Chapter 4
WADE
She was undressing next to me. Brielle, the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen, was gradually removing layers of clothing on the passenger seat of my truck.
I looked around. We were in the parking lot, surrounded by vehicles, but with the Christmas pageant starting up any second, nobody was around. On top of that, our heavy breathing was fogging up the windows. The foggy windows alone might get attention, so I’d have to keep an eye out while we—
My thoughts froze as she popped the clasp of her bra and it loosened. Without taking her eyes off me, she shrugged it down her arms, bearing a pair of generous tits with light pink nipples that were pebbled into hard tips.
Fuck. Me. I’d never seen anything like it.
The cab was hot, the air filled with her perfume and the sharp pull of want. The old bench seat I’d never replaced suddenly felt like the best decision I’d made. But none of that mattered—only the woman beside me, her skin catching the dim, fogged-in light.
“What do we do now?” she asked.
Her eyes were dark pools of want, and a shy, powerful smile played on her lips as her fingers drifted up to trace the curves of her own breasts. Her touch was a silent, devastating enticement.
That was it. The last thread of my control snapped.
I whipped off my coat and sweater in frantic motions, the wool catching on my watch. The cool air of the cab hit my sweat-dampened skin, but it did nothing to cool the fire in my blood. My voice was a ragged growl, stripped down to its most basic instinct.
“Lay down.”
She did, her back arching slightly as she settled against the worn vinyl. Our legs tangled, my knees bent at an angle to fit the cramped space.
I settled over her and crushed my mouth to hers. The kiss was all heat and hunger, a claiming. I could taste the mint of her lip balm and something uniquely, essentially her.
I tore my mouth from hers, my lips trailing a burning path down the elegant, fluttering column of her throat. I found the frantic, rabbit-like pulse at its base and sucked gently, earning another broken gasp.
I worshipped my way down, over the trembling curve of her stomach. My hands—rough and calloused from a lifetime of swinging hammers and hauling lumber—felt crude and alien against the satin-smooth perfection of her skin. The contrast was so stark, it wrenched a guttural groan from me.
I was marking her with my touch, with my roughness, and the possessive thrill of it shot straight to my core.
I hooked my fingers in the delicate lace at her hips. “Lift,” I commanded, my voice thick. She raised her hips, a gesture of pure trust, and I drew the final barrier down her legs, letting it fall forgotten to the floorboards.
She was bare. Utterly exposed and so breathtakingly beautiful, it was a physical ache in my chest. I slid my hand back up the silken skin of her inner thigh, and she jolted, a sharp, sweet whimper escaping her.
The sound was swallowed by the distant, tinny melody of “Jingle Bell Rock” from the fairgrounds—a bizarre, cheerful soundtrack to our sin.
My touch was a slow, circling exploration, learning the map of her. Her hips gave a helpless little jerk, a silent plea. When I found the swollen, sensitive nub of her clit and stroked it, her breath caught in a hiccup.
“There?” I rasped against her damp skin.
“Yes…oh, yes, right there,” she whimpered, her fingers tangling in my hair.
Emboldened, I slid a single finger inside her, and her inner muscles clenched around me, hot and impossibly tight. And so, so wet. For me. The realization was a lightning strike.
Damn. I did that. I was the luckiest, most grateful son of a bitch on Earth.
Her eyes flew open, wide with shock and a dawning, overwhelming pleasure. I watched, mesmerized, as those dark eyes slid closed again, her head pressing back against the seat. Her sighs became a mantra, climbing, climbing, climbing…
“Let go, baby,” I urged, my voice rough with encouragement. “I’ve got you. Just let go.”
And she did. Her body bowed, tensed for a stunning second, and then trembled. My name was a broken prayer on her lips as the waves of pleasure racked her, leaving her trembling and boneless beneath me. I gentled my touch, drawing out her climax until the last aftershock subsided.
For a long moment, there was only the symphony of our ragged breathing and the faraway echo of a crowd cheering for something we’d never see. Then, her voice, husky and changed, cut through the haze.
“Your turn.” Her eyes opened, gleaming with newfound confidence. “Sit up. Take off your clothes.”
I moved as if in a dream, shifting my weight back into the driver’s seat. My hands, usually so sure and steady, shook as I fumbled with my belt buckle, the clink of it loud in the silence. I shoved my jeans and boxers down my hips, finally freeing my aching, straining cock.
Brielle didn’t hesitate. She repositioned herself with a fluid grace until she was squatting next to me on the bench seat. The determined look on her flushed face was the last thing I saw before she lowered her head and slid her mouth over the head of my cock.
