I let her run it for a while — that warm mouth working me slow and certain, taking her time like the night was hers to spend, and my grip was tight in her hair and my jaw was tight and when I finally pulled her up she was flushed and breathing hard and I was done waiting.
I got her jeans off and took her down onto the bed. She shifted to give me the good side without being asked, her knee coming up. She was worth every second stretched out across those sheets, all bare skin and curves, those hazel eyes gone dark, and I put my mouth on her pussy and she arched off the mattress hard enough that I had to put my forearm across her hips to hold her down.
"Jesus," she breathed.
"Stay still sweetheart," I said against her, and felt her shudder at that.
I worked her slow and thorough, tongue and fingers, learning what made her thighs shake and what made her stop catching the sounds she was making. She tasted clean and sweet, and I could have stayed there all night. I kept the pace steady. She lasted longer than I expected.
"Baby," she said finally, voice stripped down to nothing. "Please."
I gave her what she was asking for. She fell apart, hands tight in my hair.
I pressed a kiss to her hip and moved up beside her. She caught her breath. Then I stood.
She sat up. Her eyes moved down to my cock — hard and straining — and back up.
"You're so big," she said, breathless.
"I'll take care of you."
"I didn't ask you to be careful."
"And I told you I'd take care of you." I held her gaze. "Those aren't the same thing."
Something shifted in her expression: the wall, for two full seconds, entirely gone. Then she reached up and pulled me down.
I pushed in slow and she exhaled against my jaw, long and rough at the edges, and her hands gripped my back. I held still.
"You okay?" I said.
"More than okay." She pressed her hips up against me. "Fuck me, Scorch. Please."
So I moved. Careful of the wound, which she was already helping with, one hand at my hip, her body working with mine like she'd already figured out the geometry, and I stopped thinking about the wound inside a minute because she rolled her hips and the sound I made was embarrassingly honest.
"Oh god," she moaned against my jaw, voice gone rough at the edges. "Right there. Don't stop."
"You're going to be the death of me," I said.
"I know CPR."
I laughed low and got my hand between us, found her clit, and the laugh broke off against her throat.
"Not fair," she breathed.
"You want me to stop?"
"If you stop I will personally remove those sutures myself."
I didn't stop. I watched her go from composed to completely wrecked in stages I was going to be thinking about on every straight stretch of highway between here and Bandera. She came hard the second time, nails in my back, legs locked, and I followed her over not long after.
WE STAYED EXACTLY WHEREwe were.
Her breathing slowed. The evening had gone quiet outside and she hadn't kicked me out of her bed, which I took as good sign.
"Your brisket better be spectacular," she whispered into my shoulder.
I laughed — caught off guard the same way she'd caught me red-handed that first night. "It is. I'll personally guarantee it."
