Chapter 6
Tessa
It’s not the first time I’ve followed a guy back to his place for a hookup, but it’s been a long time—Hannah’s wedding half a dozen years back, to be exact—and somehow this feels different. Much, much hotter.
Fitz puts an arm around me like we’ve known each other longer than twenty minutes. If someone saw us, we’d probably look like a cute couple, him leaning down to whisper into my ear and me giggling at the soft brush of his beard against my cheek.
But I have no illusions about what we are as he leads me into the building next door, which is a gym or some sort of workout space, based on the array of machines and equipment set up on black mats across the floor.
After escorting me to the restroom, he guides me carefully, making sure I don't bump my knees or shins on the hulking weight sets as we move through the room to a back stairway.
In the narrow stairwell, we half climb, half kiss and stumble to a second-floor landing. There are two doors, and he opens one and flips a light switch. The room illuminates in a warm, pale yellow, like candlelight, just enough for us to see each other.
Fitz leads me inside the space, where a queen-sized mattress takes up most of the space. No bed frame, but at least the bed is made, and the blue quilt on top looks clean.
“What is this place?” I ask, fearing that it really is some sort of psycho’s lair. Or a really convenient place for the town playboy to have sex with ladies he meets next door without catching a chill on the walk from the restaurant. But this is California. It doesn’t get that frosty.
“It's an office,” he says, the smirk settling in as he watches me take in the minimalism.
“You have a bed in your office?”
“I didn't say it was my office.” He closes the door behind him and moves closer to me. The clean, masculine scent of him overwhelms my senses, and reminds me that I don’t give a crap why this room is here. It’s my birthday, and I want his greatest hits.
“Whatever, it’s perfect.” I throw my arms around his neck, and his lips are again on mine, exploring and tasting, then devouring. Conversation over.
Everything except the sight and feel of this man falls away.
While our tongues search and tangle, he loops his arms behind my back and walks me slowly, carefully, three steps back until my knees hit the bed. I surrender to the cool, cotton comfort and slide upward until my head is on the pillow.
He follows my lead, moving over me, never breaking the white-hot intensity of a kiss that I feel deep in my bones.
My hands find the hem of his denim shirt, working it up until he rises onto his knees and yanks it over his head from the back of the collar. So. Damn. Hot.
I take a moment to admire the pecs and abs I could feel through the fabric of his shirt, but seeing the hard planes of muscle under his taut, tanned skin makes me suck in a breath like it’s my last chance at air.
Kneeling at the foot of the bed, he surveys me and smiles, but he doesn’t move.
“What?” I say, pushing up onto my elbows.
He shakes his head. “I haven’t even seen you naked, and I already know I’m gonna miss you like crazy tomorrow.”
It’s probably a line he’s used a hundred times, but it makes me desperate to see where his tan lines end and where my birthday gift to myself begins.
“Hey, don’t go getting all sappy on me, cowboy. This is just a fun one-night thing.”
“So you said. Don’t worry, Duchess. I don’t do relationships. The lonely life suits me just fine.”
I wonder what he means by that. Is he actually lonely?
Not something that needs to concern me right now.
“Okay, then. Show me what you’ve got, cowboy.”
Fitz shakes his head at me. “You’re trouble, aren’t you?”
I shrug and play coy. He doesn’t need to know I’m as straitlaced as they come.
Fitz holds himself above me on his elbows, but I want his full weight. My body begs for it, and I pull him closer.
Our kiss evolves from tentative and sweet to hungry and depraved. I run my hands through his hair, vaguely noticing the contrast between the soft strands that curl over his ears and the rough scrape of his unshaven face against my skin.
He kisses his way from my mouth to my neck, finding erogenous zones I didn’t know I had. My head falls back as he kisses my throat, and the small moan I can’t stifle seems to fuel him.
I run my hands the length of his torso, the curves and contours of his muscles like a relief map of a secret, gorgeous landscape.
I want to shove his pants down and put my hands on him.
I’ve been thinking about how he’d feel inside me since I saw him sitting at the bar, and I inhale a shaky breath as my nerves throb and beg for more of him.
The room is so quiet that all I can hear is the groans and sighs of us reacting to each other.
