I capture her cry of release with another kiss as her pussy contracts around my cock and begins to ripple. Her cunt pulsates as I pump into her and continue to work over her clit, dragging out her orgasm as her nails dig into my skin, her muddy feet press into my lower back.
When she finally sags slightly on a gasp, I allow myself to let go, too, driving harshly two more times and stilling there, unleashing all the things I’ve pent up for the last fifteen years, for the last two months, for the last two days, as deeply inside her as I can on a cry that echoes out across the mountain.
12
RAVEN
Unlike this morning when I woke in this bed, dressed in nothing but one of Connor’s oversized shirts with zero recollection of him stripping me out of my remaining wet clothes and tucking me in, I know exactly how I got here this time.
I crawled in after working for over eight hours on my story, almost nonstop, save for the few bathroom and food breaks and the handful of times I walked outside when I thought I heard a noise in hopes I might find the enigmatic man who seems to have disappeared.
Again.
I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that he would run, that he would vanish rather than face what we did.
Only where can he go when I’m already in the one place he always ran to?
The fact that he cleaned the mud from my boots and left them drying in front of the stove, and that when I walked down to the river earlier today, I found a bath ready and waiting for me, even though he felt the need to escape today left my mind reeling as I finally crashed.
This considerate and sweet side of Connor McBride has been hidden for so long, since we were kids, still wondering what our futures held and what our lives would become.
That animosity I had toward him over what happened that fateful night tainted the way I saw him since then, couldn’t allow me to see past my own embarrassment and pain. I let every interaction with him since then become an opportunity to prove what an asshole he was. But now, everything that’s happened between us the last fifteen years—and certainly last night—is clouded in a new kind of fog I’ve been trying to sort through.
I stare at the wall of the cabin for a moment as I let my body fully wake before I realize it’s far too bright in here for as late as it must be.
And it isn’t coming from the window, stove, or the lantern…
The light has the blueish tinge that only comes from one thing.
I roll onto my back and glance over to the small table where I spent my day until the battery died—both on my laptop and my own emotional one—to find Connor sitting there staring at the lit screen.
His dark eyes move rapidly from left to right.
He’s reading my story.
I left it up on the screen right before it went dark, but somehow, he got it going again and stumbled onto my unfinished work.
My stomach tightens as I watch him, and even though he doesn’t lift his head or tear his attention away from the screen, I know that he realizes I’m awake now. He caught the movement on the tiny bed only a handful of steps away, but he can’t seem to look away from what he’s reading to acknowledge that I’m awake or that he’s looking at something he maybe shouldn’t be.
How did he get the computer back on?
That question rattles around my head, and I almost ask, but interrupting him feels wrong somehow.
Of all the people who deserve to read that story, Connor is at the top of that list, along with Lucky. Being stuck up here means I won’t be able to interview her to gather those few little bits of information I wanted to add regarding her experience with Brent Lorell, but given the very real danger, my story might just have to go to print without that.
Thankfully, she has discussed what happened with the bank robbery and her confrontation with him in that barn enough that I feel like I can do it justice.
But I can’t without Connor.
He’s the only one who knows, who really knows, what happened on that homestead.
Minutes tick away slowly as he reads.
It gives me time to agonize over what he must be thinking, but also an opportunity to examine him in a new light, one that isn’t tainted by those old memories and feelings and is now complicated by new ones I never expected.
My body still aches in the most glorious way from what we did last night. Sore in all the best places. The ghost of his touch still igniting goosebumps on my skin whenever I think about it. That dull throb between my legs that reminds me of how intense it was.
I shouldn’t have liked it so much, shouldn’t have wanted it at all—not with him, not like that—but it was so damn good.
