Chapter 4 Josie
JOSIE
Iwas on fire.
His hands were everywhere—my waist, my ribs, my breasts. His mouth traced a path down my neck that made my knees buckle. If he hadn’t had me pinned against the wall, I would have slid straight to the floor.
“Roarke.”
His name came out as a gasp. I didn’t even know what I was asking for. More. Everything. Whatever he’d give me.
He pulled back just enough to look at me, his gray eyes dark with want. “We should stop.”
“No.”
“Josie—”
“You said you wouldn’t take me to bed.” I reached up and fisted my hand in his shirt, pulling him closer. “We’re not in a bed.”
Something shifted in his expression. A war between restraint and desire, playing out right in front of me. I watched him fight it—watched him lose.
“Fuck,” he muttered, and then his mouth was on mine again.
He lifted me like I weighed nothing, his hands gripping my thighs as my legs wrapped around his waist. I could feel him hard against me, and the knowledge that I’d done that to him—quiet, guarded Roarke—sent a thrill through my entire body.
He carried me to the couch and laid me down on the worn leather, his body covering mine. The weight of him felt like safety and danger all at once.
“Last chance,” he said against my lips. “Tell me to stop and I will.”
I pulled back to meet his eyes. This man who rescued dogs and built furniture and offered his spare room to a stranger. This man who said he liked my voice when everyone else had told me to quiet down.
“Don’t stop,” I whispered. “Please don’t stop.”
His mouth claimed mine again, slower this time, deeper, like he was memorizing every shape and taste. One hand slid under my sweater, rough fingers dragging over my bare skin until he cupped my breast through my bra, thumb brushing the hardened peak until I arched with a broken sound.
Roarke pulled back just far enough to grip the hem of my sweater.
He peeled it over my head in one smooth motion, taking my bra with it in a quick, practiced tug—hooks already loosened somehow in the commotion.
Cool air hit my flushed, bare breasts and then his heat was back—mouth closing over one nipple, tongue flicking, then sucking hard enough that pleasure arrowed straight between my legs.
My hips jerked up instinctively, seeking friction.
He groaned against my breast. “You’re so fucking sensitive.”
The words vibrated through me. I threaded my fingers into his hair, holding him there while his other hand worked the button of my jeans open. The zipper came down with agonizing slowness, the sound obscene in the quiet room.
And then he rose and moved to my feet. Roarke lifted one ankle gently, his large hand wrapping around it like it was something precious.
He tugged the shoe off—first one, then the other—with careful, unhurried movements.
The soft thuds as they hit the floor felt louder than they should have. My pulse thundered in my ears.
He peeled off my socks next, rolling them down slowly, thumbs brushing the sensitive skin behind my knees as he went. Bare feet now, toes curling against the cool leather. He kissed each instep, a soft open-mouthed press that made me shiver, before setting my feet back down.
Only then did he return his attention to my jeans. He hooked his fingers into the waistband—and the thin lace of my panties beneath—and tugged both down together in one smooth, deliberate motion.
The denim dragged over my hips, catching briefly at the fullest part before sliding free.
Cool air kissed the newly bared skin of my thighs, the damp heat between my legs.
He pulled the jeans and panties the rest of the way off, easing them over my calves, past my ankles, until they joined my shoes and socks in a careless pile on the floor.
I was completely naked now.
He stayed crouched there for a long moment, eyes raking over me—slow, reverent, hungry.
From the curve of my bare breasts still flushed and glistening from his mouth, down the dip of my waist, over the soft swell of my hips, to the area between my thighs where I was already glistening for him.
Heat crawled up my chest and into my face.
I started to cross my arms over my breasts, suddenly self-conscious of every imperfection, but Roarke caught my wrists gently. He pinned them beside my head again, leaning down so his mouth hovered just above mine.
“Don’t hide,” he said, voice gravel-rough and low. “I want to see you. All of you. Every fucking inch.”
The raw want in his eyes stole my breath. I swallowed hard. Nodded once.
He released my wrists and slid lower, resuming that deliberate path of kisses—over my ribs, the quivering plane of my stomach, the sensitive skin just above my pubic bone.
Each press of his lips felt like a brand.
He finally settled between my thighs, broad shoulders spreading me wider.
He hooked my legs over them with careful hands.
Panic and want collided in my chest all over again. “Roarke—” My voice cracked, half plea, half prayer.
“I’ve got you,” he murmured against the inside of my thigh, breath hot against my core. “Just breathe, Josie. Let me take care of you.”
