Chapter 20 #2
Then he put his mouth on her and the world narrowed to a bright, electric line of pleasure.
“Shane,” she said, astonished and greedy in the same heartbeat.
Her head bumped the wall and she didn’t care.
He knew her body now, knew how she chased her orgasm and then wanted it to stall so it would feel more intense when it finally crashed over her.
He gave her exactly that—firm and sweet, then lighter, then a slow pressure that unwound her spine.
He slid a finger inside her and she swore softly because he took that as permission to press his palm against her clit until the world went bright white around the edges.
She laughed once—pure joy, unfiltered, because happy sex was so much better than anything she remembered. He looked up at the sound, still moving his mouth, eyes laughing with her like, yeah, right? and then she couldn’t laugh because he crooked his finger and she broke open with a gasp.
He held her through her orgasm, steady and greedy for every last tremor, then pressed one last maddening kiss on her folds that made her shiver and swat at his shoulder. “Mean,” she accused breathlessly.
“Precise,” he countered as he ran his tongue up her body in one long line to her lips where he kissed her slowly, letting her taste herself on his mouth. “And thorough.”
Her legs wobbled. “Bed,” she said again, because sprawling had been promised and she would not be denied.
They made it to the bedroom with only minor detours—the first because she had to push him onto the couch and climb onto him like a woman who knew exactly what she wanted (she did), and the second because Pete stuck his nose around the door and then, with impeccable timing, turned and wandered away as if to say, I’m going to check the perimeter, you two continue with your important business, you weirdos.
Both naked on the bed, she straddled Shane’s hips and braced her hands on his chest. The sheer look of him—hands behind his head, biceps carving shadows, chest rising and falling under her palms—did wicked things to her.
She leaned forward and kissed a scar under his ribs, then more kisses lower, delighted when his breath quickened.
“You don’t have to do—” he began, the gentleman even now.
“I want to,” she said, and took his hard cock into her mouth.
“Oh fuck,” he said in that hoarse whisper that made her feel like a magician.
She set an easy rhythm, playful, teasing, loving the way he watched her like the sun had just come up twice.
His hand slid into her hair—not to guide or grip—just to touch.
When she hollowed her cheeks and wrapped her fist at the base of his cock, his hips twitched and he laughed helplessly. “You are,” he managed, “a menace.”
“Thank you,” she said primly again, then did something with her tongue she’d learned he liked—a nice, slow swirl. He groaned and bucked.
She stopped before he got too close because she was not wasting this incredible hard-on, thank you very much, and crawled up his body to kiss him. His hands came to her hips, careful, reverent. He looked up at her, always careful to make sure she was ready.
She answered by taking his cock in her hand and guiding him. The first slow slide made both of them gasp. She sank down until they fit, deep and perfect, her hands flattening on his chest for balance and because she loved feeling his heart kick under her palms.
“Hey,” he said softly, wonder-smile pulling at his mouth. “You with me?”
“Completely.” She rocked once and watched his eyes go heavy. “I like this view.”
“Likewise,” he said, sounding wrecked in the best way. He traced up her sides, over her ribs, thumbs skimming the bottom curve of her breasts, sending tingling shivers through her entire body. “Go how you want, Sweetness.”
So she did. She set a pace that matched the morning—sun shining over the ridge, soft breeze in the willows, coffee steam curling in the air, warm, sweet syrup.
When she leaned forward he angled up to meet her.
When she rolled her hips he swore against her throat.
When she took his hands and pinned them to the mattress, playful and bossy, he laughed into her mouth and let her, his own body loose with trust.
She found the perfect angle and rode hard, chasing her orgasm, making small sounds that would have embarrassed her before.
Not now. Not with this man who looked at her like her joy was his life’s work.
He tipped one hand free and slid it between them, fingers finding her clit like he’d studied a map of her body.
The double sensation—his cock inside, his fingers outside—made her orgasm hit so fast she had to moan through it, forehead dropping to his, the two of them holding still while the world tilted for them both.
“I’ve got you,” he murmured, anchored and adoring. “Take another one.”
She did, and everything went bright again—edges dissolving, body pulsing around him as she came again with a surprised, delighted sound she didn’t even try to swallow.
He followed, the sounds he made rough as he gripped her hips to keep her pressed against him. She felt the rhythm of his coming inside her, each wave matched to the steady pulse at his throat where her mouth had landed.
They went still together. She lay draped over him, both of them breathing like they’d outrun a storm and found a porch roof to huddle under.
“Hi,” he said after a while, voice like raw silk.
“Hi,” she echoed against his neck, smiling.
He smoothed a hand down her spine, palm slow, content. “So,” he said, “the seduction…”
“Five stars,” she said promptly into his skin. “Warm syrup was a strong opener. Exceptional follow-through. Would recommend to a friend.”
“Please don’t recommend to a friend,” he said, in mock-horror, and she laughed until he rolled her carefully onto her back and kissed the laughter right out of her mouth.
She hooked her leg over his hip and tucked into his side, still smiling against his chest.
Through the window: the river, the willows, a magpie giving loud opinions about the morning.
“Pete’s going to demand his hike soon,” Shane warned her.
“Pete can have a hike.” April traced idle shapes over the scar she loved. “After a nap.”
“In broad daylight?” He turned his head, fake scandalized.
She tickled his chest. “Who are we kidding, Sailor? We’re going to cat nap for sixteen minutes and then eat leftovers standing in front of the fridge.”
“And then hike.”
“And then,” she said, because she loved this part—planning a day that belonged to them alone—“we’re stopping at Riversong for a cold brew and one of Hannah’s lemon bars.
And tonight I’m making fajitas and you’re chopping the peppers because you take the seeds out with surgical precision and it’s hot to watch. ”
He huffed a laugh into her hair. “I love your brain.”
“I love your hands,” she said, shameless. Then, softer, because the happy had an underlayer that was tender as newly-healed skin, “I love this. All of it. You here. Me not… afraid anymore.”
He went still, caught by surprise. His palm slid up to her jaw, tilting her face so he could kiss her slow and sure. “I’m here,” he said simply. No oath needed; it was in the way he warmed the syrup, in the vase of fresh wildflowers, in the way he looked at her with love in his eyes.
“I know.”
“Good.” He nuzzled her temple. “But I’m going to keep proving it anyway.”
“Please do,” she said, feeling light again. “I’m a woman of numbers and I need all the theorems proved.”
“Oh, God, not math.” He laughed into her hair. The room was full of warm sunshine, making them lazy, their bodies heavy and sweet. She closed her eyes and listened to the river’s soft song, Pete’s contented dog-snore down the hall, the soft beat of Shane’s heart under her ear.
Sixteen minutes, she thought, and then out for lemon bars.
Maybe twenty. She could savor her life for a morning.