A harsh, guttural sound was torn from my throat.
It was awkward, unpracticed. Her teeth scraped gently, and her rhythm was uncertain.
But the sheer, devastating intimacy of it—the sight of her pink lips stretched around me, the feel of her warm, wet mouth, the tickle of her hair on my thighs—it was all the most erotic thing I’d ever experienced.
I buried my hands in her silken hair, not to guide her, but to anchor myself, to feel connected to this incredible woman who was so bravely taking me.
And she learned. Quickly. Her mouth became surer, her tongue swirling in a way that had my head slamming back against the headrest. My hips gave an involuntary jerk.
“Brielle…stop.” The words were a strangled plea. “God, sweetheart, you have to stop or this will be over before it starts.”
She pulled back, her lips swollen and glistening, her eyes blazing with a power that made my heart stutter.
She didn’t speak. Instead, she climbed into my lap, her knees straddling my hips on the wide seat.
The position was intensely intimate, dominating.
I could feel her incredible heat against my stomach.
“Brielle,” I breathed, my hands settling on her hips, feeling the fine tremor in her muscles. A sudden, sobering thought cleaved through the lust. “Wait.” My thumbs stilled their circles. “Are you…are you protected?”
She nodded, her gaze steady and honest. “The pill. I’m safe.”
A barrier fell. But a greater one remained. I could feel the tension in her thighs, see the faint trace of nervousness flicker behind the desire in her eyes.
“It’s your first time,” I said softly, my thumb stroking the delicate architecture of her hipbone. The need in me was a screaming beast, but she mattered more. “We don’t have to. We can stop right now. Just say the word.”
Her answer was immediate, her voice firm and clear. “No.” She leaned forward, her breasts brushing my chest, and whispered against my lips, “I want you. I want this. With you.”
Those words undid me completely. They forged a bond that went far beyond the physical.
She reached between us, her small, sure hand guiding me to her entrance.
I held her gaze, my heart hammering against my ribs like it wanted to break free and join with hers.
This was a threshold, and we were racing across it together.
She sank down slowly, a sharp cry escaping her as she took me inside, stretching to accommodate me. I watched her face, every flicker of pain and shock and dawning wonder, and I remained still, every muscle trembling with the effort of holding back.
“Okay?” I rasped, the words strained. “Look at me. Are you okay?”
She nodded, her eyes squeezing shut for a moment as she absorbed the feeling. When they opened, they were filled with a startling, fierce clarity.
“Don’t stop,” she breathed.
She began to move, a tentative, experimental rock of her hips that made us both groan in unison.
I ran my tongue over one peaked nipple, tasting the salt of her skin and the essence of her arousal, and she cried out, her movements becoming less hesitant, more urgent.
Her hands gripped my shoulders, her nails biting into my skin.
My own hand slipped between our sweat-slicked bodies, finding that perfect, sensitive spot again.
I circled it in time with her rising rhythm, my own pleasure building in a fierce, coiling tension deep in my gut.
Her breaths became ragged sobs against my neck, her inner muscles beginning to flutter around me like a frantic heartbeat as she climbed again.
“That’s it, baby,” I murmured, my voice thick with awe. “Come for me again. I want to feel you let go.”
I couldn’t take my eyes off her as she came. Her head was thrown back, a cord of her neck straining, a silent scream of pure ecstasy on her lips as her second climax ripped through her. The feel of her clenching around me, milking me, was my undoing.
As she pulsed around me, her release triggered my own.
I held her hips tight, pulling her down onto me as I spilled myself deep inside her, my own guttural groan muffled against the hot skin of her neck.
The world—with its craft fairs, its holiday music, its very existence—ceased to be.
There was only her. The feel of her around me, the scent of her in my lungs, the profound, staggering realization that this wasn’t just a physical act.
This was a beginning. A claiming. A promise.
We collapsed together in the cramped space, a tangled, breathless, sated heap on the bench seat.
The windows were completely fogged now, sealing us in our own private, blissful universe.
The only sounds were our gradually slowing heartbeats and the soft, aftershock tremors that occasionally wracked her body.
I held her close, cradling her against my chest, feeling the frantic beat of her heart slowly steady against my own. I had no words. There were none adequate for the cataclysm that had just passed between us. It was more than attraction. It was a revelation, written on our very souls.
This was the woman. My woman. For life. Maybe she didn’t know it yet, but I did. With every fiber of my being, I knew. And I would move heaven and earth to keep her by my side.