Chapter Three #2
But my body wasn't listening. Arching against him, gasping when his hands slid under the borrowed sweater to find bare skin. His palms were rough and warm against my ribs, my back, exploring in a way that made my knees weak.
"The rug," I managed against his mouth. "By the fire."
He pulled back enough to look at me, his eyes dark and searching. "You sure about this?"
"Do I look unsure?"
"You look..." He traced my jawline with his thumb. "Determined. Which isn't the same thing."
God, why did he have to notice everything?
"Gil." I dragged his mouth back to mine. "Stop overthinking."
He kissed me again, harder this time, and started walking me backward toward the fireplace. Toward the thick rug in front of it.
When my legs hit the edge of the rug, he lowered us both down. The wool was soft and slightly scratchy against my back, warmed by the fire. He hovered over me, his weight supported on his forearms, steel-gray eyes locked on mine.
"I want you here with me," he murmured. "Not wherever you go in your head."
Then his mouth was on my throat, my collarbone, taking his time.
We shed clothes in a tangle—my sweater, his shirt, my jeans taking longer because I had to arch up and shimmy while he helped by dragging them down my legs.
His joggers disappeared. And then there was nothing between us except skin and heat and firelight and the sound of our breathing.
"Ruby." My name on his lips sounded like a prayer.
His mouth traveled down my body. Kissing, tasting, learning me. When he took his time with my breasts—tongue circling my nipples, teeth grazing—my back arched off the rug. The fire crackled beside us, throwing dancing shadows across our skin.
"Gil," I breathed.
"I want to taste every inch of you." His voice was rough. "Tell me to stop if you don't want this."
I couldn't have told him to stop if my life depended on it.
He kissed lower. Down my abdomen, across my hip bones. Then he settled between my thighs and put his mouth on my pussy.
Rational thought became impossible.
He took his time. Thorough and deliberate, using his tongue and lips and fingers, learning what made me gasp and what made me moan. The texture of the rug beneath me, the heat of the fire on my side, the wet heat of his mouth—sensory overload.
"That's it," he murmured against me. "Let me hear you."
When he added fingers, curling them inside me while his tongue circled my clit, pleasure built in waves. This was too much. Too intense.
My body's responding. Just physical. Control it.
My back arched. My hands fisted in his hair. The orgasm crashed through me and I cried out his name, the sound echoing through the cabin, raw and genuine.
He held me through the tremors, his touch softening as aftershocks rolled through me. When I could breathe again, he kissed his way back up my body.
"That was—" I started.
He kissed me, let me taste myself on his lips. "We're not done."
My hand slid down his chest, his abdomen, wrapping around his cock. He was hard and thick, and when I squeezed, he groaned into my mouth.
"My turn," I said.
I needed this. Needed to take back some control after he'd just made me lose it completely.
I pushed at his shoulders. He went willingly onto his back, the firelight playing across his muscular chest, his flat stomach. I moved down his body, kissing and tasting, making him hiss when I scraped my teeth across his hip bone.
His hands threaded through my hair when I took him in my mouth. Not forcing, just holding on.
"Christ," he breathed. "Ruby—"
I looked up at him, not releasing him, letting him see exactly how much I wanted this. Wanted to make him lose control the way he'd made me lose it.
I worked him with my mouth and hand, learning what made him groan, what made his hips lift. His hands tightened in my hair, and the sounds he was making drove me crazy.
"Fuck," he groaned. "Your mouth—"
I took him deeper, hollowing my cheeks, using my tongue on the underside of his cock. His thighs tensed beneath my hands.
"Ruby, I'm close—if you don't want me to—"
I didn't pull away. I worked him faster, sucking harder, one hand stroking what wouldn't fit in my mouth while the other cupped his balls.
He came with a hoarse shout, his whole body going rigid, pulsing in my mouth. I swallowed, taking everything he gave me, not stopping until he was gasping and oversensitive.
When I released him and looked up, his eyes were dark and stunned.
"Get up here," he said, his voice rough.
I climbed up his body. He rolled us—easy, powerful, his strength evident as he pinned me beneath him on the rug. He positioned himself between my thighs, the head of his cock pressing against my pussy.
But he didn't push inside. His hand slid between us, fingers finding me, circling my clit until I was gasping and squirming beneath him.
"Gil, please—"
His fingers worked me while he kissed my throat, my breasts, building the tension until I was trembling. I hooked one leg high over his hip, changing the angle, silently begging.
"Now," I pleaded. "Please, now."
"Look at me," he said. "Stay with me."
