not adjust those strides as
he pulled her to his bedroom.
No way he was having her fully for the first time without
being able to see, so he wasted the time it took to hit the light.
When he turned to her, she had her hands at the back of her
neck to undo her zipper.
“You take off that dress, you wait until tomorrow for my
dick,” he growled.
Her arms instantly dropped.
Yeah.
She knew when to give over.
And that scored right through his cock.
“Turn around,” he ordered.
She didn’t delay.
He moved in behind her and put his hands to her hips.
“Pull your hair aside,” he demanded.
She didn’t delay with that either.
He went in and kissed the exposed side of her neck.
Just with that, she shivered.
“Dutch.”
His name trembled.
That went through his cock too.
All of it did.
Working the area under her ear with his lips, teeth and
tongue, he took his time moving one hand up her back to the zip.
He also took his time sliding it down.
“Dutch.”
That was a plea.
Inside her dress, he ran his hands up her skin on either
side until he got to her shoulders.
He shoved the dress off and she instantly shimmied it down
until it hit the floor.
Dutch turned her then and looked at her.
Open shoulders, gorgeous clavicle, ample tits, nipples aimed
high, rounded belly, wide hips, shapely thighs, pretty ankles now with thin
gold straps around them.
And little, black lace panties.
“Lose the panties,” he instructed.
She didn’t waste time shimmying those off too.
Trimmed, dark bush he’d already seen, and knew he loved,
she’d left enough there it was all woman.
So he went there first, diving in, fingers slipping through
her wet.
“You weren’t the only one ready for it all through dinner,”
she whispered.
He stared into her eyes.
His Georgiana.
He slid his hand away, caught her by the waist, threw her on
the bed…
And joined her there.
Dutch knew it’d go like it went. It was what he wanted for
the both of them.
This being wild.
This bringing fire.
She almost tore his shirt getting it off him. He knew he
lost a button or two.
In fact, she was so lost in it, one of his boots didn’t hit
the floor, it hit the wall, she threw it so hard.
It was a tussle, who could get the most the fastest in every
way imaginable. Lips and tongues and teeth and hands and fingers and arms and
legs, even toes.
And he knew when she was done, ready for it, also she wanted
up top so she could see him as she took him.
But that shit was not happening.
And Dutch had no issue with using his superior strength to
roll her to her back and power-twisting his hips until they fell between her
legs.
“Dutch,” she protested.
“Shut it,” he replied.
“Dutch!” she snapped.
He caught her under her jaw, gentle but firm, and she
stilled under him.
Then she started panting, the pink in her cheeks rising, as
he shifted his hips to find her, both of them staring in each other’s eyes.
“Dutch,” she breathed, the word heavy with want, need, hope,
yeah, Christ yeah, it was there.
Right there.
Love.
He didn’t respond verbally, because he found her, pressed in
with the tip, and she lifted her knees, pulling in the whole head.
“Baby,” he murmured, because just that was beautiful.
She ran her hands up either side of his spine, then drifted
her nails, feather light, down the length of it.
When she curled her arms around his back, pressed her thighs
against his hips, slowly, he slid in to the root.
She released a huh of sweet breath, clutched his
sides in two ways, and Dutch closed his eyes and dropped his forehead to hers.
He’d been right.
Heaven.
He opened his eyes and hers were right there, warm and
tender and hot and sexy and open and giving and Georgie.
“It’s done, you know that, yeah?” he asked quietly.
“Yeah.”
“It’s done, Georgie,” he repeated.
“Yeah, honey,” she replied.
He got that from her, so he kissed her and only then did he
start moving.
The road to that point was a tussle.
The act was slow and deliberate, every stroke feeling like a
minor miracle, but that wasn’t who they were and that wasn’t how it ended.
The same time Dutch needed more was the time Georgie caught
his ass in her hands and they had to stop kissing because Georgie was gasping,
Dutch was grunting, he went in hard, and she rocked with him, encouraging him
to go at her harder.
He caught a fist full of her hair against the bed and she
scraped her nails up his ass, his back, and then curled her arms so she could
hold on to his shoulders, the better to take his fucking.
