Chapter Four A Positively Medieval Date #4
His hands continued circling and cupping my bottom and I ground into his length. He moaned, clutching me harder against him. I ran my hands all the way up to his shoulders before dipping them down under the button of his pants, the sparse wiry hair on his lower stomach promising more.
“Is this okay?” he whispered.
“Yes. I want you so bad.”
“Dottie, I’ve wanted you since I met you. You have no idea the agony you’ve put me through. Every time I see you riding, I’ve wanted to reach over and grab this backside. Tear you off and into the woods. Imagined what you would do if I came to your tent in the night...”
Oh, I should have expected that. Talking wasn’t just foreplay for Draw. It was part of the experience.
“You have no idea how exquisite you feel,” he purred.
His mouth was back on mine again. I was panting, but he didn’t give me any leave to stop.
Instead, I had to fight for my breath against his tongue.
Draw was much taller than I was, but his frame was slender.
I had taken that to mean he wasn’t strong, but he showed me wrong.
He maneuvered me against the dusky white wall of the ruin and lifted me up with one arm as the other hand wrapped my legs around him—something I read about in books but didn’t think happened in real life.
He kissed me, pinning me in place for a time.
I felt utterly helpless, pressed against the cold wall.
When I could hardly stand anymore, I wiggled down, still pinned between Draw and the wall, and unbuttoned my tunic.
I’d been wearing a half cami under my shirts to help with the jiggle while riding.
It had a built-in bra that was little more than another layer of fabric.
The straps were thin on my bare shoulders.
Draw drank me in. “I don’t know what this swath of Earth fabric is, but I don’t care.” He crouched and his mouth went slowly to the swell of one breast.
Too quickly he was gone and pulling off his own shirt. His shoulders were well muscled, his stomach flat, and there was a small run of black hair below his navel, disappearing into his pants.
My hands went immediately to his skin, and I felt a shock through my abdomen. My cotton underwear was wet by then and there was a thought I was afraid to act on, but desperately wanted to, my mind screaming it over and over again.
The truth was, even when I was with Henry, it was more like his penis was just suddenly there, even when I went down on him.
There had been little time to think or respond in any other way than what he had expected and when it was over, he had his clothes on before I could finish cleaning myself up.
I wanted to explore a man without being rushed.
My hands crept down to the front of Draw’s pants, and he stilled against me, his face against my neck, his hands cupping my breasts over my shirt. He went rigid as I touched him. I felt him mutter against my neck, but I didn’t hear it.
His penis was about the length of my hand. It strained eagerly against the wool fabric as I traced its outline. I was still completely aroused, but almost clinical at the same time. I lifted its weight slightly through the fabric.
That was too much for Draw. He seemed compelled to rub and suck at my neck with a fervor. I felt delighted that he was responding so instinctively. He was so controlled most of the time. It made me feel as if I’d unlocked something in him.
“Your hands, mmm, please keep doing that. Your hands are so—gah,” he breathed.
I grasped him tightly and rolled him under my palm before letting go.
In an instant, he was on his knees in front of me.
“Is this okay?”
I didn’t know what he was intending, but I didn’t care. I wanted it all, anything he would give me, so I nodded.
He brought his mouth near the split of my pants, his hands wrapped tightly around my legs. He put his mouth over me, layers of fabric separating us. I startled once.
He remained there for a time, wetting my pants, moving in rhythmic ways. Eventually it was too much. I sank against the wall, practically puddling to the floor.
Draw sank with me. I pulled the top half of my cami down so my breasts spilled out.
“I want to—” But what he wanted, he never said because he brought his hands to my chest and groaned in satisfaction. I felt soft and full against him. He kissed me deeply as he gently rubbed his thumbs over my stiff nipples.
Then, outside the horses shrilled. They sounded panicked.
I startled and Draw stood quickly. I pulled my camisole over my chest, grabbed my shirt, and followed him to the entrance of the ruins.
Peanut Butter and Draw’s horse had quieted but stood with necks fully upright, ears pinned toward one thicket of trees.
“What do you think it was?” I asked, buttoning my top.
“I’m not sure. Oh!” Draw pointed.
A rust-colored weasel darted through the spindly grass. It froze at the side of one discarded white brick, its black eyes gleaming as it surveyed our blanket. With a jolt, it sprinted forward and took our loaf of bread in its mouth.
That was too much for Draw. He dashed forward, shouting. “Ho! Get out of there, miscreant.”
“Miscreant?” I laughed. “I’ve never actually heard that word used.”
At the blanket, Draw pulled our containers and wrappers together. He glanced up at me, still shirtless. “Is that so? You’re a bit of miscreant yourself, you know.” He stood, bag in hand, and ran a hand along the side of my neck.
“Was it okay?” I asked. The spell broken, my mind raced through all the things I had done and suddenly wished I had done them differently. I wondered whether he had enjoyed them or found me lacking.
“You should know by now I don’t deal in ‘okay.’” He smiled. “It was very good, Dottie.”