Our eyes locked. Then he pushed inside.
We both groaned. He filled me completely, stretching me, the angle letting him sink deep. For a moment we just stayed like that, locked together, breathing hard.
Then he started to move.
Slow at first. Controlled. Those gray eyes locked on mine, not letting me look away, not letting me disappear into my head. Every thrust deliberate, measured, designed to make me feel every inch of him.
"You feel so good," he murmured against my neck. "So fucking perfect."
I wrapped my legs high around his waist, ankles locking behind his back, opening myself completely. The new angle made him go even deeper, and his control slipped.
"More," I breathed. "Harder."
He responded, his thrusts growing stronger, faster. The rug shifted beneath us. Firelight cast shadows across our sweat-slicked skin. Another orgasm was building, coiling tight in my core.
"You're so flexible," he groaned, adjusting the angle to go deeper. "How—"
"Gymnastics," I gasped out between thrusts. "When I was younger. Before I decided to focus on cooking."
"Fuck." He thrust harder. "That's hot."
He slowed down, making me whimper in frustration. Then he pulled out completely, leaving me empty and aching.
"What—"
"On your hands and knees," he commanded.
I scrambled to obey, bracing my hands on the rug. He positioned himself behind me, his large hands gripping my hips, dwarfing my waist.
"This okay?" he asked, his thumb tracing down my spine.
"Yes. God, yes."
He pushed inside from this new angle and we both groaned. The position let him go even deeper, hit different angles. His hands gripped my hips, holding me steady.
Harder now. More primal.
"Touch yourself," he commanded. "I want to feel you come around my cock."
I slid one hand between my legs, circling my clit. The combination was overwhelming—him pounding into me from behind, my own fingers working, sweat dripping down my spine, my arms shaking.
"That's it," he groaned. "You're so tight. So perfect."
His rhythm was relentless. Both of us pushing hard, sweat and exertion and raw need.
Then I felt his thumb pressing against my ass.
"Gil—"
"Just a little," he murmured. "Trust me. Tell me to stop if you don't like it."
The pressure was strange, intense, making me hyperaware of how full I was. Then he pushed his thumb inside my tight hole while thrusting forward and stars exploded behind my eyes.
"Oh fuck," I gasped. "Oh my god—"
"You like that?" His voice was rough. "Tell me."
"Yes. God, yes. Don't stop."
He worked his thumb in rhythm with his thrusts. The dual penetration was overwhelming—too much and not enough and exactly what I needed. Every nerve ending screamed. My whole body was on fire.
"Come for me," he commanded. "Let me feel it."
The orgasm slammed through me. I screamed his name—couldn't help it, couldn't stop it—my body clenching around him, the intensity multiplied by his thumb still moving. Wave after wave of pleasure crashed over me, leaving me shaking and gasping.
He groaned, his rhythm faltering. "Ruby, I'm—"
"Come," I managed. "Come inside me. I want to feel it."
He thrust hard one last time and I felt him pulsing inside me, his hands gripping my hips hard enough to bruise, his own hoarse cry echoing mine.
We stayed frozen like that. Both trembling, covered in sweat, breathing like we'd just run a marathon.
Then he carefully withdrew—both from inside me and his thumb—and we collapsed onto the rug in a tangled heap.
I couldn't move. Could barely think. Every muscle felt like jelly. The rug was soft beneath my cheek, the fire warm on my skin.
That was intense. My body's never responded like that. What the hell is happening to me?
Oh god. Oh god, what did I do?
That wasn't supposed to happen. The orgasms, yes. The physical response, fine. But the intensity. The way my body had responded to him like we were made to fit together.
I couldn't want him like this. He's the reason I lost everything.
"That was—" he started, his voice rough.
Panic. Run. Shut it down before he sees—
"That was fun," I said quickly, forcing brightness into my tone. I pushed away from him, needing space, needing air, needing to get away from the hurt I could already see forming in his eyes. "I'm starving. Should we grab lunch?"
He pulled back to look at me. I watched the exact moment my words landed. His expression shuttered. His jaw went tight. The warmth in his eyes iced over.
"Fun," he repeated flatly.
"Yeah." I grabbed my clothes, started pulling them on with shaking hands. "I mean, wasn't it?"
He rolled off the rug, reached for his joggers without a word. The temperature in the room seemed to drop twenty degrees.
I fled to the bathroom, locking the door behind me.
My reflection stared back at me. Flushed cheeks, swollen lips, beard burn visible on my neck and breasts, hair a complete disaster. I looked thoroughly fucked.