His hazel eyes burn with lust, and he pushes his body against mine with a quiet moan, his head falling to my neck. B’s fingers fumble with the zipper on my coat, and I arch my back, helping him to remove it. The chilly air doesn’t register. Ticklish heat builds between my legs and the warmth from our skin seeps through our shirts.
Needy hands run down my back and cup my ass while B’s lips continue to graze my neck, his breath hot and damp on my skin.
He raises his head, and I grip his nape tightly but don’t move. “Stop me, Fi.” His body trembles against mine. “Otherwise, I’m going to kiss you.”
“Do it.”
His mouth presses to mine, but not in the violent way I expect. This isn’t the Brantley Michaels from college. This isn’t the hockey star kissing me. This is a new side of B, and I melt. His lips are soft but insistent, needy but gentle. And his tongue pushes into my mouth. I open for him with a quiet moan. The way he’s kissing me makes me feel exposed and wanted and horny as hell.
I kiss him aggressively, unable to hold back the torrent of fire building in my veins. I haven’t needed anyone this way in so long, and I’m riding the high. I want to feel every inch of him inside my body—down to the molecular level.
My fingers fumble with the button on his jeans. B’s hands skim up my body and pinch my nipples through the thin fabricof my T-shirt. The electric pain goes right to my clit, and I whimper.
Brantley’s jeans are undone, and his long, hard erection is peeking from his zipper, the large uncut head already glistening with precum.
B pulls his mouth from mine. “Fuck, Fi.”
“That’s the idea,” I growl.
“Are you sure? We don’t…I mean…”
“Stop, Michaels.” He stills, but swallows hard when I squeeze his length firmly in my hand. “I want to feel every inch of you ripping me apart and putting me back together. Do you think you can do that?”
His eyes widen and his pupils dilate, but he gives me a smirk, and that cocky confidence I’ve been craving for the last three years resurfaces with a vengeance as he unbuttons my jeans and yanks them down my legs. I kick off my boots so that I’m standing on the straw-strewn floor in nothing but my shirt and woolen cat socks.
Brantley kicks off his own boots, one colliding with a stack of metal buckets with a loud clatter. Then, his pants hit the floor and he steps free. Goose bumps pebble our skin and our needy breaths are puffs of white steam, but somehow the cold air just makes everything feel twice as erotic—like we’re doing something taboo by fucking in a barn.
B grips my thighs and I wrap my legs around his waist, grinding my aching, wet pussy into his already bare cock.
He groans with the contact. “Ugh, baby…”
I can’t stop there. I need the connection like I need to breathe, so I reach between us and give his hot length a firm tug. With my other hand, I push my panties to the side and line myself up.
I hover over him, his tip teasing my entrance, and our eyes lock for a split second before I push myself onto his thick dick, my clit pressing deliciously against his body as he slides in.
The sounds I make are loud and animalistic, and B’s match my own as he pulls back and pushes into my cunt forcefully. Everything is warm, slick skin, the bite of fingernails, and the salty taste of sweat on my upper lip. The back of my head falls against the wood with a thunk as he pulls back and pushes in impossibly deep and stills.
“I can’t…,” he whispers. “I’m so close.”
An orgasm is already building, teasing my spine and spreading through my thighs. My legs are shaking with the strain of holding our position, and ecstasy pervades my body like ripples in a pond.
B grinds his pelvis against my clit as he thrusts again.
It doesn’t matter that we’re broken. It doesn’t matter that he hurt me. It doesn’t even matter that we’re in a barn in the middle of the snowy woods.
He’s all that matters. The white-hot pleasure exploding between my thighs is all that matters.
And he comes with me with what can only be described as a guttural roar. He holds himself deep, like he’s filling in all the cracks in my soul and lighting the dark, empty spaces that depression has left in its wake. The orgasm is so potent that my eyes fill with tears, and I can’t stop them as they trickle down my cheeks. I swallow a sob and cover my face with my hands so that B won’t see my raw vulnerability.
For a moment, all I can hear is our short panting breaths in the stillness of the barn. Then Brantley’s hands touch mine gently, pulling them from my face.
“Hey,” he whispers, tenderly swiping the wetness from my cheeks. “Did I hurt you?”
“No,” I croak. “I’m sorry, B.”
“Shhh, why are you sorry, Fi? I’m not. I never regret a moment with you.”
We’re still wound together intimately even though B’s cock has softened inside my body. I can feel his heartbeathammering against my own. His skin is damp and warm and soft.
