Chapter 5 #2
No pause. No doubt.
I pull back just enough to look at him. “Weston, we met yesterday.”
“I know when something’s mine.”
The words hit low and deep, so possessive they should probably scare me.
Instead, they make heat unfurl through me in one long, dangerous wave.
His gaze drops to my mouth.
“I know when something matters.”
There is no teasing left in me.
No light deflection.
Just honesty.
“I could stay,” I tell him softly. “If you’re sure.”
His hand slides from my face to the back of my neck. “I’m sure.”
And then he kisses me again.
This one is different.
Still slow at first, still careful, but there is hunger under it now. A deep, steady heat that wasn’t there a second ago and is definitely there now.
My whole body wakes up at once.
I make a soft sound into his mouth, and his hand tightens on the back of my neck.
“Lexie.”
Just my name.
But rougher this time.
Needier.
I slide my hand over his bare chest and feel the hard thump of his heartbeat under my palm.
“That feels fast,” I whisper.
“What does?”
“You pretending this conversation isn’t making you want to take me again.”
A rough sound tears out of him.
“Lexie.”
“What?” I murmur, even though I know exactly what.
His hand slides down my side, over my hip, and grips my ass hard enough to make me gasp.
“You keep saying things that make it real hard to be patient.”
I should probably be intimidated by that.
Instead, I spread my legs wider for him.
His eyes darken.
“Christ.”
He drags the blanket down and mouths over my throat, my collarbone, while his hand glides over my stomach and lower, teasing but not where I want him. Not yet.
“Weston,” I breathe.
He hums against my skin.
The vibration of it shoots straight between my legs.
He takes one nipple into his mouth and sucks harder, rougher, until my back arches.
“Oh my God.”
“Yeah?” he murmurs.
“Yes.”
He gives the other breast the same treatment, his big hand kneading my hip, holding me still while he works me up on purpose. By the time he moves lower, I am wet, aching, and shamelessly impatient.
He catches the waistband of my panties, the only thing I’m wearing, and looks up at me.
“Off?”
“Yes.”
He strips them down my legs, tosses them somewhere onto the floor, and settles between my thighs with a look on his face that nearly makes me come on the spot.
“Still want me?” he asks, voice low.
I stare at him. “Weston.”
“That a yes?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
Then he puts his mouth on my pussy, and I stop remembering my own name.
There is nothing gentle about the need in him now.
Careful, yes. Attentive, absolutely. But he eats me like a man with something to prove, like making me come is the only thing on his mind.
His tongue drags through me slow and deep, then faster when I start shaking, and every rough sound he makes against my pussy sends another flash of heat through me.
I grab his hair.
He likes that.
I can tell by the way his hands tighten on my thighs.
“Weston,” I gasp.
“That’s it,” he murmurs against me. “Let me hear it.”
I do.
God, I do.
I say his name over and over, my hips twitching helplessly, my whole body going tight while he keeps licking, sucking like he takes my pleasure personally.
The first orgasm hits hard and fast.
I cry out and he does not stop.
He holds me open and works me through it until I’m trembling so hard I can barely breathe, then gives me just enough mercy to let the feeling ebb before he starts again.
“Oh my God,” I whisper.
His eyes lift to mine from between my thighs, hot and wrecked and proud.
“You can take one more.”
I should not love hearing that as much as I do.
But I do.
The second one tears through me even harder than the first, my thighs shaking around his shoulders, my fingers tangled in his hair while he keeps me there until I’m almost sobbing with it.
When he finally kisses his way back up my body, his beard is rough against my skin and his mouth is wet and swollen and I think I might actually be in love with him already, which seems inconvenient but true.
He hovers over me, kissing me deep enough that I can taste myself on him, and that should not be as hot as it is.
Except it really, really is.
“You okay?” he asks.
I blink up at him, dazed. “You have got to stop asking me that when the answer is obviously no.”
That earns me the hint of a smile.
His hand slides between our bodies, guides himself to me, and presses in slowly.
The stretch still catches.
Not the sharp shock of last night, but enough to make me hold my breath.
Weston stills instantly.
“Look at me.”
I do.
His forehead rests against mine, his eyes locked on mine while he eases in deeper by inches, giving me time to take him.
“You okay?”
“Yes,” I whisper, and this time I mean it.
He groans softly when his cock is fully inside me, like being buried in me is almost more than he can stand.
I stroke my fingers through his hair. “You okay?”
His eyes burn. “Barely.”
Then he starts to move.
Slow at first. Deep, too.
Every thrust feels heavier this morning. More intimate. More possessive. Like he is not just making love to me, he is staking some quiet claim with every push of his hips.
I wrap my legs around him and that seems to finish whatever control he had left.
“Fuck,” he mutters into my neck.
Yes.
That.
Exactly that.
His rhythm gets rougher. Not enough to hurt, just enough to make the bed start creaking under us while the storm pounds the windows and his body drives into mine with a force that turns every thought in my head to static.
I cling to his shoulders and meet him as well as I can.
He notices.
Of course he notices.
His hand slides under my thigh, lifting it higher, angling me for something deeper that makes me cry out.
“There,” he says, voice rough. “That’s where I want you.”
The filthy approval in his voice goes straight through me.
“So good,” he grits out. “You feel so fucking good, sweetheart.”
I moan and clutch at him harder.
His mouth finds my breast again, sucking hard enough to make me arch while his hips keep pounding into me, and the combination of it, his mouth, his body, his words, the storm, all of it builds too fast.
“I’m close,” I gasp.
“I know.” His hand slips between us, rubbing me tight and wet and perfect. “Come on. Give it to me.”
That does it.
Pleasure rips through me so hard my whole body goes taut.
I come with a cry into his shoulder, shaking under him while he keeps fucking me through it, and a second later he follows with a broken groan, burying his face in my neck as his whole body locks above me.
For a long moment, neither of us moves.
Then he kisses the side of my throat once, twice, and lowers us carefully back into the bed.
I lie there trying to remember how breathing works.
“Well,” I say eventually.
He lifts his head.
I turn toward him, still wrecked. “That was also very supportive of my dreams.”
He stares at me for one suspended second.
Then he laughs.
A real one.
Low and brief and gorgeous enough to make me want to earn another.
His arm hooks around my waist and drags me against him.
“You’re trouble.”
I smile against his chest. “You started it.”
I curl deeper into the man wrapped around me and think that maybe my whole life was just waiting for me to get snowed with a sexy lumberjack.