Page 127 of Peaches & Pistols

“Are you telling me I’ve had you alone all day and your tits have been bare beneath your shirt the entire time?”

I nod, biting my bottom lip. I gasp as he tightly cups my breasts and kneads them in his weathered palms.

“These nipples could cut glass, honey” Greyson pinches and twists them roughly. Now it’s my turn to groan; he knows how impatient that makes me.

“You’re so fucking beautiful, Mia. I still can’t believe you’re real. That you’re mine.”

Greyson lowers to his knees and pulls me to the edge of the counter, draping my legs over his shoulders. Supported by my elbows, I watch through flickering eyelids as he licks and teases the outside of my pussy.

My hips writhe, chasing the sensation.

“You need something, honey? You need my tongue buried deep in this pretty pink pussy?” I clench on air; his dirty talk gets me every time.

“Yes, sir.”

“That’s my good girl.”

Greyson parts me with his thumbs, spreading me wide. The stretch turns me on so much, a wave of arousal slicks my pussy, cooling against my flesh in the chilly room.

“So fucking sexy.” Greyson dips his tongue it my stretched hole to collect the mess I made for him.

“So wet for me. Such a good girl for me, aren’t you honey?”

“Yes, s-sir,” I stutter as he presses his mouth onto my sex and sucks. His beard scratches against my taint and I levitate off the counter.

It doesn’t take much for Greyson’s sinful mouth to coax my hips down.

He devours me, there’s too much sensation everywhere. Somehow, he’s sucking, flicking, massaging, and nipping at my clit all at once, at least three fingers are fucking my pussy, and I’m pretty sure there’s a finger in my ass.

It feels incredible, but I just can’t crest that hill. I gather the courage to admit. “I don’t think I can come this way.”

Greyson continues working over my body but slows and focuses on my words.

“I’m at a weird angle, and the counter’s digging into my back, and I can’t come if I’m scrunching all my other muscles trying not to fall.”

I wince, fearing he’ll be frustrated or disappointed—my trauma won’t disappear in only a few months. Greyson shows me my worth yet again, standing and righting me on the counter. He takes off his jacket and covers my naked lower half.

“I should’ve felt you tense up. I’m sorry, honey. I lose myself in you.” His apology is unnecessary, and I barely hear it with my focus aimed at his hard cock pressing against his jeans.

“It’s oka⁠—”

“No, it isn’t,” Greyson insists.

“Be right back,” he hollers as he practically sprints from the cabin.

He returns with a couple heavy cargo blankets and lays them out as a makeshift bed in the living room. He runs back outside, bringing back with him kindling, which he uses to start a fire in the long-since used fireplace.

Greyson dusts off his hands and retrieves me from the counter like a bride crossing the threshold. He gently lays me out on the blankets which are leaps and bounds more comfortable than the kitchen counter.

I sit up and take off my sweatshirt, tossing it across the floor, looking up at the eye candy standing before me.

“What do you say we christen our new house, cowboy?”

“I’m not a cowboy, honey.” Greyson chuckles as he unbuttons his light flannel.

“Well, you’re not a rancher, there’s no cattle to ranch. You’re not a farmer, there aren’t any crops. You sure as hell aren’t a city boy or a townie. You have a Clark heart wrapped in Andersen love. You’d be hard pressed to argue Reid isn’t a cowboy, or that Walter wasn’t during his prime. Even Connor’s a cowboy, he—” Greyson stops me.

“Mia, honey, I never want another man’s name coming from your mouth when your juices are drying in my beard, and you’re sprawled out waiting for me to fuck you.”