The groan that escapes him as he clutches my outer pussy lips reverberates through me. Then he licks. All the way up my soaking slit. He laps me up. Exactly as he said, he tastes me. And OMG it feels amazing. The heat of his tongue, the cold of the snow, pleasure spiralling into me. The rumble as he makes an appreciative noise and the flick he does over my most sensitive part.
“Such a sweet, wet, welcoming pussy. You taste so good, lass,” he murmurs onto my skin then he’s burying his face in my folds and stroking with hard licks.
My hands grasp out to the sides as he lays siege to my clit, dragging out pleasure from me and amplifying it with his whole mouth. Soft lips and knowing tongue, the sharp rasp of his stubble heightens every sweet sensation until I’m arching and shaking. He grips my thighs and spreads me wider and as my pussy is even more open to him, it all feels more sensitive.
One of his hands releases me, and his blunt finger touches my entrance. Cold. Hard. Then slipping in, firm against my resistance. A cry of sheer need escapes me, so animalistic I can’t believe it’s from my mouth. But I’m beside myself. This is primal and undeniable. He’s owning me out in the open, in the way only he can.
He’s my tormentor and captor and all my hopes and comfort. His finger pushes in and out of me, causing a wail as he rubs the sensitive part of my inner wall. That soft place that makes every touch to my clit brighter and hotter. The combination of his wet but unrelenting tongue and his clever finger up to the knuckle is magic. It’s snow in June coating a blown-open red rose, miraculously beautiful and impossible.
“Come for me,” he orders. That might have been what set me off, but the second finger thrusting in and a hard suck on my clit is the last thing I know before I’m jerking and sobbing with the shock of pleasure that sweeps through my body.
In the corner recesses of my brain, eventually I begin to feel other things that aren’t soft aftershocks of my pulsing clit and languidly replete limbs. The wool of his jumper is both cosy and rough on my inner thighs. My knees are covered in a light dusting of snow and so is James’ hat. His fingers are still in me, easing in and out, firm and sure. The movement both prolongs the pleasure and is somehow soothing.
He kisses my hip and looks up. “I’ll never forget that, lass.”
It’s only once he’s pulled me to standing and brushed off the snow, and we’ve returned to the house, heading straight for the kitchen to warm up with a cup of tea, that I notice.
The snow is sparkling from the touch of a sunbeam.
No. I…
I move to where the floor-to-ceiling windows reveal the end of this time of just James and me, together. Thick snow still surrounds the house, but the thinning layer of cloud unveils unwelcome blue.
Treacherous bloody sun. I choose the blizzard. I need our private world where James whispers that I’m good, and doing well as he slides his fingers across my clit.
“We can leave now if you want.” James’ voice appears just behind me as his hand settles on my waist. “Or in the morning.”
The sadness I hear in his words is echoed by my heart breaking.
“What if I wanted to stay?” I spin and look up into his face.
“You want to live here? With me?” He sounds utterly disbelieving.
“Yes.” I reach out and touch him and he growls like a feral dog.
“Turn around.”
I frown in confusion. “But…”
“I said, turn around,” he repeats, low and menacing.
I huff. “Why?”
“Because I can’t be sure I won’t just take you up on your naive offer when you’re looking at me that way. And there are some things you should know first.”
8
JAMES
She looks askance at me. “No need to be a big grump.” But she does as I tell her and her obedience shoots pleasure straight to my already hard cock.
“I am a big grump, that’s the point.”
“No, you’re not.” She shakes her head and the desire to fist that cascade of caramel waves moves my hand almost to her. I hover my fingers.
Without her blue eyes on me and her every emotion showing on her face I order my thoughts. My cock—well it doesn’t soften, let’s not ask for the impossible—but it doesn’t get any harder.
“What would your dad have said?” The question is essentially rhetorical at this point. I’m going to tell Mia everything. I’ll love this lass until the day I die. The only choice she has here is the distance I love her from. But fuck. My best friend. He’d have kicked my arse into the next decade.
