Chapter Seven #2
The first woman I feel protective over. The first I want to spend extended time with.
And the first I can’t get out of my head.
I try to convince myself that it is for her safety only that I brought her away from our normal routine.
But that doesn’t explain why last night, when we said good night and went to our own rooms, I was hard as nails and had to jerk myself off to thoughts of her before I could get to sleep.
And even then, I dreamed of someone coming after her. I plan to make sure I am between Mia and any shot her ex-employer takes at her. It just better not be a literal one.
Mia takes the spare bedroom in the cabin, and I let her. She doesn’t need to know she’ll be sleeping in my bed until she passes out there from sexual exertion.
After a delicious steak dinner, I help clean up, and she shoos me out of the kitchen, claiming she has a surprise.
I throw another log on the fire. It is cooler upstate, and the temperatures are low for late October. Being here isn’t the same without the warmth and flickering flames. And this particular day, a fire is romantic.
Another first. Giving a shit about impressing a woman. Especially one I keep telling myself is just a fling until I get her out of my system.
“Ready?” Mia calls as she walks out of the kitchen, a tray in her hands.
I rub my hands on my jeans and stand. “What’s the surprise?” I ask.
“S’mores. When you told me this place had a fireplace, I couldn’t resist.” She puts the tray down on the large ottoman across from the sofa. “Marshmallows, Hershey chocolate bars, and graham crackers. And…”
She picks up a roasting stick in her hand. “Skewers so we can toast the marshmallows.” She looks pleased with herself. And with a white sweater falling over and baring one shoulder, she makes an extremely irresistible picture.
“Well, then, let’s do it.”
She claps her hands together, and we each take a marshmallow and put it on a skewer.
“Did you get the chance to do this when you were a kid?” Or did she learn as an adult?
I used to go camping with my dad, and I hope she had some good experiences that indicated normalcy in her childhood.
“I did.”
I use the poker to pull open the covering to the flame.
“I had a nice family that taught us to roast marshmallows in a fireplace. Honestly, foster care wasn’t all bad.”
“I’m glad.”
We sit side by side, turning our sticks and roasting our marshmallows.
“So how do you like yours?” she asks. “I prefer them just a little toasty.” She pulls hers out earlier than I do and makes the s’mores sandwich.
“I like them well done.”
“Eew.” She bites into her treat and moans, the sound going straight to my cock. “I love the gooey center.” The marshmallow is messy, getting on her cheeks and her lips. Laughing, she licks at her fingers.
I want in on that taste. I glance at my marshmallow, take it out of the flame, and lay it on a plate on the tray she brought in.
“C’mere,” I say in a gruff voice.
Her laughter dies down, and she inches her way over to me on her knees. I grab her wrist and hold it up, straightening her fingers, then sliding the one with the marshmallow goo into my mouth.
I lick, suck, then graze her finger, pulling the sticky substance off her skin and into my mouth.
“Mmm. I think I want more.”
“Go ahead,” she says in a husky voice.
I cup the back of her neck in my hand and pull her close, gliding my lips over her sticky ones, nibbling on the flesh with my teeth. She grips my shoulders, her nails digging through my sweater. I devour her, tasting the sweetness of the marshmallow and Mia combined.
Between the heated need swamping her and the warmth from the fireplace, I am beginning to sweat. I break the kiss. Reaching down, I pull off my sweater and toss it aside.
Taking a cue from me, she does the same, leaving her in a sexy bra I have a hunch she chose because we are coming here to be alone. And I appreciate the effort.
I cup both breasts in my hands and groan at the feel of their delicious weight in my palms. I brush her nipples with my thumbs, toying with the distended peaks until she moans, arching into my touch.
She slides her fingers to the waistband of my jeans, undoing the button and gliding the zipper down and over the swell of my cock.
Any thoughts I have of remaining in control flee at her touch, and I let her have her way.
Lord knows I dreamed of this moment many fucking times over the last few months.
I help her remove my jeans and kick them aside, my boxer briefs along with them, leaving my aching cock straining and waiting for her to take charge. She doesn’t hesitate, wrapping her smaller hand around my shaft.
“Stand up,” she says.
I have no problem doing as she instructs. Kneeling, she edges closer, pumps her hand down my cock once, twice, before wrapping her lips over me.
I groan, sliding my fingers into her hair. I massage her scalp, promising myself I’ll hold on and not fuck her mouth the way I desperately want to. This is her show, and I intend to let her run it, no matter how much my body demands otherwise.
She licks over the head, dipping her tongue along the slit and then around the rim. I shudder and grip her hair tighter, tugging and silently asking her to move. She picks up a rhythm that has me rocking my hips in time to the laps of her tongue as she pulls me deeper into her mouth.