Chapter 27
Twenty-Seven
B utch and I eye-fuck each other in the glass elevator that rises from the hotel atrium toward the sky.
My nerve endings crackle when he stands close enough that his distinctive scent practically assaults me.
He smells damn good. His fingers lift and trace my jaw.
Heat blasts through me, incinerating my panties.
I clear my throat and gaze up at him. He’s ridiculously tall; he probably has seven inches on me. “Uh, just to be straightforward, this is a no-strings-attached, one-time offer.”
He grins—the panty-dropping kind, except mine are already wrecked.
His mouth lowers to my ear. “So you just want a man…who knows how to pleasure a woman…to make you come so hard you see stars? Fuck you slow, deep, senseless? As many times as you can take it?”
Oh my god.
My heart hammers alarmingly fast. When his fingertips trail brazenly down my neck and over my breast, tiny chill-bumps erupt across my skin. I’m tingling all the way to my toes.
“Got it,” he murmurs .
I’m in major trouble.
That low-pitched voice. That sexy confidence. And that goddamn scent…what is it? Woodsy and a hint of something sweeter, like maple. I swear this guy’s a lumberjack dripping syrup on his abs with eyes like a verdant forest.
Get it together.
The elevator dings and Butch drops his roving hand as two women enter, immersed in conversation as one depresses the button for her desired floor.
Butch’s eyes never leave mine, a wicked grin dancing on his lips as the women continue debating some beauty pageant rule and how unfair it is to their daughters.
My pulse lowers for five seconds. I can barely look at him. Those eyes. Such a deep emerald green. What woman can survive his penetrating stare wrapped in that package? I’m entranced, like I’ve joined a cult and he’s the leader. What is happening here?
The elevator chimes for our floor.
“Pardon me, ladies,” Butch says, and they part like the Red Sea.
Like how my thighs are about to.
He touches the small of my back and I coax my unstable legs to move. It’s embarrassing how weak-kneed I am. We make it to my room, but the card key refuses to cooperate no matter how much I swipe it. I’m entirely flustered.
“May I?” he offers.
“Please.”
One try and it opens effortlessly for Butch.
Of course. Pushing the door with his giant arm, he holds it open for me.
It closes behind us with a deafening clang.
My nerves rage, and I’m suddenly acutely aware of being out of my depth.
For all my bravado, this isn’t exactly my thing.
I’ve just invited a stranger to have sex.
He approaches with those forest-green, cult daddy eyes fastened on me. “I’m going to kiss the hell out of you now,” he purrs in that bass timbre.
The satchel clutched in my hand drops to the floor. My mouth goes dry, and I swallow with difficulty.
He cups the back of my head and corrals my waist with those sure hands. My heart thuds harder as he guides us together.
Mr. Lumberjack presses his lips to mine and sparks fly , igniting a wildfire engulfing me from head to toe.
Holy shit.
We devour each other, mouths opening, tongues intertwining, exploring, probing, seeking.
My arms wrap around his strapping shoulders, taut muscles evident under his button-down.
The hungry sounds emanating from us only fuel the fire, and I’m grateful this man has a sure grip because my knees gave out five minutes ago.
Eager to see and touch every inch of him, I reach between us and fumble to unbutton this infernal barrier called a shirt.
Equally impatient, he takes over, whipping it off and chucking it onto a nearby chair.
How I love watching those muscles flex. My gaze traces his broad shoulders, spectacular build, manly chest hair, and that tapered V diving into his jeans.
Our lips collide again, hungry and exploratory.
My hands rove greedily across his contoured planes.
His huge hands chart a path down my back to my ass.
His fingers travel the length of my skirt, then he hikes the material and his palms cup my cheeks.
His claiming grip, even through my sheer nylons, further soaks my lace underwear.
Those thick fingers—which were impossible to miss at the bar—knead my flesh, and goddamn if I’m not ready to sell my soul to have one of them inside me right now.
His hands traverse upwards, untucking my blouse before diving underneath.
His calluses scratch gently against my naked skin in the most deliciously welcome way .
Lumberjack or not, this is a man who works with his hands, and something about that turns me on even more.
He carefully lifts the blouse over my head, my nipples hardening further at the way he devours me with his eyes.
My stomach dips dramatically…and I’m a trembling, needy mess.
His fingers graze over my breasts, ensconced in an ivory bra, and I moan.
