Chapter 8
Thatcher
It’s possible the confession I scribbled into a silly little highland cow themed Valentine’s Day card is a big mistake, but I had to do it.
I had to go for broke. If Blaire Sutton leaves Alaska, it won’t be without knowing how I feel about her.
Until we ended up handcuffed together, I was in denial myself for years.
But I’m more certain of my feelings now than I’ve ever been: I’m in love with her.
“Welcome!” Willow Steele, the theater manager, greets us.
“There are props set up to the left and right of the stage, and a few options for scenes set up on the stage itself.” She explains that we need to take three separate photos before she’ll sign off.
“And in between each one, you must each ask each other a question. But make them good, because according to your card, this is your last stop.”
“By the end of this, I’m going to know you better than I know myself,” Blaire says, chuckling.
Hand in hand, we weave through a row of theater seats toward one of the two prop stations. We start immediately sorting through feathery boas, silly hats, and sparkly masks.
“What do you think? Does this snakeskin scarf bring out my eyes?” Blaire sends me a flirty look that makes my dick half hard in an instant. She drags her fingers down the side of her neck, reminding me of the strawberry juice I wanted to lick up with my tongue earlier.
My throat goes dry, and I struggle to find words.
I can easily imagine my future filled with silly, playful days such as this one.
Maybe less handcuffs and more freedom to move around as we please.
But definitely days filled with these flirty looks, earth-shattering kisses, and her unguarded laughter.
It makes sense now, why it’s never worked out with anyone else.
It was always Blaire Sutton.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” she asks, her eyes twinkling.
“It’s not your turn to ask a question,” I fire back, deciding it’s best if I keep the truth to myself right now.
If I told her what I was really thinking, it might scare her.
If she’s going to lose that beautiful smile at my doing, it’ll only be replaced with an open-mouthed moan as I show her pleasure like she’s never known.
“Then ask me a question,” she insists.
Another couple rushes into the theater, and Willow directs them to similar box of props on the other edge of the stage. They’re likely our competition, as they’ve shown up to every stop minutes after we do. They’re traveling the same route. And yet, I just can’t bring myself to care about winning.
“How mad would you be if you didn’t win your remote cabin vacation?”
“That depends on the reason,” she says, draping a lime green feather boa over my neck and yanking me closer. My gaze drops to her lips, and all I can fucking think about is kissing her again. It’s only been hours since that first kiss, but it feels like I’ve been depraved for weeks.
“It’d be a good reason,” I insist. “One you’d never forget.”
She slides her palm up my chest, the tips of her fingers teasing my jaw. “Thatcher Banks, are you suggesting what I think you’re suggesting?”
My gaze snags on a cracked door to a dark room just a short distance from the prop station. I glance back over my shoulder at Willow, but she’s busy chatting up a third couple. I take a risk and say, “We’re definitely going to lose if I drag you into that closet, Blaire.”
“If we go back to your original question,” she says, sliding her hand back down and digging her fingers into my hip. “I’ll be a whole lot less mad if you know what you’re doing. I’m well overdue for someone who does.”
I drag her into the storage room, closing the door behind us and flipping the deadbolt. Willow might come looking for us, but I no longer care.
I push Blaire up against the door, dropping my lips to hers. With my free hand, I cup her neck, positioning her mouth where I can best claim it. With our joined hands, I slide down her body. My fingertips tease the edge of her jeans.
I consider, not for the first time, that this whole thing is nothing more than some fucking lusty dream. Because how did we go from barely talking to one another to making out in a storage closet in the span of a few hours?
“You’re sure you’re okay with this?” I ask.
“Stop asking questions, Thatcher. The answer is yes.”
I unzip her jeans slowly, enjoying the quick little gasp she makes.
“How do we do this?” she asks of our joined hands.
I tug her jeans down just below her hips. “Put your hand on top of mine. I want you to show me exactly how you want to be touched.”
She guides my hand beneath her silk panties.
When my fingers slide into wet flesh, I groan. “Fuck, Blaire. Have you been this wet the whole time?”
“Maybe,” she says, her tone sultry.
Our lips reconnect in a slow yet hungry frenzy as she moves my hand between her legs, sawing my fingers through her folds. She whimpers into my mouth, and I kiss her harder. It’s possible we’ll get caught, but I hope it’s not until after I make her come.
“Put your finger inside me,” she pants.
“Nope.”
“No?”
“You have to use your hand to show me.”
“How do I do—” Her emerald eyes go a shade darker as she presses her index finger against mine, and together our fingers slide into her channel. “Fuck me,” she whisper pants.
I, on the other hand, can’t form words.
I knew she’d feel good, but this? This is otherworldly.
Blaire uses her hand to control my movements. Our fingers rock in and out of her as she presses against my palm, applying pressure to her clit. With her free hand, she digs her nails into my neck. “You better fucking kiss me so I don’t scream,” she warns.
I fuse my mouth to hers seconds before she comes apart. Her body convulses, our fingers still inside her tight channel. There’s something so incredibly intimate about experiencing her orgasm together like this. I’ll never be the fucking same again.
“Okay, I’m not even mad if we get last place,” she says, panting, a sated smile spread across her bruised lips. “That was…incredible.”
I press a kiss to her forehead. “There’s more where that came from, you know.”
“Then what are we waiting for? Let’s finish this crawl so you can take me home and show me what you got.”