Finale #3
I find her pretty, pink pussy slick and swollen, and I waste no time before I’m stroking through her arousal, quickly settling my thumb on her clit and working tight, fast circles.
“Hatton!”
“Hell, yeah, baby. Say my fucking name.”
Her hips roll up into my hand shamelessly and that small helpless sound she makes drags something feral up from the base of my spine, making even more precum weep from my tip.
“Look at you already trying to take what’s yours,” I murmur, voice thick and Southern and just a little mean, the way she likes it. “So fucking perfect for me. You want me to fuck you, baby?”
She nods, too far gone for coy, but I want the words.
“Say it.”
“I want you, Hatton,” she whispers.
“You want me too…”
“I want you to fuck me!” she all but begs, and I curse.
“Goddamn, Lucy. Yes, fucking, ma’am.”
I grip her hip with one hand—right over the tattoo still outlined on her skin—and push in slowly, filling her.
“Hatton, now… Stop being slow. I need you now.”
“Nah, baby, inch by fucking inch, that’s what the books say, right?” I watch her face as I taunt her just so. “I don’t want to get the manuals wrong.”
She groans in frustration, but the moment I’m fully seated I can’t tease anymore.
“Christ, Lucy. This is gonna be quick, alright baby?”
She nods. “Yes. Yes, please. I need you. F-fuck me fast.”
“Fuck.”
That single curse is all the warning I’ve got left before I set a rough, driving rhythm, hips snapping into hers and one hand light on her throat.
She’s absolutely drenched, but her slick heat still grips me so fucking tightly on every stroke.
I have to lock my jaw because the sounds she’s making are going to finish me before I’m ready.
Her nails rake down my back hard enough to sting, and I feel it everywhere and I fucking love it.
I want the marks. I want to see them tomorrow and remember exactly what I was doing when she put them there.
Hell, maybe I’ll get those tattooed on me too.
My mark on her, hers on me. It’s only fair.
With that thought, as she gasps and arches up to meet me, I find I am entirely, completely, irrevocably gone for this woman.
“Mine,” I rasp, one hand closing light around her throat, the other hooking her knee over my arm so I can get deeper, changing the angle so I can feel every inch of her tightening around every inch of me.
“You’re mine. No one else gets to see you like this.
No one else gets to feel you come apart like this. No one.”
“Yours,” she gasps, hips rolling up to meet me, chasing the next thrust like she needs it, and that—her needing it—snaps the last thread holding me back. “I’m yours, Hatton Fury. All yours.”
I pull back and drive in harder and the wet clench of her around me makes my vision blur. Her thighs tremble against my hips. Her nails have found my back again and though I’m going to be striped red tomorrow, I want every single mark she leaves on me.
Her mouth falls open. Her eyes keep trying to close but every time she drags them back to mine, like she wants to witness this as badly as I do.
“That’s right baby, don’t close your eyes. Watch me feel every fucking second of your pussy milking my cock.”
She whimpers, and her hips chase the next thrust, and that’s it, that’s the thing that does it—her chasing me, wanting me back with the same desperate urgency—and I have to slow it down.
I want to take all of this in, really soak up how alive she is for me, because too many times in the last seven months I was afraid she wouldn’t be.
I grind into her deep and stay there, hips rolling in tight circles, my thumb finding her clit and working it with no mercy whatsoever while I watch her eyes go glassy and her thighs lock around me.
Fuck, I love it when her eyes are on me, but I sure do love it when she can’t possibly hold on any longer too. Hey, maybe I’m the sadist.
“Hat-Hatton—” her voice fractures, on my name.
“I know,” I murmurs, and kiss her forehead. “I’ve got you, baby. Just let go for me.”
Her eyes fall closed, and I drop my forehead to hers, feeling how intimate the position is as I grind deeper, thumb pressing harder, and feel the exact moment she stops fighting it.
Her whole body draws tight like a bowstring, her pussy clenches around me so hard I see stars, and then she comes apart with my name on her lips and her nails in my back and her legs tight around my hips, and I work her through every single fucking second of it, grinding against her clit, staying buried as deep as I can get, not letting up until she’s gasping and writhing and trying to get away from my thumb.
Only then do I let myself go.
I grip her hips and bury myself deep, coming apart with my face in her neck, and her name tearing out of me. She cries out as my whole body shudders through it, every muscle giving out at once in the best possible way as she comes with me again, squeezing the fuck out of my cock.
