Chapter 4
TORCH
We didn’t make it to the house. We didn’t even make it out of the garage.
Her hand, small and cool, tugged mine, pulling me away from the cabin, toward a bed. I turned back, about to say something, and froze when she let go. The loss of her touch hit like cold air.
She pulled off her coat and dropped it onto the oil-stained concrete. Then her gaze locked on mine—steady, deliberate—as she tugged her sweater over her head. Static lifted strands of her dark hair, a brief halo before it fell around her face again. The sweater hit the floor beside the coat.
“Fuck me here,” she said, her voice low, stripped of its earlier nervousness and sharpened into a pure command.
My brain short-circuited. Nothing worked—just static. Here? In the damn garage? With Bing Crosby crooning about snow on an old radio and tools lined up like they were judging us from the pegboard. But she was already unbuttoning her jeans, sliding them down over her hips and stepping out of them.
The air left my lungs. She was heat and sweetness in a place that smelled like motor oil and steel. Then she crooked a finger at me—slow, confident—and led me over to the Mustang. She climbed onto the hood.
The sight of her—fully bared and flushed from her climax, sprawled across the hood of my car—made my knees weak. Every sane thought, every caution about taking this slow, about her being untouched, evaporated in the furnace of that single image.
I was across the space in two strides, driven by a primal need. I hooked my fingers in the delicate lace of her panties and pulled them down, my knuckles brushing the fever-hot skin of her inner thighs.
She was completely bare, her pussy wet and glistening for me in the warm, low light of the garage. The breath left my lungs in a rush, a silent acknowledgment of the offering laid before me.
I knelt and moved my head between those thighs. I couldn’t stop myself. I had to taste her, and I had to taste her now.
As my mouth found her, she cried out—a sharp, beautiful sound that echoed off the walls.
Her back arched, her hands scrambling for purchase on the slick hood.
I worshiped her with my tongue, learning the rhythms that made her gasp my name, the specific pressure that made her thighs tremble and clamp against my ears.
Shutting out the world until there was only her taste, her scent, the music of her pleading whimpers.
I didn’t stop until her cries crescendoed into a broken sob. Until after her body went taut, shuddering through the waves of her first orgasm. An orgasm I gave her.
When I looked up, her chest was heaving, her eyes dazed and heavy-lidded. A thin sheen of sweat made her skin glow in the dim light. I stood, pulling my sweatshirt over my head in one frantic motion and letting it fall to the floor, adding to the trail of our clothes.
“Take off your bra,” I told her, my voice rough.
She acted without hesitation, her fingers fumbling with the clasp before she tossed the flimsy garment aside.
I tugged her gently to the edge of the hood, the cool metal a stark contrast to the heat of her skin, and her hands went immediately to the waistband of my jeans.
She fumbled with the button-fly, her fingers clumsy with a delicious urgency, until she pushed both jeans and boxers down.
My erection sprang free, and before I could process her intent, she leaned forward and took me into her mouth.
I groaned—a raw, animal sound, my hands flying to the hood to steady myself as my knees threatened to buckle.
Her mouth was wet heat, and she took me deep, her tongue working a devastating rhythm, one hand cupping the aching weight of my balls.
The sensation was blinding, a white-hot wire of pleasure connecting directly to my spine.
It had been so long, and it was her. This brave, brilliant, infuriatingly beautiful woman who had crashed into my world only hours ago.
“Demi, stop,” I managed, my voice strangled. I gently pushed her back, my thumb stroking her jaw. “I need to go inside. I need a condom.”
She looked up at me, her lips swollen and slick from me, her gaze unwavering. “I’m on birth control.”
The words should have been a relief. Instead, a strange, sharp disappointment sliced through me. No baby tonight. The thought was insane, primal, but undeniable.
I shook my head, clearing it of the madness. Someday, we'd make a baby. Just not tonight.
I positioned myself at her entrance. She was so ready for me, so impossibly wet and hot. I pushed in slowly, carefully, watching her face for any sign of pain. She gasped, her eyes widening with shock and wonder, but she didn't flinch.
Then she wrapped her legs around my hips, her heels digging into the small of my back, pulling me deeper until I was fully seated inside her. She felt like heaven. Like a home I never knew I had been searching for—a perfect, tight heat that threatened to shatter my control in an instant.
One hand stayed braced behind her on the hood while the other traveled over her own body.
It was the most erotic thing I’d ever witnessed.
She teased a pebbled nipple, pinching it lightly, a soft moan escaping her lips.
Then her hand slid down over the rounded curve of her stomach to where we were joined.
She found her clit, her touch sure and practiced, and began to circle it, her eyes locked on mine, daring me to watch.
The sight of her pleasuring herself while I was buried inside her nearly undid me. My control, already frayed to a single, thin thread, began to shred.
Her breathing hitched and her back arched, lifting her breasts. She came again with a soft, broken cry. Her inner muscles fluttered and clenched around me in a rhythmic, milking pulse.
And that was my absolute undoing. With a guttural groan, I let go, pumping my seed into her, my own release a tidal wave of blinding white pleasure that left me spent and trembling.
For a long moment, the only sound was our ragged breathing in the quiet garage. The tinny radio now played a love song, and for the first time, I understood every word.
I leaned over her, bracing my trembling hands on the cool hood, and lowered my head to hers. Our lips met in the first soft kiss of the night. It was tender. A silent vow. A stark contrast to what had just happened between us.
When I pulled back, she giggled, a soft, breathy sound that did something strange and warm to my chest. “That has to be rare,” she said. “A first kiss after sex.”
I smiled as I brushed a strand of hair from her damp forehead. The certainty that had been building in me since I rescued her with that old, broken-down food truck was as real as the woman in my arms. I had to find a way to keep her here. She was a storm I never wanted to end.
But first, I had to fix her damn truck.