“Do you have music on your phone or anything?” I ask.
He scoops the cell phone out of his pocket so quickly I'm pretty sure he had the same idea. With a few swipes on the glass, I hear the musical introduction of a Chris Stapleton song, all strong guitar and easy melody. Of course he'd like country rock.
He lifts the hem of my shirt and plants a row of kisses along my waist, slipping the silk up inch by inch as his lips move higher. Sliding a hand beneath me, he lifts my shoulders from the bed and slips my shirt off. Then he reaches around to unhook my bra clasp and lifts it away.
Lowering me gingerly, he observes me, his eyes running the length of my torso, a small smile on his lips. “So goddamn gorgeous.” His voice is a hot cowboy rumble.
His kisses chart a path again down my throat to the swell of my breasts. Still lost in his kiss, I only notice I’m naked from the waist up when his warm breath tickles my skin.
Fitz takes his time, lips heating my skin with a luxurious burn. His tongue rolls over one nipple, circling and sucking until it goes hard. I feel an ache deep in my belly and moan.
His soft hair tickles my abdomen as he moves lower, popping the button on my jeans and sliding them down. My response is another moan, and he tips his head up with a soft chuckle.
“That’s my new favorite sound, Duchess.” I’m too satiated to feel embarrassed about the noises I’m making. Then he follows up with, “Probably the longest you've gone without reminding me you’re outta here after one night.”
“Criticism is not my love language,” I sigh.
“Oh, it’s not criticism. I love your sass, honey.”
The word “honey” sets my heart beating faster. I don’t know why a throwaway term of endearment gets me, but hearing it roll off his tongue with a bit of twang is honey itself.
“I was just observing that now I know how to turn it off…by turning you on.” His laugh is a sexy rumble.
I'd give him a smack for his cocky attitude, except that he's right, and I kind of love his smug satisfaction. “That an invitation to keep my mouth shut?”
“It’s an invitation for you to relax and enjoy, birthday girl.
” His teeth nip at my bare legs as he tugs my jeans down and tosses them on the floor.
I look at my underwear, blinding in its plain, beige glory, and I squeeze my eyes shut, praying that he's not going to return to that discussion. But of course he is.
“I feel like I was sold a false bill of goods, Duchess. These panties aren't nearly the giant bloomers you made them out to be.”
My cheeks heat, and I’m about to consider putting my clothes back on. But I catch him grinning like a schoolboy who’s just been offered a puppy, and I relax. “They’re not the best,” I admit, but my words are lost when he slides over me for a sweet, deep kiss.
“I kinda like ’em.” I hear the smile in his voice. “But I’d like ’em even more if you took them off.” My heart, which was already drumming like a band soloist, goes into overdrive.
His lips take another pass down my throat, over my breasts, down my abdomen until his fingers loop through the elastic of my underwear, which he swiftly pulls off and tosses away.
“Better?” he asks. “Now you don't have to think about it.”
“Better,” I pant, relishing the idea of what he could do to me now that I’m fully exposed.
Wanting every bit of it.
He dips his head low, and I’m expecting to feel his hands or his breath or his tongue on my inner thighs, but I feel nothing. And then…still nothing. For long enough that I tip my head up to find him watching me, waiting for my reaction. “What?” he asks, innocently, eyes round and brows lifted.
I bite my bottom lip to keep from swearing. He has me exactly where he wants me, and I’m about one shaky breath away from exasperation.
“Just checking on you.” My voice rasps with the frustration I feel. “Making sure you’re still among the living.”
He winks at me. Actually winks. That’s how much he’s loving this game.
I’m not about to let him think he has me wrapped around his finger, so I push myself back, out of his grasp, and curl my knees underneath me.
Then I reach for my phone. “Sorry if you're in the middle of something. I need to check my messages.”
He tugs so hard on my legs that I let out a surprised yelp, and my phone flies from my hands. “You’ve got a little devil on your shoulder, do you?”
“Who, me?” I bat my eyes angelically.
This time, when he drops down between my legs, I get exactly what my aching core has been desperately needing since he pressed against me outside the bathroom. Fitz sweeps his tongue right where I want him, and the feeling is so intense, so hot, that I yelp his name.
