Chapter 11 Carla
Carla
Iwoke to warmth and the steady rhythm of breathing that wasn’t my own.
Sometime during the night, we’d migrated to the center of the bed, drawn together like magnets seeking their opposite pole.
Becken’s arm lay across my waist, holding me close.
My head rested against his chest, rising and falling with each breath he took.
The scent of his clean, masculine skin with hints of pine filled my senses.
I should move. Extract myself before he woke up and found us tangled together like lovers instead of colleagues stranded by a storm. But it felt too good to lay with him. Safe in a way I’d never experienced. I felt protected. Cherished.
His heartbeat drummed beneath my ear, and he shifted, murmuring something that must be Orcish. His arm tightened around me, an unconscious gesture that made my heart flutter. I’d never felt this completely at home in another person’s arms.
The realization should’ve sent me scrambling for distance. Instead, I found myself memorizing the way his breathing stirred my hair, the solid strength of his chest beneath my cheek, and the gentle weight of his arm around me.
Becken stirred again, his breathing pattern shifting as consciousness returned. I felt the exact moment he became aware of our position, his body tensing. But he didn’t pull away. Instead, his hand moved in a slow caress along my side, a gesture so tender it made my throat close off.
“Carla.” My name came out rough with sleep, barely more than a whisper.
I lifted my head to look at him, acutely aware of how close our faces were. His dark eyes held mine, his pupils dilated in the dim light filtering through the frost-covered windows. The air between us crackled with tension.
“Hi,” I breathed, suddenly aware of how my legs had tangled with his during the night, how my body was pressed against his from chest to thigh.
“Hi.” His voice carried a huskiness that sent heat spiraling through me.
We stared at each other, neither moving to break the intimate contact. His gaze dropped to my mouth, lingered there for a heartbeat that felt like eternity, then returned to my eyes. The question in his expression was unmistakable.
I answered by closing the distance between us.
The kiss started gentle, questioning, his lips soft against mine. But the moment I responded, parting my lips to deepen the contact, we ignited. His hand rose up to cup my nape, and he tilted my head for better access. I melted against him with a soft sound of surrender.
He kissed me like he’d been thinking about it for days, with an intensity that made my spine tingle.
His mouth moved on mine with skill and passion, drawing responses from me I didn’t know I was capable of.
When his tongue traced the seam of my lips, I opened for him eagerly, tasting the unique flavor that was purely Becken.
The kiss deepened, became urgent. I spread my hands across the solid wall of his chest, sucking in the feel of his warm skin. He groaned against my mouth, the sound vibrating through our bodies, then rolled me onto my back in one smooth motion.
His weight settled over me, careful not to crush but definitely claiming.
The evidence of his arousal pressed against my leg, and his pupils had blown wide with desire.
My own body responded by sending liquid heat through me, centering it in my core where I ached for so much more than steamy kisses. My nerve endings sang with awareness.
He lifted his head, staring down at me. “Carla.” This time, my name sounded like a prayer and a promise combined.
“Yes,” I whispered, not even sure what I was agreeing to, only knowing I wanted more of this, more of him.
He kissed me again, deeper this time, his hands roaming over my body. When his mouth left mine to trail along my jaw, I arched beneath him, desperate for more contact. His lips found the sensitive spot beneath my ear, and I gasped, clutching his shoulders.
He slid his hand beneath the hem of my shirt, his warm fingers stroking across bare skin, making me shiver. He paused, his dark gaze searching mine for permission. I gave it with a nod, my breath snagging as he pushed the fabric up, baring my belly to the cool morning air.
Becken leaned down, trailing his lips after his hand as he exposed inch after inch of skin. He pressed slow kisses along my belly, each one searing through me. The contrast between the heat of his mouth and the chill of the room sent goosebumps racing across my skin.
When he reached my ribs, he paused, his eyes flicking up to mine again.
He released a small, almost teasing smile before shifting to his elbow and gently guiding my shirt over my head.
I lifted my arms, my heart pounding, and let him strip it away.
I lay bare before him except for my underpants, but under his gaze, I didn’t feel exposed. I felt worshipped.
He bent again, his mouth trailing along the tender skin beneath my breast, his fingertips following the dip below my ribs.
