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My dick perks up as the realization dawns.
“I think I know what you’re talking about.”
“You definitely know what I’m talking about.” Her eyes are hazy. “Let’s go to bed.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Stevie
Hank lights a fire in the bedroom and turns down the lights. Shadows flicker across the ceiling; the fire crackles and pops, filling the room with a scent I can only describe as Blue Mountain loveliness.
The romance of it makes my heart skip a beat.
I’m aware of every inch of my skin, every sensation as I strip down to nothing: the feel of my hair falling across my bare back, the sudden shock of the chilly air.
The swell of heat between my legs.
I pull up the covers from where they’re rumpled at the foot of the bed—Hank called housekeeping earlier and told them not to come—and crawl inside them.
Hank’s disappeared into the bathroom. He comes back out carrying a plastic bottle and a towel. A couple of foil packets too.
“I’mma fuck you more than once,” he explains, sauntering over to the bed. “Better safe than sorry.”
Not only is he thoughtful, but he’s careful and kind.
He’s also shirtless, and an obvious erection tents his sweats. His skin glimmers in the light of the fire, shadows highlighting the hard curves of his pectoral muscles.
My pussy dies a thousand sweet deaths just looking at him.
For the first time, I wonder how the hell I’m going to leave tomorrow. Because I’m going to miss this. Miss him. The way he walks and how at home he is in his body and the naked admiration in his eyes when they fall on me.
For the first time, I ask myself if we could continue this—our relationship, whatever that is at the moment—after the weekend ends. My life isn’t in Asheville, but my heart could be. Which begs the question: could Hank and I actually make long distance work, and merge our lives somehow?
Does leaving tomorrow have to be goodbye forever?
I wish I knew. Am I being smart? Or am I letting fear win? What’s safe and what’s scary, and which one is the right path to follow here?
He shucks off his sweatpants and climbs into bed, his dick hanging heavy and unashamed between his legs.
He’s that hard for me. The woman who’s either too smart or too scarred to attempt an actual relationship with him.
For some reason, that makes me feel like crying.
I don’t. Instead, I let him cover me with his body. He kisses me, opening my mouth slowly with his lips, his tongue. A full-body tingle moves through me, warmth rippling all the way to my toes. He kisses me like we’ve got all the time in the world. Slowly, deeply, drinking me in with patient, searing gulps.
My legs part, and my knees find his hips. The tip of his cock presses against the inside of my thigh. My pussy’s begging for him.
My entire being is begging for this man.
You’d think after a weekend of nonstop sex, I’d be sated by now. My soreness hasn’t gone away, and I’m so tired I know I’ll probably pass out the second I get home tomorrow afternoon and sleep all the way to the next morning.
I can do that because I have no one else to take care of. I’m free to take time and rest when I need it.
Freedom aside, I’m not sated. I’m hungrier than ever for Hank. Maybe because when I wake up Tuesday morning, I know he won’t be there, offering me the most perfect iced almond milk latte (he seems to be able to find the best ones on the planet) and an orgasm to start the day.
He bends his arms, lowering himself onto me. My nipples brush his chest, and my eyes roll to the back of my head at the feel of all this skin on skin. I glide my hands onto his shoulders, curling my fingers into the hard muscle and rippling sinew I find there. He’s hot to the touch, and when he ducks his head to kiss my neck, bite my nipple, I close my eyes against the sudden burn I feel there.
“I need you,” I breathe. “I want you. Inside. Now.”
Wordlessly, he reaches between us and dips two fingers inside my slit. He swipes them forward, hitting my clit, and I nearly bite off my tongue. My hips buck. I open my eyes to watch him coat himself with those two fingers, the head of his cock glistening. His arousal? Mine? Both?
Using those same two fingers, he parts my lips and puts himself inside me. A feeling of fullness envelops me as he sinks all the way in with a single thrust.
My pussy flutters. The heaviness in my core is almost too much to bear.
He kisses my temple and thrusts inside me once, twice.
“Condom.”
“Okay,” he replies. I want to scream when he pulls out of me. He grabs a packet and tears it open with his teeth. Settling on his haunches, he tries to roll it on, but his hands are shaking too hard.