I’m gripping the sheet in one hand with the other tangled in his soft, wavy hair. My body is at his mercy. I couldn’t love it more.
He doesn’t waste time teasing me now. His tongue circles my clit over and over again, flicking against the sensitive bud until I’m whimpering. His hands follow, trailing down my thighs and dancing over the sensitive skin between my legs.
His eyes are stormy, and he looks completely lost, enjoying himself as much as he’s thrilling me and savoring every second. The low growl he makes as he licks and sucks at my core is my undoing.
He knows the exact pace to keep me building to an orgasm, and then he slows just enough to hold me back. Over and over and over.
All thoughts of my granny panties, the hideous ranch house, and the pity party over family squabbles drift away when he slips a finger inside me. He curls it to hit my G-spot just right and pushes me nearly to my peak. I’ve never had it so good.
My mind dissolves into muddled pieces of words as my body pulses with heat and pleasure. I’m so close, but I fight against the feeling, not wanting this to end because it means going back to my regular life, and I’m not ready just yet.
“Come here,” I command, pulling him up so I can show him how much I appreciate his skill. I cover his smirk with a long, deep kiss.
I unbuckle his belt, which has an oval metal buckle—damn cowboy—and tear at the buttons of his jeans. He helps me along, shoving the pants down to the floor. I can’t help taking a moment to marvel at the naked man in front of me.
His abs may as well be carved from marble. “That’s ridiculous,” I mumble.
“Sorry?” The question turns to a growl when I wrap my hand around his hard length and run my hand over it. “Not sorry…”
His eyelids droop, and his smirk gives way to the same hunger I feel.
“Duchess…” he groans as I pull him on top of me, and his weight pushes the breath from my lungs.
There’s no thinking, just intense feeling and waves of pleasure that don’t stop.
I’ve never felt this turned on before, and I want all of him, everything.
“Yes, please,” I pant, wanting him so badly and still too foggy from my earlier orgasm to think about anything but what I desperately need from him. Now.
“God, yes,” I gasp as he presses inside me, gently at first, making room for his generous size. Sliding fully inside me, he pauses, and my body begs for more. More of him, all of him.
Then he pulls out and rolls to the side.
I’m about to protest, thinking he’s back to playing games, when he pulls his wallet from his discarded pants and wrestles a condom from inside.
“I fucking love the feel of you bare. I could live inside you like that. But we need to be safe, Duchess. I don’t have sex without protection, ever. ”
Oh.
I was so far gone with lust and passion that I didn’t even realize he wasn’t wearing a condom. Didn’t think about it, which is so unlike me. Thankfully, Fitz had the wherewithal to stop and suit up because the last thing I need is to get pregnant by a cowboy after a one-night stand.
“Smart.” I feel anything but smart, with my brains fucked from my skull, just as promised.
A moment later, he has the condom rolled on, and he lets me have exactly what I need—all of him buried to the hilt inside me and moving so expertly that I feel an orgasm build.
Challenging me to hang on for dear life because this feeling is new.
And… “Oh my god, Fitz…!”
We tumble into the orgasmic abyss at nearly the same time, Fitz grinding out my name and me being in the moment for once without worrying about where it will lead.
One perfect night. As promised, Fitz succeeds at making me stop thinking. For a few minutes.
For a few hours…
I don’t have the words to describe all the new places he touched where my senses have lain dormant, all the ways he found to make me shiver and sigh and moan.
I don’t give him my number or make false promises about the possibility of a future, and he doesn’t ask.
I don’t let him drive me home. There’s a rideshare out in front of the Hitching Post by the time we make our way downstairs and out into the cool air in front of the buildings.
With an arm draped loosely over my shoulders, he walks me to the waiting car. The driver barely looks up, and Fitz puts his hand on the door but doesn’t open it. A beat of silence passes between us.
Awareness of a connection. The calm of knowing our night together was spectacular.
Fitz puts his hand on my cheek and leans in for a soft, deliberate kiss. No words needed.
He pulls the door open. I brush my hand over his chest just for a second before letting go. After I slide into the car, Fitz closes the door carefully, lingering a moment longer, as if he doesn’t want the night to end.
Then it does. And the car ferries me away.