28. Stay Is a Four Letter Word
STAY IS A FOUR LETTER WORD
Dawson
The first time I had sex in a kitchen was on the counter, and I was sixteen. The second time, I was thirty, with the same woman on the counter who I’d spent twelve years pretending to forget.
Funny how life worked.
Sadie’s pulse hammered beneath my lips, wild and unsteady, as I kissed the hollow of her throat, and the vibration of her moan traveled along my tongue straight to the base of my spine. I almost lost whatever self-control I had left.
When I rasped against her ear, “You want me to take you to bed or fuck you right here?” my voice came out ragged, animal.
Her breath caught and for a second, her body tensed in my arms, like she needed the question to settle into her bones. Then she melted, eyelids fluttering, and she whispered, “Here. Fuck me here.”
I don’t know what snapped inside me at those words, but it was like a match to gasoline.
My hands were shaking, actually shaking, and I tried to slow down, to savor every second with her, but she was already moving—hips canting forward, hands gripping the countertop behind her, open and hungry.
I watched her watch me, pupils blown wide.
My cock was so hard it ached, painfully, and I didn’t have the patience for finesse.
I shoved my pants and boxers down, kicking them across the floor, not caring where they landed.
The second my dick sprang free, her eyes went wide, and she licked her lips like she was dying to taste me.
As much as I’d love to have her mouth on me, I knew it would be over if that happened.
I stepped close, so close her thighs brushed the hair on my legs and lined myself up at her sex.
My hands bracketed her hips, holding her steady as I ran my blunt head up and down her slick heat, teasing her, drinking in the way she shuddered and whimpered.
I let myself linger at her entrance, savoring the impossible velvet of her folds, then slid in, slow at first, letting her stretch around me, letting her feel every inch.
She was hot and wet, and so fucking tight it almost knocked me off my feet.
Her nails dug into my shoulders, nearly drawing blood, but I wanted the pain, wanted any reminder that this was real and happening and not some fever dream I’d torture myself with later.
I thrust into her, slow at first, then faster.
The slap of skin against skin echoed in the house, each sound ratcheting my need higher.
But it wasn’t enough. I needed more of her: the sound of her breath, the taste of her arousal, the way she clenched around me every time I shifted my angle.
I bent and took her left breast in my mouth, tongue circling slowly before I pulled her nipple between my teeth.
As I sucked, her whole body arched, pushing her flesh into my mouth, and her hand tangled in my hair, holding me in place.
Her tits were perfect, round and soft and just the right size for my hand.
I wanted to worship them, to lavish her with my tongue until she was shaking.
She moaned, a high, keening sound, and the noise went straight to my groin.
I could feel her walls starting to flutter, but she wasn’t all the way there yet.
I wanted her to come, needed her to come, needed to see her lose control because of me.
I let go of her tit with my mouth and kissed my way up her jaw, along her cheek, until I was at her ear.
She gasped, the sound rough and desperate, and I grinned against her skin, remembering how sensitive she was there, how just a little pressure would make her soak my fingers or shaft.
I thumbed her nipple, rolling it hard, and her whole body arched off the counter.
Her hips jerked up, trying to force me deeper, but I held her steady, savoring the way her inner walls clenched down on me.
She was slick, fluttering hot around me, but I could tell she was holding back, waiting for that last push over the edge.
Instinctively, I knew exactly what she needed.
Without warning, I slid free, making her whimper in protest, and eased her off the countertop.
She clung to my shoulders like she thought I might disappear, but I gripped her waist and spun her around so her hips pressed into the stone, her skirt bunched around her waist. I shoved the fabric down and off, leaving her bare to the cold kitchen air, then bent her forward and pulled her ass back to meet me.
I took a moment to stare—she had the kind of ass that was so juicy it made my mouth water, and I couldn’t resist smacking it, just once, just hard enough to leave my print.
“Oh fuck, Dawson,” she gasped, voice thready, and when I lined myself up again I didn’t bother to go slow.
My grip tightened on her hips, guiding her ass back against me with the kind of greedy, possessive force I’d been dreaming about for years.
She braced herself on the counter, fingers gripping the edges as her back arched, offering herself up like a prayer, her body trembling with anticipation.
With one hand, I steered my plump tip to her entrance, teasing just the slick tip up and down her folds, feeling her pulse.
She whimpered, a desperate little plea, and I couldn’t hold back anymore.
I drove myself inside in one long, hungry push, dragging a cry from her lips that echoed in the space.
I started slow, deep, even, savoring every inch as her body stretched to accommodate me again, as if she’d been waiting all this time for me to fill her.
But it wasn’t enough. I needed more. I needed to rebrand every memory she had of us with the way I felt now: older, harder, desperate to prove no one else would ever make her feel like this.
My pace quickened, I locked my hands around her hips and pounded into her, hips slapping hard against the soft curve of her ass, the sound loud and shameless.
Every thrust sent a shockwave through my spine, building a pressure so savage it was almost unbearable.
It was like every second we’d spent apart condensed into a single, seismic need—primal, unstoppable.
