Chapter 8 #2
Her gaze tracks my chest, the pale horn scar across my left ribs, and the line of hair beneath my stomach. She walks to me and places both hands on my skin. Her palms are cool. Her touch isn’t.
“You told me where to put my hands last night,” she says. “Tonight I decide first.”
“Yes.”
She rises onto her toes and kisses me. I let her set the pressure, the angle, and the pace until she catches the back of my neck and pulls me down harder. The sound she makes when I grip her hips turns rough, and she pulls me closer.
I lift the hem of her shirt and wait only long enough for her arms to rise. Bare skin appears inch by inch. She wears no bra. Her nipples tighten under my attention, and I bend to take one into my mouth.
Laura’s fingers push into my hair. I suck until her back arches before moving to the other breast. She holds me there and rocks against my thigh, heat pressing through the thin fabric of her shorts.
“Bed,” she says.
I sit against the headboard. She removes the rest of her clothes without instruction, watching my face as she bares every lush curve. Want makes my hands ache. I leave them on my thighs until she climbs over me and settles astride my hips.
“Touch me now.”
My palms close around her waist. I stroke down over her ass and bring her forward against the hard length trapped in my jeans. She grinds once, slow and deliberate, and opens my belt.
I help only when she lifts enough to free me. Her hand wraps around my cock, cautious for the first stroke and firmer on the second. I breathe through the pressure and let her learn what each movement does to me.
“Condom,” she says.
I tear open the package and roll it on while she watches. No ceremony. No claim. A practical barrier chosen before desire made the decision harder.
Laura shifts higher on her knees and guides me to her opening. I spread one hand over her lower back and use the other to touch her clit, slow circles that bring her body forward into mine. She’s wet, but the first pressure still makes her close her eyes.
“Look at me,” I say.
Her eyes open. She lowers herself another inch. I hold still beneath her, letting her body and her decision set the pace.
“Slower,” she says.
I stop moving, though there is almost no movement left to stop. My thumb continues its easy circle because she leans into it. Laura breathes, adjusts the angle, and sinks farther until I’m seated deep inside her.
The grip of her body strips language from me for several seconds. She’s tight, hot, and watching every part of my control. I won’t turn her first time into a monument to my restraint, but restraint is what lets her find pleasure without fighting my urgency.
“Good girl,” I say. “You take exactly what you want.”
Her mouth softens. She lifts, then lowers, testing the stretch. The next movement is smoother. I guide her hips without forcing speed, and soon she’s riding me with a concentration that belongs on a survey line and shouldn’t be this erotic.
“Less thinking,” I tell her.
“Occupationally impossible.”
I press harder against her clit. Her answer breaks into a gasp.
“Try.”
She leans forward, palms braced on my chest, and lets rhythm replace calculation. Pleasure warms her face. Her breasts move above me. I keep one hand on her hip and use the other between us until each downward stroke makes her tighten.
“Cade.”
“I have you.”
Her control falters in a way that has nothing to do with fear. She takes me deep and holds there, trembling.
“Now take over,” she says.
The invitation reaches everything I’ve been holding back. I roll us without separating, place her beneath me, and hook one of her legs over my forearm. Her body opens to the angle. I give her one slow thrust and watch pleasure move through her.
“This?”
“Yes.”
That is the only answer I need. I set a measured pace, deep enough to make her grip my shoulders and steady enough that she can meet every stroke. When she lifts her hips for more, I give her more. The bed shifts against the wall. Her nails mark my skin.
I tell her what I see. Her precision gone soft with pleasure. Her courage in bringing me the choice. The strength it takes to ask for control after a lifetime of having it taken. Praise makes her wetter and pulls a rough sound from her throat.
“Come for me, Laura.”
Her eyes open at her name. I slide my hand between us and circle her clit in time with my thrusts. She comes hard, body tightening around me, her heel pressing into my back as she holds me close.
I follow with my face against her neck and her name in my mouth. The release moves through me with enough force to make the careful parts of the day disappear.
For a minute, neither of us speaks. I withdraw, tie off the condom, and dispose of it. I bring her a warm washcloth and water and lie beside her without covering the choice with a speech.
Laura tests her body with one small shift. “Sore. Not sorry.”
“Tell me if either changes.”
“That’s a practical instruction.”
“I contain multitudes.”
She laughs and rests her head against my chest. The sound belongs here too easily.
“The field plan worked because I led it,” she says.
“It worked because you led it and I followed.”
She goes still but relaxes again when boots cross the downstairs hall. Evidence remains bagged below us. Her records remain locked across from my room. Nothing we did changes who owns either one.
My phone lights on the nightstand with a message from Zane. I read it only after Laura nods.
The pump’s serial number traces to a local rental account. The named contact is Dale Thompson, site foreman for High Plains Aggregate.