Chapter 35 #2
“Anson,” she gasped, tugging at his hair. “Come here.”
He rose over her, his expression almost reverent as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
Gold paint still dusted his chest, catching the faint light seeping through the curtains.
She reached for him, pulling him down for a kiss that tasted of herself and him and something new they were creating together.
“I need you inside me,” she whispered against his lips. “Now.”
“No condom,” he gritted out, even as he teased the head of his cock through her wetness.
“It’s okay. I’m on birth control.” She arched against him, needing all of him inside, needing the weight, the heat, the raw presence of Anson pressing her down into the mattress. “I only bought the condoms so you wouldn’t have an excuse to back away the first time.”
“Fuck,” he groaned, and his hips snapped forward to bury himself completely. The sudden stretch and fullness made her gasp and arch beneath him, her body stretching to accommodate his size. He stilled, his forehead pressed to hers, trembling with the effort of restraining himself.
“Okay?” he whispered, voice strained.
“Better than okay.” She wrapped her legs around his waist, urging him deeper. “Don’t hold back. I want all of you.”
“You have me.” He braced his forearms on either side of her head, changing the angle to drive deeper. “Every fucking part of me.”
She wrapped her legs tighter around his waist, urging him on. His pace quickened, each thrust harder than the last, the headboard banging against the wall with a rhythm that would leave no doubt for anyone nearby what they were doing.
“So tight. So perfect. Love the sounds you make,” he murmured, dipping his head to nip at her earlobe. “Love how you take me so deep. Love how you feel around my cock.”
Heat coiled tight in her belly, her body clenching around him as the man who never spoke whispered naught things in her ear.
“Don’t stop talking. Please don’t stop.”
He smiled against her neck—she could feel the curve of his lips—and then his voice was a low rumble in her ear again.
“Every night since you got here, I thought about this,” he rasped, his thrusts never faltering.
“Thought about you in my bed, on my bench, bent over the anvil. I’d stroke myself and wish it was your hand, your mouth.
Even when I tried not to, I’d picture you—hair wild, lips red, tits bouncing when you ride me.
” His hand snaked between their bodies, thumb circling her clit.
“Knew it’d be like this. Knew you’d be so fucking wet for me, so greedy for it. ”
This was Anson without restraint, without the careful control he maintained. This was the man beneath all that quiet, and he was glorious.
Each filthy word, each brutal thrust, stoked the heat winding inside her into a blaze. He punctuated every confession with a harder snap of his hips: “Wanted to fuck you open, make you scream my name.” Thrust. “Wanted to ruin you for anyone else.” Thrust. “Wanted you so bad it hurt.”
“God, Anson, yes—” She was gone, splintered around him, the orgasm tearing through her with enough force to leave her shaking. He didn’t stop, not even as her body seized and spasmed, just fucked her through it, voice a steady grind in her ear.
“Look at me,” he commanded, and she did, eyes blurry with tears, half-mad with need. “You’re mine now, Magnolia. Say it.”
“I’m yours,” she managed.
He picked up his pace, chasing his own release. “Fuck, I’m close. Want to feel you come again. Come with me.”
His hand slipped between them, finding her oversensitive clit.
The direct touch after her orgasm was almost too much, sharp pleasure bordering on pain, but she couldn’t pull away, didn’t want to.
He worked her with the same focus he brought to his metal, to his leather, his thumb moving in tight circles as his hips maintained their punishing rhythm.
Her second orgasm crashed over her without warning, stealing her breath, her vision, her ability to think. This time, he followed her over, a hoarse shout torn from his throat as he pulsed deep within her.
For a long moment, neither of them moved, just breathed against each other, bodies slick with sweat. Then he rolled to the side, taking her with him, keeping them connected as he gathered her close.
“Didn’t know you had such a filthy mouth on you,” she murmured against his chest, enjoying the hammer of his heart under her cheek.
He huffed a laugh. “Neither did I.”
She traced a gold-streaked pattern on his skin. “I love it.”
His arms tightened around her, and one hand lazily stroked her back. “I love you. Here. With me.” He shifted, and she realized he was hard again.