I leaned in and buried my face in her neck, breathing in the smell of her sweat and shampoo. “I missed you,” I growled, and bit the delicate shell, just hard enough to make her whimper. I continued telling her how good she felt and all the things I’d fantasized doing to her during our time apart.
She shuddered, and I could feel her tighten around me, her body responding to every filthy thing I whispered. I remembered every spot that made her crazy, every spot she’d ever begged me to touch, every place I’d once mapped with my mouth. I made it my mission to find them all again.
I caught a handful of her hair, winding it gently around my fist, and pulled her head back so I could see her face over her shoulder.
She was flushed and wild-eyed, her lips red and wet, her expression a mess of agony and bliss.
I felt a savage kind of pride at the sight.
Her ass was as perfect as ever—high, round, just begging for trouble.
I brought my palm down on it with a sharp smack again, coloring her skin with my handprint.
She moaned, rocking back to meet every single thrust, greedy for the contact.
“You want it harder?” I rasped, my voice raw.
She nodded, her lips falling open. “Yes. Yes. Fuck, harder.”
I obliged, grabbing both her hips with bruising force and slamming into her, relentless, until the world was reduced to the sound of our bodies colliding and the ragged breaths tearing from our lungs.
As I fucked her, my free hand roamed her body.
I cupped her tits, kneading them, pinching her nipples until she whimpered and begged, then let my hand slide down her stomach and between her legs.
Her clit was swollen, slick, so sensitive that the first press of my thumb made her shudder and gasp my name.
I circled it, slow at first, then faster, matching the rhythm of my hips.
She was close, I could feel it, her pussy clenched tighter and tighter, her breaths coming in frantic, high-pitched whines.
My own release was building, primal and unstoppable, pleasure coiling tight in my balls.
I wanted to hold on—to drag this out, to burn the memory of it into my brain forever—but the way she moved, the way she sounded, the way she felt, it was overpowering.
I’d never wanted anyone like this. I’d never needed anyone to the point of pain.
I bit the sensitive space beneath her ear, and she moaned, writhing under me. I continued massaging her breast, squeezing and pinching until I could feel her muscles start to flutter in that telltale way. She was close, so close, and I wanted nothing more than to see her shatter.
I pressed my whole body against her, my chest slick with sweat, my mouth at her ear. “Come for me,” I commanded, voice barely more than a growl. “I want to feel you come on my cock.”
She didn’t need more encouragement. Her whole body went rigid, and then she broke, sobbing my name as her canal clamped down on me with such force I almost blacked out.
The sensation set something off in my chest, a lightning-strike of pure animalistic bliss, and I fucked her through it, chasing that same white-hot edge.
I was right there with her, seconds away, but I needed to see her face when I went.
I pulled out, spinning her roughly to face me, and lifted her onto the edge of the island again.
Her lips were red, kiss-swollen, her hair a wild mess, and her eyes locked on mine as I slammed into her, deep and rough, both of us beyond words.
I came harder than I had in my entire life, so hard I saw stars, my body jerking as I emptied myself into her.
I buried my face in her shoulder and let the tremors wring me out until I could barely stand.
My hands went slack on her hips, but she clung to me, burying her nose in my hair, panting and shaking with the aftershocks.
It took a minute to come back to earth. We were both breathing hard, sweat cooling on our skin.
I finally eased out of her, still half-hard, and just watched her for a second, stunned.
She looked wrecked—eyes heavy-lidded, lips parted, chest heaving—but I’d never seen her more beautiful.
There was a look on her face, something raw and unguarded, and it made my heart hurt in a way sex never had before.
It was only then that I realized what I’d done. I’d fucked her in my kitchen, in my house, the house I’d bought for us, and for the first time in years, I didn’t feel numb. I felt alive. I felt hope.
Sadie steadied herself and lifted her head, her arms still wrapped around my neck. Her legs quivered, and her lips were swollen with kisses and want. She looked at me like she was seeing me for the first time, like maybe this was a different man than the one she’d left behind so long ago.
A satisfied grin lifted at the corners of her mouth.
“That was—” she began.
“Stay,” I ordered at the same time. I hadn’t meant for the single command to come out sounding so harsh. I just desperately wanted her to remain with me.
Her eyes widened slightly as her lips parted, and she sucked in a startled breath.
“For tonight,” I qualified, and her body relaxed.
Her grin returned as she agreed, “Okay.”
It was then that I realized she thought I was asking her to stay permanently, as in stay in Valentine Bay, and that had clearly horrified her to the point that her entire body froze.
I tried not to let it bother me that my asking her not to leave caused the color to drain from her face and her expression to morph into horrified panic.
The truth was I did want to ask her to stay.
I would get down on my knees and beg her even, if I thought that was what would make her happy.
But I knew that wasn’t the case. As much as I wished that we hadn’t wasted a dozen years over a misunderstanding, I understood that she was a grown woman with an entire life that had nothing to do with me.
I might not be able to ask her for forever, but she’d agreed for tonight, and at this point, I had to take it as a win.