Adele
The walk back to the Airstream was slow, mainly because we kept stopping to make out or admire the stars. Finn had thoughtfully packed headlamps, so we easily found our way up the trail and back to our special spot.
I was a mess of emotions. Every single minute of this day had been perfect, and I found it impossible to contain my affection for this man. I couldn’t keep my hands or my lips off him. For the first time in my life, I was completely consumed by another person.
And it wasn’t purely lust. That would be easy to explain, given that he walked around, day in and day out, looking the way he did.
This was so much more complex. I trusted him, which was rare, and his presence soothed me.
When we were together, I was less angry, more trusting.
Open to all sorts of things I had never considered.
Like agreeing to a full-on relationship with a man I’d considered my enemy only a month ago.
I wanted to talk. So badly. To hash out the details and make sure he knew the depth of my feelings for him.
But I didn’t know where to start.
The lights strung along the Airstream created an ethereal scene that struck me silent as we approached.
Even if I’d had the words to confess the emotions that had taken over in the last few weeks, I was too in awe of the thought and effort he’d put into planning the perfect weekend.
So I did the next best thing. I grabbed him and kissed the hell out of him.
He grasped my waist as he kissed me back and lifted me. In response, I wrapped my legs around his waist. I wasn’t the type of woman who could be easily carried around, but Finn loved to manhandle me, and I enjoyed it way more than I should.
“I need you,” I whimpered between frantic kisses.
One of his hands was already under my dress and making its way up toward my panties.
I wasn’t usually a dress kind of girl, but when I found it in my closet this morning, it felt right.
He had made such an effort planning this spectacular weekend away.
Hell, he always went out of his way to make me feel valued and important, so I wanted to make an effort for him too.
Hence the gingham sundress and very expensive lace panties.
“My God,” he growled as he tromped across the open space, his fingers already stroking me over my panties. “You’re already soaked.” He set me on the picnic table and pushed my panties to one side.
A shiver coursed down my spine, and the heat in my core kicked up a notch. I leaned forward and kissed him again. “What can I say? Romantic gestures really get me going.”
“Then I’ll plan champagne picnics for you every day,” he said, nipping at my earlobe and flicking my clit.
I had to grasp the edge of the table to hold myself upright as he gently eased one finger inside me. The sensation was pure ecstasy. I’d been waiting for his touch all damn day.
My initial assumptions about Finn had been dead wrong.
He wasn’t lazy in bed. He was alert, focused, and engaged.
Much like he’d been when he was flying his plane, he was hyper-focused.
This time, that focus was on my body and the noises I made instead of the sky.
He tracked my responses to every one of his moves, cataloging which ones drove me absolutely wild.
He’d made a study of my body these past few weeks, teasing me in a dozen different ways until I was begging for him. Even now, he pressed the pad of his thumb to my clit with the perfect pressure, knowing exactly how I liked it.
He was in control of my body, and I was elated. As a lifelong control freak, I should have had more reservations about giving myself to him so willingly. But he had taken my trust and treated it with such reverence and care that I couldn’t help but fall even deeper.
I slipped the straps of my dress off my shoulders and tugged the fabric down to free my breasts.
“No bra.” He groaned, his mouth already on one tender nipple. “You are so perfect.”
His constant praise and appreciation for my body went a long way to break down the walls I’d carefully built up over the years. His sincere admiration and desire burrowed deep into my heart.
“I need you inside me,” I gasped.
Obediently, he scooped me up and set me on my feet on the grass beneath the awning of the Airstream.
With one hand still on my breast, he unzipped his shorts and freed his cock. I wanted to drop to my knees and take him into my mouth, show him how much I needed him.
But he had other plans. He pushed my panties down and pointed to the steel pole above our heads.
“Hold on to that.”
His demand sent desire coursing through me, and I obeyed, grasping the frame of the blue- and white-striped awning.
He hooked one arm under my knee and spread me wide as he entered me. My skirt was bunched around my waist, and my bare breasts were exposed to the cool night air as he fucked me against the Airstream, our bodies out in the open, only partially obscured by the awning.
“I love that I can fuck you standing up,” he grunted, thrusting into me hard.
Dropping my head back against the stainless surface behind me, I gripped the beam, needing something to ground me. I was floating on a cloud of lust. Each thrust was the perfect balance of powerful and deep and perfect. This man somehow knew how to make every centimeter of my body ache for him.
I’d never fantasized about getting railed in a sundress under the moonlight, but I knew I’d be reliving this experience for a long time.
We kissed and licked and nipped and grabbed for one another, desperate for as much contact as possible.
Heat radiated from him, soaking into me little by little with each thrust, and his scent swirled, filling my senses.
This was more than sex. It was transformative.
It was tearing me apart at the cellular level and piecing me back together. I was the same, yet different.
The outside world disappeared as we got lost in one another. He was filling me up in ways I could never have imagined and certainly couldn’t define. I buried my face in his neck as he took me higher and higher, clinging to him, trusting that he’d hold me after I fell apart.
And when he took me over the edge, I didn’t fall apart. I shattered. My body pulsed as pleasure rolled through me and I cried out for him.
He kept going, holding me close and pushing through wave after wave of my climax. “Let go,” I whispered, clenching around him again and again. Floating on a cloud of intimacy and pleasure and trust.
And he did. His steady thrusts became erratic, and he slowed his pace as my body wrung every last bit of pleasure out of him.
Dropping my leg, he wrapped his arms around me and buried his face in my neck. I collapsed against him, boneless, unable to talk or think or explain what had happened between us.
For several quiet minutes, we clung to one another, his face buried in my hair, as our heart rates slowed and reality filtered back in.
“We should do this,” I said, nestling into his chest. “In Lovewell.”
“What do you mean?”
“This.” I sat up, the sheet falling down around my waist. “Fix up a few Airstreams and rent them to tourists. We’ve got land and gorgeous mountain scenery. Rivers, lakes, wildlife.”
“Hmm. Maybe Clive could be good for something besides jerky,” he said, pulling me back down into the snuggle spot against his chest.
“You are not murdering the town moose.” I let out a teasing huff. “If anything, we can post his antics on social media. He’d bring in the tourists. They can stay in our trailers and book aerial tours with you.”
“This sounds like quite the empire you’re building, She-Ra,” he said.
“Yup. It makes sense. This place is incredible. Being here with you? It’s like stepping into another world together.” Lovewell wasn’t Bar Harbor, not by a long shot, but it was charming and rural and had direct access to some of the most beautiful scenery.
“I love it here too,” he said. “So you wanna buy some Airstreams? We’ll have to find someone to fix them up. My brother Gus is a great carpenter.”
I sat up and shot him an annoyed look. “My expertise doesn’t end at machines, you know. Who do you think laid the gorgeous birch floors in my house?”
He pulled me close and nipped at my neck. “I admire your hyper-independence, but I’m starting to question why you even keep me around.”
He was joking, of course, but the comment stung. Especially given my history of being dumped by guys who felt emasculated. The ability to change a tire was something I believed all women should possess. It was no big deal to me, but apparently to my ex-boyfriend Scott, it was a deal-breaker.
He flipped me over and pinned me beneath him, then went to work kissing down the column of my neck. “So it’s my cock? Is that all I’m good for?”
“Not at all,” I said, gasping as he bit my earlobe. “I don’t need much. Just emotional support and orgasms.”
“Ah, perfect. I can manage a lot of orgasms.”
“Don’t sell yourself short, Stretch. You’re pretty good at the emotional support too. You’re my personal emotional support Viking.”
“It’s not boyfriend or husband, but I’ll take that label and wear it with pride.”