Loudly. Heat courses through my blood, the fire blazing out of control now.
I need this. I need him . Rightfully interpreting my signals, he deftly unclasps my bra, which falls to my feet.
“Goddamn, you’re gorgeous,” he murmurs before lowering to suck one of my nipples. Then he groans, a sexy vibration that rocks me to my core.
My gasp fuels him as his warm tongue takes me to dizzying heights.
I’m launched into another dimension. Yes.
Yes. A thousand times yesssssssssss. Butch showers attention on both breasts, squeezing and sucking until the pulsing between my thighs intensifies to DEFCON 3.
There’s no question I’m going to fuck this strange and beautiful man. Hopefully several times.
I don’t know who I am right now.
And I don’t care.
This man knows what the hell he’s doing.
And I want it.
Badly.
I search blindly for his belt and unbuckle it. My eyes catch his, then shift to his smirking mouth. God, his lips. They’re magical all on their own, with a meaty lower lip I’ve already sucked on and a sharply defined cupid’s bow. Those seem to be my downfall, my catnip, my fetish.
“Sundance.”
I meet his gaze, freezing. He’s not stopping this train, is he? Having second thoughts?
“I think we’re on the same page,” he says, moving strands of hair from my eyes, “but don’t want to assume. ”
“Okay,” I breathe.
“I want to kiss, lick, suck, touch, and fuck all of you.”
Oh my . “Yes…me too…all those things.” I return to unbuttoning his jeans.
He chuckles, grabbing my hand and holding it still. “Do we need protection?”
“I’m on the Pill. And I haven’t slept with anyone since…for a while. I’m good if you are.” This registers as both stupid and reckless, but the thought leaves as quickly as it comes.
“Better than good.” He grins wide, releasing my hand. His hard-on strains through the denim, and I salivate. I’ve missed the male apparatus.
Damn…Jay was right. I did need some dick.
Butch unlaces his boots and kicks them off, giving me time to appreciate how his jeans strain against those long, burly legs.
“You’re turn,” he says, voice husky. He kneels before me, and something about it seems so…tender and beautiful and dirty all at the same time. He deftly removes my high heel, then follows suit with the other. He shimmies off my pencil skirt and carefully rolls down my nylons.
He’s now mere inches over eye level with my soaked panties.
He leans in, grabs my hips, presses his face to that now-useless garment…
and inhales. His nose furrows right there , and I whimper.
His growl is low and damn-near feral. His tongue laps at the material, his hot breath breaching it, and I clutch his shoulders, my whimpers intensifying.
“So ready, so wet…” he murmurs as he continues pressing his mouth against the fabric.
I watch through heavy lids as he wiggles his index finger under my panties, barely grazing across my entrance.
My stance widens, the anticipation halting my breath.
He pulls the fabric aside and plunges into me without pretense.
I cry out, breathing hard as he works it in and out, slowly, purposefully, his eyes fixated.
His finger is so big, filling me in the best way. The intensity rocks me head to toe.
“Fuuuuuck,” he marvels. “You feel incredible.”
“So, so good,” I rasp.
He removes that wonderful instrument and licks it. I nearly fall to the ground.
Butch stands and flips off the bedcovers. He spins me onto the bed and drags my underwear down my legs, smelling them for good measure when he’s holding the scrap of lace in his giant hand. “Your smell is addicting,” he says.
I’d be embarrassed if lust weren’t obliterating rational thought.
The sheets are soft under my naked body as he spreads my thighs, and his mouth and tongue begin exploring my most sacred space.
We’re both vocal, Butch’s groans reverberating straight up my center. “Talk to me. Tell me what you want,” he murmurs.
His stubble scrapes my tender flesh as we adjust to this journey of discovery. He doesn’t require many navigational cues—and when he lands on the bullseye with the perfect pressure, I quiver and my moans intensify.
“Like that. Just like that. Oh god. Don’t stop,” I plead.
My orgasm builds, tension mounting through my core as my legs go taut, breath ceasing as release roars through my body, a flash flood annihilating everything in its path.
I ride the wave of delirium through the most unrecognizable scream I’ve ever emitted, one that leaves me gasping for air and wondering if I’ve just serenaded the entire hotel.
Through it all, I register Butch pushing my thighs further apart—against my body’s natural inclination to press them closed. He’s still spreading me wide as the last spasms shudder through my vagina, and I realize he’s…watching. Intently. And something about that is super fucking hot.