Chapter 27 #2
I lift my head and our eyes connect. I’m struck again by the beautiful forest in his, visible even now through his blown pupils. “You’re…really good at that,” I say hoarsely.
Butch chuckles, his breath tickling my sensitive bits. “You make it easy.”
He releases my thighs and stands, swiftly stripping off the rest of his clothes. My gaze snaps to his erection. The lumberjack is packing—like a fucking redwood—thick, straining, and well above average. I’m slack jawed. And desperate for carnal knowledge.
He looks pleased. Maybe even a little smug.
“Butch,” I purr.
“Hmm,” he murmurs, stroking his impressive dick. “This what you want?”
I nod, speechless.
He positions himself, leaning forward on his arms to kiss me languidly, as if we have nothing but time. His lips trail to my ear. “I can’t wait to be inside of you too, Sundance,” he whispers, his warm breath adding more heat to the inferno roiling through my body.
He rubs the tip along my entrance, testing. No need. I’m soaked, beyond ready, open for business. Our moans converge as my legs widen, and he pushes in further. Holy hell. It’s a good thing I’m primed, because his girth steals my air straight from my lungs.
“Relax, beautiful. Breathe.”
I take a few inhalations and force myself to calm. He eases in another inch.
“You’re so big,” I marvel.
“And you’re so fucking tight I’m about to lose my shit.”
“Relax, Butch. Breathe ,” I joke through more staggered breaths.
Our eyes meet, smiles matching. This man is a heady sight. Gorgeous. Strong. And totally focused on me. My mouth falls open as he thrusts deeper, pleasure zinging through my system .
When he’s all the way home, his eyes close, and I watch him raptly. His brunette locks are damp from perspiration, curling slightly at the ends. His neck and arm muscles strain. His weight fills me with a comfort I don’t understand.
His eyes open and we share another languid smile. “You okay?”
This man. If it wasn’t a one-nighter, bet I could fall for him. “Never better.”
Slowly, he moves his hips, working us into a rhythm.
My legs lift, allowing him in deeper, and the friction…
and sheer volume of Mr. Lumberjack blows my mind.
He quickens his tempo, ramming into me with deliberate strokes, our moans and heavy breaths filling the room.
I’m delirious from the pleasure, clawing at his back like a crazed woman.
I wrap my limbs around him, my fingernails digging in, wanting him closer, closer, closer as our centers meet again and again.
His pace turns even more vigorous, and the momentum edges my delirium as he nears climax.
My exclamations intensify. The sensations are extreme enough that my eyes prick unexpectedly.
Our gazes clash in the final moments, and my euphoria is mirrored in his expression.
He explodes and I cry out, overwhelmed with…
all of it. His maple scent mixed with salty sweat.
His hard muscles against my soft skin. How he clutches me to him as he grinds out every drop.
The soundtrack of our ragged breaths punctuating the quiet space.
I pull him in tighter, and he collapses into me, both of us basking in the spoils of this unexpected, incredible, and damn-near perfect liaison.
Minutes later, I’m wrapped around one side of Butch with his fingers lightly tracing over my hip and down one leg. It’s surprising intimate for two strangers, but after what just went down, maybe not.
Waning light filters in the hotel window, the sky is a dusky shade of blue, and sounds of distant sirens permeate the silence .
“Hungry?” I ask.
“For more of you? Yes.”
I chuckle. “How about food? We could order room service.”
“Also yes…as long as you remain naked.”
A warmth spreads at his words. He wants me. And being wanted has always fueled and filled me. I’m acutely aware I can’t go there. I’m not looking for love anymore. Either is my battered heart. This is why a one-night stand works. The unspoken rules are clear: this is all it is and ever will be.
Reluctantly, I pry myself from his incredible body, scoot off the mattress, and snag the hotel menu. Standing near the edge of the bed, I clear my throat and read our choices.
“Appetizers include…” I study the list.
“I already had an appetizer, and nothing’s topping that.” Butch props himself on one elbow with the sheet barely covering his…main course…and looking every bit the Playgirl centerfold.
I grin, scanning the array of options. “How about a ‘King-Size Hamburger’ or ‘Two Grilled Frankfurters with Sweet Relish’? We can score ‘Cheese Gold Fish’ for a buck. This verbiage cracks me up…it’s so old fashioned.
Get this: We can order ‘stuffed celery with creamed Roquefort cheese’!
And, oh my god, ‘Iced Vichyssoise.’ How very?—”
“I like you narrating the menu, Sundance. It’s getting me hard.”
My eyes shoot right to the burgeoning sheet, and I bite my lip. “Mmm…perhaps we don’t need canapés after all.” Tossing the menu into the air, I climb Mr. Lumberjack like, ahem, a tree.
We’ve done just about everything…given each other head (that sixty-nine was especially memorable), screwed in a variety of positions and places in this hotel suite, ta ken a shower together, shared multiple orgasms. I’ve only vetoed one request—the one where his fingers lightly caressed my back entrance and he asked, Is this up for grabs?
in his sexy voice. I shook my head, trying to hide my surprise.
His only response was a murmured, Shame .
We finally ordered room service (a “King-Size Cheeseburger” for him and BLT for me). I fork another bite of “Cheese Cake” into his mouth. Watching him lick the creamy dessert from his lower lip—chest bare, sheet covering him from the waist down—is a vision likely burned into my memory forever.
Ditching the plate, I seek his lips. Again. We both groan, inhaling each other and the sweetness from the cake, as our tongues commingle.
“You are insatiable,” he murmurs.
He’s right. I’m like a depraved, sex-starved machine. “For you.”
And we go another round.
After midnight, Butch leaves me—sated, exhausted, and big-dick sore—with one last lingering kiss.
“See you, gorgeous,” he whispers, tenderly stroking my hair.
I gaze into those glorious emerald eyes one final time. “Back atcha, handsome.”
He hesitates, as if wanting to say more. It’s the same for me…but what do you say after a night like that? Thanks for a good time? Have a nice life? Wanna get married and do this forever?
Instead, he presses a tender kiss to my forehead and mutters something I can’t discern on his way out.
The hotel door snicks closed behind him, leaving me alone in this bed we fully utilized. One where our fused musky scent deliciously lingers .
I sense we both carry shards of regret. We’re good together.
Not just the sex, either. We were comfortable in a way strangers typically aren’t.
And when we talked, even sharing a few confessions, it seemed natural.
Maybe the intense sex also says something about us.
So. Good. Butch was attentive, experienced, and focused on my pleasure.
It rocked my world in the best, toe-curling way.
But let’s be realistic. I don’t even know his full name, age, or zip code—and I certainly never offered up of my details. We’re just Butch and Sundance, two outlaws who carved out a perfect night of debauchery like it was our last night alive.
The likelihood of ever seeing him again? One in a million.