Chapter 34 #2
She arched against him, fingers threading through his hair, holding him to her. “Yes. Touch me, Anson.”
His hands left smears of gold as he explored her—down her sides, across the small of her back, over the curve of her hip. He couldn’t get enough, couldn’t touch enough of her.
“Please,” she whispered, grinding down against him. “I need you.”
He flipped her onto her back, his movements sure now, confident. No more hesitation. No more fear. He helped her shimmy out of her jeans, tugging them down her legs until she lay naked beneath him, her skin glowing in the lamplight.
“You’re so beautiful, Maggie. So goddamn beautiful.”
She reached for him, and he went willingly, settling between her thighs as his mouth closed over hers. He was already hard again, and when she arched against him, the head of his cock dipped into her slick heat. He groaned against her mouth.
“Now,” she urged, her heels pressing into the backs of his thighs, guiding him. “I need you inside me.”
“Fuck, Maggie.” It took every ounce of control he had to pull back. “I want that too, but I’m covered in paint.”
“It’s non-toxic.”
“I don’t have a condom.”
She reached toward the bedside table, pulled open the drawer, and produced a ribbon of foil packets. “I do.”
He couldn’t help the incredulous laugh that burst out of him. “Planning this, were you?”
“Hoping,” she corrected and pressed a packet into his palm. “There’s a difference.”
He sat back on his heels and rolled the condom on. The sight of her sprawled across the bed, waiting for him, nearly unmanned him. Gold streaked her skin now, too, across her collarbone, down one breast, along her ribs. His marks on her.
He settled between her thighs, and she gripped his biceps, fingers digging into muscle.
Her eyes stayed open, locked on his, as he pushed forward slowly.
Slowly. So fucking slowly, he was shaking by the time he was fully inside her.
Maggie’s eyes fluttered hard, her mouth going slack as she let out a sound that went straight to the bottom of him.
He savored every inch, every wet, hot inch.
He barely remembered what this felt like—had almost convinced himself he was better off never knowing again—but the way she clung to him, the way her hands kneaded at his shoulders, and her legs locked around his waist, made him ravenous.
He knew he’d need this, need her, over and over again forever.
If this first time didn’t kill him.
“Maggie.” He buried his face in her neck, breathing in the scent of her, fighting for control. “Fuck, Maggie.”
She tightened her legs and tilted her hips up, pulling him impossibly deeper. “Move, Anson. Please.”
He almost lost it right then and there. The orgasm built in him like a detonation. He set his teeth, holding still until it ebbed back to manageable.
He pulled back. Thrust in again. The sensation was almost too much—the clutching heat of her, the low, throaty moan she gave, the way her nails marked trails down his back.
“More,” she groaned. “Harder.”
A primal need that he’d denied for too long took over. He needed more, too. Of her. He needed her to feel every inch of him, to think about him pounding into her whenever she sat down tomorrow. He needed to brand himself on her. In her.
He scooped her leg onto his shoulder and drove into her with a force that made the bed frame creak in protest.
“Yes,” she gasped. “God, yes. Like that.”
He watched her face, mesmerized by the play of pleasure across her features, the way her lips parted on each exhale, the flush spreading across her chest.
She tightened around him suddenly. “Anson, I’m—”
“Let go. Come all over me.”
Her eyes rolled back, her neck arched, and her mouth fell open. Guttural, unguarded sounds escaped as she came, her whole body shuddering and clutching around him. She was so beautiful like this—flushed and desperate, gold smeared across her breasts and throat.
His Maggie.
His Magnolia.
Now that he’d had her, he’d never get enough.
He shifted angles, driving deeper, and his thumb found her clit.
“Again,” he growled, his control fraying with each stroke.
Her legs shook so hard they whole bed trembled. “I can’t—”
He cut her off with a kiss, swallowing her protests.
“You can,” he murmured against her lips. “Let go, Magnolia. I’ve got you.”
Her eyes widened, then fluttered closed as he held still and deep and worked her with just his hand. He wasn’t going to last once he started moving again, and he needed her to take every ounce of pleasure he could give first.
The second orgasm built faster, her body already primed and sensitive. She clutched at his shoulders, gold-streaked fingers digging into his skin as she shattered again, a keening cry torn from her throat.
He pulled out and thrust into her as she came. Once. Twice more, as hard and deep as he could get, then he exploded inside the condom, the force of release leaving him dizzy.
He’d never come so hard in his fucking life.
He barely remembered how to breathe.
He pressed his face into her shoulder and rode out the aftershocks, feeling her clench around him until she went limp, breathing hard. A warm, drowsy hush settled over them, the only sounds their unsteady breathing and the slow tick of the wall clock.
Maggie’s hand drifted up and down his back. She traced the dip and twist of his spine, the strange hills and valleys, until her fingers curled at the nape of his neck. And for the first time since he set that fire, he didn’t care that his scars were on full display.
Kintsugi.
It was the best fucking idea he’d ever had, and he was suddenly very glad for Ghost’s broken blue mug.
Laughter bubbled up out of him. Pure, unfiltered joy. He hadn’t felt anything like it in so long, he didn’t think he was capable anymore.
“Oh, no. Did I break you?” The satisfaction in her smile was so bright it might as well have been its own sunrise.
“I’m good,” he promised, voice still wrecked from what she’d just done to him. “Better than good.”
He moved to shift his weight off her, but she tightened her arms and legs around him.
“Stay,” she whispered. “Just a little longer.”
Damn. Guilt stabbed through him, dampening the afterglow. She thought he was going to leave, run away to the forge again, and leave her alone.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he promised, his voice rough with emotion. “Not tonight. Not ever again.”
She relaxed beneath him, and he carefully shifted his weight to the side, keeping one leg tangled with hers and his arm slung across her waist. Gold paint smeared between them, marking them both now.
He’d never seen anything so beautiful as Maggie in this moment—flushed and satisfied, her skin gleaming with sweat and paint, her hair a wild tangle around her face.
“You’re staring,” she murmured, her lips curving into a sleepy smile.
“Can’t help it.” He traced a finger along her collarbone, following a streak of gold. “You’re something else, Magnolia Rowe.”
“So are you.” She turned toward him, her hand coming up to cup his face. Her thumb brushed over his beard, leaving another golden smudge. “I’ve wanted this for so long.”
A lump rose in his throat, riding a strange mix of joy and regret. “You deserved it sooner.”
“No.” She leaned in to brush a feather-light kiss against his lips. “This happened exactly when it needed to. Not a moment before.”
He pulled her closer, his body already stirring again despite the bone-deep satisfaction still humming through his veins.
Outside, snow began to fall, tiny flakes catching the moonlight as they drifted past the window.
The cabin felt suspended in time, a perfect moment he wished he could stretch into infinity.