“Fuck, Lucy, fuck. Fuck. Fuck,” I grit out, thoroughly wrecked. “Take it. Take my cum, baby. Milk my cock.”
I wrap my arms around her and hold her flush to me as I come down in aftershocks and waves, but my harsh, panting breaths takes forever to slow.
She goes soft and trembling underneath me and I stay exactly where I am, still buried inside her, nipping and sucking at her neck and shoulder and jaw while my body shudders through the last of it and my brain slowly, reluctantly reassembles itself.
“You’re mine, Lucy,” I whisper into her skin. “You’re all I’ll ever fucking want.”
Her arms come around me and hold tight, and I press my face into her neck and just breathe.
We stay like that while the boat rocks us both. It’s incredible to think the world outside just keeps going on without us, when my entire world would stop if I had to go on without her.
When my pulse finally drops back below heart attack-level, I shift enough to see her face. She’s flushed and soft and looking at me like I’m something she’s decided to keep. Which is good, because joke’s on her, I’ll never let her let me go again.
I wrap tightly around her and roll so she’s laying on my chest, while my cock is still inside her. My hands roam her back, kneading her spine.
“Lucy?”
“Hm?” she hums sleepily.
“I think I could really get into reading.”
She snorts. “See. I knew you’d like it.”
“Loved it. Can’t wait for the next chapter. Maybe we can try one of those dark romances that has BDSM in it or some shit.”
“Oh, God, what have I done?” she moans playfully.
I chuckle and thread my fingers through hers. Then my throat clogs, and I have to clear it before I say what I really meant to.
“Thank you.”
She blinks up at me, and I brush her hair back from her face. “For what?”
“For that.” I nod toward the e-reader on the rumpled sheets. “For seeing it.”
Her expression softens. “Hatton…”
“I’ve always hated that reading didn’t come easy for me,” I admit quietly.
“Hated how long it takes. Hated how everyone else seemed to be able to just… do it.” I huff a laugh without humor and look down at our joined hands.
“I also put up a front about it, so people thought I didn’t care.
I’ve had the mask on for so long, I forgot I wanted someone to take it off. ”
She squeezes my hand.
I swallow and look back at her. “So yeah. Thank you. Thank you for seeing me.”
Her eyes go shiny, and she shifts closer, pressing a kiss right over my heart. “Always, Hatton.”
I don’t have any more words. They’re all caught up behind the heart that’s thumping under her cheek right now. So I just settle for the ones that will never be enough but will always mean everything.
“I love you, Lucy McKennon.”
“I love you, Hatton Fury.”
I wrap my arms around her and hold on, tucking her face into my neck, my chin resting on top of her head, and let the boat rock us both. The world goes quiet except for our breathing and the low lap of water against the hull.
I could stay like this for the rest of my life.
I’m half asleep, sheets tangled around both of us, when a noise at the door shatters the peace like a gunshot.
I go from blissfully boneless to pure adrenaline in a blink, jackknifing out of bed and reaching for my gun under the mattress before I’m even fully awake. I chamber a round with barely a sound and peel back the curtain-door to investigate—
“Doggoneit,” the cantankerous voice curses outside the empty cabin. “If I have to wrangle these damn hellions one more time, I’m getting me a hound. Hatch. You sorry son of a gun. Get on out here now, boy. If the cats are put out, ain’t no way I’m goin’ in.”
Lucy smothers a laugh in the pillow.
I drag on my sweatpants one-handed, then leave through the curtain-door, closing it behind me for Lucy’s privacy.
But she’s already changed into loungewear by the time I unlock the door’s three lock mechanisms, and I head outside, blocking the door so she can’t leave until I check the coast is clear.
I don’t relax and let Lucy come outside until I see Harry standing there in front of a big cardboard box—the “gunshot,” no doubt, after he probably plopped it onto the deck.
He’s petting both cats while they weave around his boots, looking perfectly content for a man who was just griping about them.
He still pretends he isn’t working up the nerve to go back to Appalachia, but I know better.
The man has been suggesting project after project for me, fewer of which are becoming necessary and all of which are starting to feel suspiciously like he’s trying to keep busy.
And stopping by Fancy’s Haven daily when Lucy says he never did before I got here? Definitely suspicious.
I flick the safety back on and let the gun hang loose at my side, but my body’s still humming from the adrenaline.
“You ever heard of knocking, old man?” I grumble, voice rough from sleep and everything that came before it.