“Oh my God. Already? You’re insatiable.”
“Apparently.” He turned her back toward him and stroked a hand over her ass before gripping his cock and finding her entrance again. With a slow, easy thrust, he filled her. “Is this okay?”
“More than okay,” she sighed, pushing back against him, taking him deeper. This time was different—languid, unhurried. His hand slid around to cup her breast, thumb brushing over her nipple as he rocked into her from behind. “I could get used to this.”
“Good,” he murmured against her neck. “Because I plan on waking you up like this every morning.”
She smiled and covered his hand with hers, guiding it lower until his fingers found her clit. “Promise?”
“Promise.”
They moved together slowly, with her pushing back into his every lazy thrust.
“Magnolia.” He murmured and pressed his forehead against her shoulder. She’d always hated her full name, but not on Anson’s lips. He made it sound like a prayer. “My Magnolia.”
Something thunked against the window.
Anson jerked upright, instantly alert. “What the fuck?”
Bramble lifted his head from his bed on the floor and grumbled.
“Merry Christmas, lovebirds!”
“River,” she groaned, burying her face against the pillow. “Worst timing ever.”
“I’m going to kill him.” He kissed her and withdrew from her body, and she instantly felt empty without him.
She sat up and dragged the sheet over her breasts, smiling as she watched him dress. The gold paint glinted with his every movement in the morning light.
A second thunk on the window.
Anson stalked over, yanked the curtain back, and shoved open the window a couple of inches just as River wound up to throw a third snowball. “Don’t even think about it.”
River’s grin was visible even from a distance. He gave an exaggerated bow, then called out, “Just making sure you two didn’t miss the festivities. Nessie made cinnamon rolls!”
“We’ll be there,” Anson grumbled. “Now go away.”
“Is that any way to thank the guy who took care of your kittens all night while you two—”
“GO. AWAY.”
River laughed, tossed the snowball in the air, and caught it, then sauntered off, whistling “Jingle Bells” with obnoxious cheerfulness.
Anson closed the window and turned back to her, his scowl softening as his gaze traced over her body.
“I should be annoyed, but I’m actually glad he took care of the kittens.” She stretched languidly, the sheet slipping to reveal more skin. “Though we should probably get them back soon.”
“Soon.” His voice dropped an octave as he stalked back to the bed. “Not yet.” He sat on the edge and reached out to trace a line of gold along her collarbone. “I’m not done with you.”
“What about Nessie’s cinnamon rolls?”
“They’ll keep.” His hand slid beneath the sheet, finding her breast, thumb circling her nipple until it pebbled beneath his touch. “This is more important.”
“Insatiable.” She laughed and swatted his hand away before scooting off the bed, dragging the sheet with her. “I want a shower to wash off this paint.”
“We could save water,” Anson suggested. “Shower together.”
“Very environmentally conscious of you.” She let the sheet fall away as she headed for the small bathroom and felt his gaze on her ass. She glanced over her shoulder. “Coming?”
“Not yet, but you will be again as soon as I get my hands on you again.” He was on his feet in an instant, following her like he was tethered to her by an invisible string.
The bathroom was barely big enough for one person, let alone two, but they made it work, bodies pressed together under the spray.
The water ran gold at first, the paint washing away in rivulets down their skin, swirling at their feet before disappearing down the drain.
Anson backed her against the cool tile, his hands sliding over her wet skin. “I’ll never get enough of touching you.”
“Good.” She reached for the soap, working it into a lather between her palms before spreading it across his chest. The scars felt different under the water—smoother in some places, more pronounced in others.
She took her time, cleaning away the remnants of gold, revealing the man beneath.
“Because I plan on being touched by you for a very long time.”
His eyes darkened as her soapy hands moved lower and wrapped around his length. “Magnolia...”
“Hmm?” She stroked him slowly, watching his face tighten with pleasure.
“I’m supposed to be making you come.”
“You will.” She sank to her knees, the shower spray hitting her back as she looked up at him through wet lashes. “Eventually.”