Chapter 23 #3
Pregnancy. She understood implicitly what he was asking.
But she had been on the pill since she was eighteen to regulate her periods and had never gone off it, even when she figured she probably should have, especially during the most recent dry spell she’d been having for the last…
however long she’d owned Donwell. But he didn’t need all that extra information, that was for sure.
“I’m on the pill,” she said simply. “We’re good.
Come.” As she reached for him, he met her halfway, and they kissed, and all the awkwardness of the moment dissipated when they joined up again, his mouth on hers, something so familiar about his scent, the shape of his mouth, the feel of his body underneath her roaming hands.
He felt between her legs, testing, and the evidence of her arousal must still have been there, because he groaned into her mouth, and she felt his hand shift, taking himself in it, rolling the head against her.
She was lying back on the hard, uncomfortable wooden bench, legs on either side. He had one knee up and one foot down, one hand beneath her lower back while the other was between her legs. It was the most awkward positioning she had ever been in, even in her—albeit limited—experience.
And she wouldn’t change a thing about it.
He skimmed himself through her wetness, and she bit her lip on a whimper, feeling the electric whir of it coursing through her body as he hit all the right spots.
Then she felt him find her entrance, placing himself there and shaping his hands over her hips, pulling her toward him gently in a back-and-forth rocking motion, taking his time as he felt her getting used to him.
It took a moment for her to adjust, but once she did, she felt him settle further, and she drew him even closer, with her heels in the backs of his thighs. Once he was fully seated, they breathed together deeply, inhaled and exhaled, relishing the feel of it.
He stayed still for a beat too long, and she was about to tell him to move, when he suddenly reached under her with both hands and lifted her up, standing with her and carrying her to another area in the shed.
She could feel herself settling farther onto him, feel him going deeper than she’d ever felt before, until he had her propped up between the tool cabinet and his chest, held securely to his body.
She wriggled, and they both gasped, and then he started to move in earnest, holding her with ease as he maneuvered her into a steady rhythm. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and her legs around his hips, allowing him to take the lead.
“God, Gem, I don’t—you have no idea,” he groaned in her ear. “I shouldn’t be doing this.”
Her heart stopped at his words, the admission of his regret, before he continued.
“We should be in a bed, for fuck’s sake. You should be laid out on blankets and—and fucking rose petals, not”—he thrust with a deep groan, and she gasped at the fluttering warmth inside her—“in a goddamn shed.”
“I don’t—” She let out a whimper as the electrical current got stronger with each thrust, his hands on her ass as his movements became a bit jerkier, less fluid.
“I don’t need rose petals, Duchamp,” she said on a gasp, wrapping her arms tighter around him, feeling the sweat forming between them.
“You of all people should”—an involuntary whimper cut her words off again before she continued—“know that.” The pleasure continued to build inside her, and she found herself matching his thrusts, chasing the feel of it.
She had never come like this before, but she had never had Ethan inside her, either—the thought alone sent her heart racing, energy thrumming through her body at the highest voltage.
Ethan didn’t respond, seeming to have lost words completely at this point, as his grip on her tightened. After a few heartbeats, and movements to match, he said, “Gem, I think I’m going to—”
She barely heard him, though, because she was already there, falling off the edge of the cliff, pressing her thighs into his hips and her heels into the backs of his legs as her orgasm washed over her like waves crashing against the shore.
He let out a protracted moan, and she could feel him, the pulsations inside that matched her own, the lurid warmth of it, and it sent further sensation through her, another little mini-death.
She rested her head on his shoulder, and he turned around with her still in his arms before settling on the wooden bench that she’d initially been lying on, the one she mentally reminded herself to clean before Norman ever came back in here, sitting with her in his lap.
What now? she thought, the harshness of a postorgasm reality hitting her as the glow wore off.
She could feel his breath evening out, though his heart still pounded heavily in his chest, and his inhale caught, as though he were about to say something.
What it was, she would never know. Because in that moment, there was a pounding at the shed door that caused them to look at each other in alarm. Before they could even think to scramble, to move or do something, a voice came through from the other side:
“If it’s you two that have locked yourselves in there, listen up! We have a problem.”