Phenomenally her pussy squeezed and released with each
thrust, and he knew when she lost control of that, and the tips of the gold
heels she still had on dug deep into the backs of his thighs, that she was gone
before she cried out his name, then whimpered, arching her body, her neck…
And he held on long enough to watch that, file it away, then
he let go and shoved his face in her neck, her perfume filling his nose, the
rest of her controlling his senses.
He shut his eyes tight, his body tautened, he drove deep and
shot hard.
His frame shuddered as he kept coming, and she finished hers
and held on tight as he kept coming more.
He felt fluid when it was done and he settled into her, like
he’d ooze all over her, when his orgasm let go of him.
And he nuzzled her neck with his nose, drifted a hand over
the skin of her side, hip and thigh and held his weight in his other forearm
for a long time after.
Finally, he lifted his head and knew by the soft, dazed,
affectionate look on her face the answer before he asked, “Worth the wait?”
And Dutch started laughing, still buried to the hilt inside
her when she answered…
“Totes.”
Dutch switched off the light to the bathroom as he
entered the bedroom after he’d cleaned Georgiana up after their third go, and
he saw her there, in his bed, on her belly, her hair everywhere, the sheet up,
barely covering her ass where he’d tossed it after he’d taken care of her, and
she looked asleep even though she was awake.
Hottest thing he’d ever seen, Georgie worn out after Dutch
put a fair amount of effort into making her that way.
Murtagh was curled in at her waist.
Dutch turned his head and looked to the bottom of the wall
under which his boot rested.
This meant he walked to the bed, knowing he was smirking,
He arranged her how he wanted her, their cat arranged
himself how he wanted to be (tucked in at the bend of her body, since they were
spooning) before he twisted and turned off the light.
He went back to Georgie, tugging her closer.
“Babe, you put a dent in the wall, throwing my boot,” he
said into her hair.
“Shut up, Dutch,” she mumbled in reply.
He grinned in her hair.
She settled her ass further into his groin.
“Best quit doin’ that, darlin’, or
you’re gonna take my cock again,” he warned.
“I cannot believe I’m going to say this, but you’re a
machine. I cannot take anymore. I need at least…” she gave it a beat, two, then
decided, “half an hour to recover.”
Dutch started chuckling.
“How many positions did you do me in that last time?” she
asked.
“Just so you know, you wearin’
that dress and dinner lasting two fucking hours because you were eating so
goddamned slow, I had plenty of time to think about all the ways I wanted to
fuck you.”
“Did you have to do them all in one night?”
“Yeah. You complaining?”
“No.”
“I didn’t think so,” he murmured.
“Do you want a rundown of my favorites?”
“Favorite what?”
“Positions?”
He was surprised she had favorites.
And intrigued.
“You got favorites?”
“Right now, at the top is you fucking me into the bed on my
stomach, which, as you know, was the end of the last session. I will note,
however, and importantly, that I reserve the right to change that opinion
considering the list rearranges itself depending on how you’re doing me.”
He was chuckling again when he said, “So noted.”
“Do you have favorites?”
“Drillin’ into you leapfrog while
I got two handfuls of your ass when you’re down up front, but on your knees. Sittin’ up with you bouncin’ on
my lap, your tits in my face. Watchin’ you take it
with your ankles on my shoulders. You on your side with your leg wrapped around
my hip so I can get serious leverage and still look you in the eye. When—”
She cut him off to remark, “So essentially every way you
fucked me is your favorite.”
“Yup.”
“Leapfrog?”
“Yup.”
“There’s an actual name for that position, or did you just
make that up?”
“You told me today you like to do research, but now I see
you clearly haven’t been doing the right kind.”
She started laughing softly, drowsily.
Dutch could stay up all night and banter with her about
anything, especially fucking her, until she’d recovered enough for them to do
it again.
But his girl was sleepy.
“Go to sleep, baby,” he murmured, tucking her closer.
“Okay,” she replied.
He felt her relax against him, her breath evening out, and
that content sensation had started invading his chest, when she called,
“Dutch?”
“Not goin’ anywhere, Georgie.”
“Thank you for picking me up at the airport.”
He shoved his face in her curls.
So it was there he said, “You’re welcome, gorgeous.”
On that, she fell asleep.
Which tripped the switch that sat deep inside the man who
was Dutch Black that he could do the same.
So he did.