“Roarke—I’ve never—”
“I know.” He pressed a soft, open-mouthed kiss to the inside of my thigh. “That’s why I’m going to make this good for you. I promise.”
His breath ghosted over my most sensitive skin and I whimpered.
Then his tongue—slow, flat, deliberate—dragged up the center of me.
My hips bucked and a cry tore out of my throat.
He did it again, firmer this time, circling my clit with the tip of his tongue until my thighs trembled around his head.
One thick finger traced my entrance, gathering wetness, teasing without pushing inside. “So wet already,” he murmured against me. “You taste so fucking sweet, Josie.”
The praise melted something inside me. I reached down, clutching his hair, trying to pull him closer.
He gave me what I wanted—slid one finger in slowly, carefully, letting me adjust to the stretch.
It didn’t hurt, just felt…full. Strange and perfect at once.
He curled it, pressed against a spot that made stars burst behind my eyelids.
“Roarke—oh God—”
He added a second finger, stretching me wider, pumping slowly while his tongue kept working my clit in steady, relentless circles. Pressure built fast—too fast. My thighs shook, my breath came in ragged pants.
“I’m—I think I’m going to—”
“Come for me,” he growled against my flesh. “Let me feel it.”
The command tipped me over. Pleasure snapped tight and shattered. I cried out his name, back bowing off the couch as wave after wave crashed through me. He didn’t stop—kept licking softly, fingers moving gently until the aftershocks faded and I was trembling, boneless.
When he finally lifted his head, his lips were glossy, eyes blazing. He crawled back up my body and kissed me deep, letting me taste myself on his tongue. I moaned into his mouth, hands fumbling for his belt.
He caught my wrists again. “Slow, baby. We’ve got time.”
“I want you inside me,” I whispered, cheeks burning even after everything he’d just done. “Please. I’m ready.”
He searched my face for a long moment, then nodded once. He stood long enough to strip off his shirt and shove his jeans and boxers down. His cock sprang free—heavy, thick, already leaking at the tip. My mouth went dry.
He knelt between my thighs again, fisting himself once, twice, spreading the wetness over the head. “You sure?”
“Yes.” I reached for him, sliding my hand down his length. He hissed through his teeth. “And—I’m on birth control. The shot. We’re safe.”
His eyes darkened further. “Fuck. Good girl.”
He braced one hand beside my head, used the other to guide himself to my entrance. The broad head nudged inside—just the tip—and I sucked in a breath at the stretch.
“Breathe,” he murmured, kissing my jaw, my temple. “Relax for me.”
I forced myself to exhale. He pushed forward inch by glorious inch, pausing every time I tensed, whispering praise against my skin—how good I felt, how perfect, how beautiful. When he was finally seated fully, hips flush against mine, we both stilled.
Full. So full I could barely think. But it didn’t hurt the way I’d feared—just pressure, heat, the delicious ache of being claimed.
“You okay?” His voice was strained, arms trembling with the effort of holding still.
I nodded, then rocked my hips experimentally. We both groaned.
“Move,” I begged. “Please move.”
He pulled out almost all the way—slow, deliberate—then slid back in with one smooth stroke. The friction was exquisite. He set a careful rhythm, deep and measured, watching my face for any sign of discomfort. There was none. Only building heat, only the desperate need for more.
I wrapped my legs around his waist, pulling him deeper. “Harder,” I whispered. “I can take it.”
Something snapped in his control. His thrusts grew sharper, stronger, each one driving the breath from my lungs. The couch creaked beneath us. Skin slapped against skin. I clawed at his back, nails digging in, chasing the edge again.
“Touch yourself,” he ordered, voice wrecked. “Come with me inside you.”
My hand slid between us. Fingers found my swollen clit and circled fast. The combination—his thick cock stretching me, the relentless pressure on that perfect spot inside, my own fingers—was too much.
“Roarke—I’m—”
“Me too, baby. Fuck—Josie—”
He slammed in one last time, burying himself to the hilt as he came with a guttural groan. The hot pulse of him inside me triggered my own release. I came again, clenching tight, crying out as pleasure ripped through me again, brighter and deeper than before.
He collapsed over me, breathing hard, forehead pressed to mine. For long minutes we just lay there, tangled and trembling, hearts hammering against each other.
Finally he kissed me—soft, slow, reverent. “You’re incredible,” he whispered.
I smiled against his lips, still dazed, still full of him. “So are you.”
And for the first time in my life, I didn’t feel like I had to be quiet.