Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Stormi
“You’re not sleeping on the floor, Dash,” I insist, tugging him up by the arm.
Or attempting to because I’m not strong enough to lift a brick house who’s doing exactly nothing in aiding my attempts.
The shirtless lug just sits there, beside the actual bed, on a makeshift sleeping pad that hurts my back just by looking at it.
“You’re certainly not sleeping on the floor,” Dash says, those hazel eyes flashing stubbornness.
“No one is sleeping on the floor.” I tug again, even though I know it’s pointless. Maybe I just don’t want to let go. He’s been careful to avoid touching me since the adrenaline-fueled make out session earlier, and I’m about over it.
I crave physical contact from this man.
Which is probably the very worst reason to touch him.
I know it’s for the best if we keep our hands—and other eager body parts—to ourselves. Sleeping with a man I just met is not exactly the way to get my life back on track or win back the approval of my family I’ll surely lose when they find out I quit my stable job.
My sister will be so worried about me being unemployed when I finally tell her what I did that I can hardly face the shame.
If I have to admit I also hooked up with the ex-smokejumper at the fire lookout tower who’s fifteen years older than me—we compared notes earlier—she’ll think I’m having some sort of quarter-life crisis.
And right now, the woman who called off her wedding is the only one allowed to have a quarter-life crisis.
“Dash, I swear if you don’t—” I let out a small squeal as I topple off the bed and right into his lap.
Because I wasn’t packed for being stranded overnight, I borrowed one of his oversized T-shirts to sleep in. That T-shirt catches on my tumble down, exposing my thighs, yellow boy-short panties, and a good portion of my stomach.
“This is why we can’t share a bed,” Dash growls, running both of his calloused palms up my thighs and squeezing them.
“Have you ever trying sleeping in skinny jeans?” I protest, though my words are a little breathy due to his hands on me at long last. I should probably crawl off of him, but the longer I sit here, my pussy mere inches from a shaft I watch harden beneath his sweatpants, the less I seem to remember why.
“Then put on a pair of my sweatpants,” he fires back, his words a low growl.
“Already tried that.” I trace a tattoo of a raven on his chest with my fingertip, not even aware I’m doing it until I catch him looking down at my hand. “They’re too big for me. They just fall right off.”
“Stormi.” The way he says my name is a warning.
“Do your tattoos mean anything?” My fingertip moves onto his bicep, tracing a mountain range around his thick arm.
“Some, yes.” He presses his palms into my thighs, the pressure causing a quiver low in my belly. I think he means to grip me to throw me off of him. Instead, his thumbs move in slow circles along my inner thighs. With each swipe, they move closer to my panty line.
“What about this one?” I ask of the paw print tattooed on above his right pec.
“Blaze’s mother, Ella.”
His thumbs dip beneath the yellow fabric, sliding north up my thighs.
“Like Cinderella?”
“Yes.”
His thumbs slide closer to my center, and his grip tightens.
I let out a soft whimper, rocking my hips forward to urge him to that finish line.
“Fuck,” he growls, his voice so low I almost don’t make out the words.
“Yes please?” I flash him a cheesy grin, hoping to tug one of those potent smiles from his lips. It’s better than the outright rejection I’m anticipating.
But Dash’s fingers are still inside my boy-short panties, hardly an inch away from where I really want them. I flicker my gaze to his, and the liquid heat there is undeniable. He wants this as badly as I do. I can sense it.
A voice whispers in the back of my head that this is a really foolish idea. Not because it would make me look bad to my sister, but because I think I might actually be falling for this man.
I don’t understand it.
But I know it.
He feels like safety.
Like home.
“Dash—”
“If I make you come nice and hard, baby girl, will you stop being so stubborn and go sleep in the bed?”
A shiver of anticipation zips through my entire body, all at once. It’s electrifying.
I have zero intentions of allowing this man to sleep on the floor, but I’ll play his game.
For now.
“Yes.”
I lift up on my knees, sliding my hands up his shoulders and to the back of his neck. I drag his mouth to mine for the sensual, hungry kiss I’ve been craving since our lips last broke apart hours ago.
Dash tugs down my panties enough to grant him access. I feel the cool breeze between my legs only seconds before his warm, rough fingers graze my soaked flesh. I let out a moan at the contact. It’s been so long since a man touched me that I forgot how good it could feel.
“So fucking wet.”
He tugs on my bottom lip with his teeth, pinning me with his gaze as he strokes me softly and thoroughly.
It’s the most erotic thing I’ve ever experienced.
I gently rock my hips to the rhythm of his hand between my legs, desperate to live in this feeling for as long as I can.
Before I explode and shoot through the damn roof.
“You’re good at this,” I pant, digging my fingers into his shoulders.
“I’m good at a lot of things,” he growls, inserting a finger into my sopping wet channel.
I let out a moan that startles Blaze.
“Go back to sleep,” Dash orders his dog. “Nothing to see here.”
Blaze grumbles, spins in a circle, and curls back into a ball, effectively ignoring us.
“This happen often?” I try to sound like I’m teasing, but a surge of jealousy hits me.
“This happens never.”
A second finger joins the first and I cry out his name.
“Never?” The question comes out as a pant.
“I don’t fuck women in my tower,” he says, his tone firm in a way that makes me want him even more. Maybe he says that to all the women he brings here. Maybe he’s telling the truth. Either way, it turns me on to no end to think I might be that special to him.
He yanks up my shirt, exposing my breasts. I arch into him, offering my pebbled nipple to his eager mouth.
“Such beautiful tits,” he growls, inserting a third finger into my channel.
It’s almost too much, and yet, not even close to enough.
“Fuck, Dash. I’m going—”
“You want to come?”
Any attempts I make to form words fail, so I nod eagerly instead. Dash’s laughter rumbles against my nipple. I want to be annoyed at him because he knows exactly what he’s doing to me. But how can I be? I’ve never felt so desired in all my life.
“You better hold on then,” he says, lifting his lips back to mine and kissing me once. “You’re about to come harder than you’ve ever come before.”
Dash makes good on that promise.
Pleasure rips me in two.
I cry out so loud I’m certain I’ve frightened Brutus away from the tower for good.
I wrap my arms around the back of Dash’s neck, clinging to him as pleasure assaults me in ways I never knew were possible. The man shows me no mercy as he works those magic fingers all through an orgasm that seems to never end.
After what feels like hours of riding the most insane wave of my life, I collapse into his lap, pressing my forehead into his chest so I can catch my breath. I notice the bulge in his sweatpants, and the desire to have him inside me is overwhelming.
“Dash—”
A crack of thunder rips across the sky, and we freeze.
“I thought the storm was over.”
Dash looks at me, sucking my juices off of his fingers before saying, “So did I.”