His breath was warm, his touch maddeningly gentle.
I slid my fingers into his hair, holding on as he kissed the curve of my breast, his stubble rasping deliciously against my skin.
“So pretty,” he said, his voice thick with wonder.
My breath trembled out of me at the words, at the way he said them like he’d been waiting a very long time to say them aloud.
Then he lowered his head again and kissed above my heart, his lips dragging heat through my chest. I arched, pressing into him.
He worshiped my breast with his lips and tongue, lavishing it with a groan that thrummed through me. I gasped his name, the sound raw with wanting, and he answered by drawing my nipple deeper into his mouth.
His hand cradled my hip as his lips closed around the tight, aching peak, coaxing it with a devastating gentleness.
A low moan escaped my throat as he sucked, the heat of his mouth pulling another shudder from deep inside me.
His other hand glided up my side, his rough fingertips grazing the edge of my hip before easing over to cup my other breast, his thumb circling in tandem with the rhythmic pull of his mouth.
I could do nothing but feel. The world had narrowed to the points where he touched me, tasted me, breathed me in.
My legs shifted, restless beneath him, searching for friction, for anything to anchor me against the rising tide he’d dragged from deep inside me.
He switched sides, dragging his open mouth across the sensitive valley between my breasts, leaving a trail of fire in his wake.
“Becken…” My voice was hardly more than a breath, but he heard me. He looked up, a thread of restraint visible in the tight line of his jaw, the flicker in his eyes.
“Is this alright?” he asked.
I nodded, unable to speak through the storm swelling inside me. My fingers still woven into his hair, I urged him back down, needing more of what he’d started.
His lips curved. “Good.”
And then he was worshipping a path down my torso, over the fluttering tension of my belly. He paused at my navel before continuing lower, his fingers tracing idle circles on my hips. Every touch made me feel like I was dissolving, shaped and reshaped by this male alone.
When he reached the waistband of my underwear, he stilled. His gaze met mine again, this time asking for something deeper. I nodded again, my eyes wide, and my heart thundering loud enough to drown out everything else.
With exquisite care, he slid the fabric down, his hands slow and careful. I lifted my hips to help him, my nerves and need warring beneath my skin.
“You drive me mad,” he whispered.
The words sent a shiver of anticipation through me. I’d never had a man speak to me like that, with such raw hunger combined with careful consideration. The combination was intoxicating.
“Please,” I breathed.
And then he bent again, and all thoughts unraveled, swept away by the sensation of him kissing my thighs with the same tenderness, the same aching awe, that he’d given my breasts.
He settled his upper body firmly between my thighs, his large hands gentle on my legs as he positioned me exactly where he wanted me.
When his mouth first touched me, I cried out, my back arching off the bed.
He explored me with his tongue and lips, learning what made me gasp, what made me writhe beneath him.
He watched me as if I was a poem he was learning line by aching line. He trailed feather-light kisses along the inside of my trembling thighs. Each press of his lips was tender, worshipful, his breath warm on my sensitive skin.
Then he found my core, sucking and gliding his scratchy tongue across my clit.
He slid one hand up, stroking along the apex of my thighs before dipping between, his fingertips finding me slick and wet. His groan rang out. “Amazing. Perfectly, wonderfully amazing.”
With a thrust, he buried a finger inside me.
I nearly came from his mouth and finger alone. I could already tell this was going to be achingly good.
I moaned, lifting my hips, needing more.
His tongue teased, his fingers driving in and out of me in a rhythm that was going to shoot me through the roof of this tiny cabin. The combination of wet heat and slow tongue action was almost too much. A fresh wave of pleasure swelled inside me, curling low in my belly.
“Oh… Becken…” My voice came out broken.
He groaned, and the sound vibrated through me, sending another shiver dancing across my skin. He didn’t rush. Didn’t chase. He gave, each movement designed to unmake me.
He shifted, lowering himself further between my legs, spreading me open so he could taste me more fully. His tongue lapped with increasing intensity, then softened again, drawing me into a rhythm I couldn’t control. His fingers teased and coaxed in ways that made my thighs shake.
I clutched the blankets, digging my fingertips into the fabric as my pleasure rose, one peak at a time. His name tumbled from my lips again and again.