Chapter 4
Weston
I lift her into my arms.
She squeaks, then laughs, and the sound of it hits me right in the chest.
I set her down on the quilt and stand between her knees, taking her in. Hair mussed. Mouth kissed. Dress rucked up just enough to show the tops of her tights. Looking at me like I’m the thing she wants most in the world.
No man gets over a sight like that.
I take off my flannel slowly, because if I move too fast I might tear the damn thing. Her eyes track over my chest, then lower, then back up, and the hunger in that shy little look nearly drives me to my knees.
“You can look,” I tell her.
Her blush deepens. “I am looking.”
“Good.”
I reach for the hem of her dress, pausing. “Tell me to stop if you need it.”
“I won’t.”
I pull the dress up and over her head.
Hell.
She’s beautiful.
Soft pink bra. Full breasts straining against lace. Rounded belly. Curvy hips. Thick thighs in black tights that make a man want to drop to his knees and thank God personally.
She starts to fold in on herself, shy all of a sudden, and I stop that fast.
“No.”
Her eyes flick to mine.
“Don’t hide from me.” My voice comes out low, hard. “You’re the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.”
She makes a broken little sound.
I drop to my knees in front of her and kiss the inside of one knee over her tights. Then the other. My hands spread slowly over her thighs, letting her feel exactly how much I like touching her.
“Weston,” she whispers.
“That’s right.”
I peel the tights down carefully. My hands skim her skin as I go, rough palms against softness, and every inch I uncover makes me hungrier.
By the time I get her down to pretty little underwear and that pink bra, I’m hanging on by my teeth.
I rise long enough to kiss her again and ease her farther back onto the bed, then let my hand drift over her breast.
Her back arches.
“Like that?” I ask against her mouth.
“Yes.”
I cup her fully then, thumb brushing the peak through lace until she whimpers, and that sound goes straight through me.
But I do not rush.
She deserves better than rushed.
I kiss my way down her throat, over the soft swell of her chest, taking my time with every inch of skin I uncover.
I unfasten her bra and pull it away slowly, because a woman like Lexie ought to be savored.
Her breasts are full and soft and damned near enough to bring a man to his knees on their own.
I do go to my knees.
Her breath catches when I look up at her from between her thighs.
“Weston.”
“Let me take care of you.”
Her fingers twist in the quilt. “Okay.”
I hook my thumbs into the sides of her underwear and ease them down her legs, spread her open, and just look at her for one hard second.
Such a beautiful pussy.
Soft. Pink. Already wet for me.
All because of me.
The satisfaction that hits me is primitive enough to make my jaw tighten.
I press one kiss to the inside of her thigh. Then another. I take my time there too, mouthing at her skin until she’s shifting on the bed, restless and needy, before I finally give her what she wants.
The first touch of my tongue makes her jolt.
I hold her thighs steady and do it again, slower this time, learning her as I go. The sounds she makes start sweet and startled, then turn into something softer and needier, little breaths and helpless whimpers that make me want to stay right here all damn night.
“That’s it,” I murmur against her. “Let me hear you.”
She does.
God, she does.
Her hands find my hair. Her hips twitch. Her whole body goes tight with feeling, and I keep her there, licking and sucking and giving her exactly what she needs until she’s shaking above me.
“Weston, I...”
“I know.” I kiss her once, then once more, right where she’s most sensitive. “Come for me, sweetheart.”
That does it.
She breaks with a cry she tries to swallow, thighs trembling around my shoulders, fingers gripping my hair hard enough to sting. I hold her through it, working her gently until the last shudder leaves her body.
Then I kiss my way back up to her, tasting her on my mouth when I kiss her and feeling her go soft and boneless under me.
Her eyes are dazed when she looks at me.
“That was...”
“Yeah,” I say, rough.
She gives me a shaky little laugh, and it about ruins me.
I strip the rest of my clothes off fast then, because I’ve done enough pretending I’ve got this under control. When I settle over her again, she reaches for me with both hands, still flushed, still trembling a little, still the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen in my life.
“You sure?” I ask.
She nods.
“Use your words.”
“Yes.” Her voice is soft but certain. “I’m sure.”
I kiss her slow and deep, then press my cock into her carefully, giving her time, giving her every chance to stop me if she needs to.
Her pussy is tight and warm enough to make my vision blur for a second, but she’s also relaxed from what I gave her, open in a way that makes this easier on both of us.
I keep my forehead against hers and hold still once I’m fully inside her.
“You okay?”
She takes a breath. Then another. “Yes.”
“Tell me if that changes.”
“I will.”
Only when her body softens under mine, only when her hands slide over my shoulders and her hips tip up just a little, do I move.
Slow. Careful. Steady.
She clings to me and takes me so sweetly it damn near breaks something open in my chest. By the time pleasure starts chasing the last of the sting from her face, she’s gasping for me, opening for me, meeting me with little helpless motions that hit me like fire.
“There you go,” I mutter against her throat. “That’s my girl.”
The words come out before I think.
She moans like she likes them.
That’s all it takes.
I drive her higher with every stroke, hand slipping between us until her whole body starts trembling. She comes apart with my name on her lips, soft and shocked and beautiful, and the feel of her breaking around me drags me right over after her.
For a long second, all I can do is hold her.
Storm at the windows. Wind in the trees. Lexie warm and naked and breathing under me like she belongs there.
Like she belongs with me.
When I finally roll to the side, I pull her with me, tucking her against my chest. She curls into me without hesitation, one hand spread over my heart like she’s making sure it’s still there.
It isn’t.
Not really.
She took it the second she opened that cabin door.
“So, this storm might be kind of my favorite one ever,” she says softly.
I look down at her.
Her hair’s a mess. Her mouth is swollen from kissing. She looks warm and satisfied and mine enough to make a man believe in things he gave up on years ago.
My hand slides over her hip, holding her closer.
“Yeah,” I say, rough and certain. “Mine too.”