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And a huge, angry bull inked across his pecs, its heavy horns spanning out to his shoulders.
Definitely her type.
A long scar curved upward around his side, starting just above that inguinal crease and sweeping up to his ribs at the back. Two dark, roundish scars rested near it on his belly. The long scar seemed too precise to be anything but surgical; she wondered what injury or illness had provoked being opened up like that. But to ask would require speech, and she didn’t want to disturb the quiet intensity between them.
Continuing her visual exploration, Petra let her eyes drop lower, past his narrow hips. The same kind of ropy muscle in his arms wrapped his legs as well. And between them? A lovely, straight cock. Long, but not too long; thick, but not too thick. From a moderate thatch of dark gold curls, it stood out at complete attention.
As she looked, his hand came up and brushed self-consciously across his belly. Recognizing the discomfort in that gesture, Petra smiled and walked to him. He watched her approach, and she wondered if he’d ever yet let his eyes drop from her. Even when he’d taken his boots off, he hadn’t broken off eye contact. It was like he was afraid she’d disappear if he wasn’t looking straight at her.
Well, she was afraid the moment would shatter if either of them spoke. They were both acting as if it were magic that had brought them together.
Petra took his hand and led him to her bed.
In a rush to get moving the morning before, she hadn’t made it, which was convenient now. Still holding his hand, she sat at the side of the mattress and turned, pulling him down with her as she stretched out.
Still Jake was silent. Still he followed her every lead. Still he had not looked away from her eyes.
In his eyes, swimming in those deep waters, was no longer shock or surprise but still something utterly disarmed, and disarming. Again Petra thought the word innocence, and again she brushed it away. It wasn’t the right word to describe what she saw in him. Maybe it was simplyyouth, but she herself was no oldster, and he wasn’t the first younger person she’d taken to bed.
It didn’t matter now. Now Jake shifted his lithe body and rested on his hip beside her. Now he hooked a long, strong leg over hers and clasped a rough, hot hand over her waist. Now his shaggy, sandy hair dropped around his head like a curtain. The ends brushed her cheeks, each one a tiny caress. Now—still—he stared down into her eyes, his forehead pleated with confusion or amazement or something else she couldn’t decode. Now Petra lifted her hand and brushed her thumb over the crease between his brows, trying to smooth it away.
And now he took over. His head came down, his mouth covered hers, and this kiss was something new. This kiss was a reflection of this moment, when they were both bare and lying in her bed. Still slow, still searching, but now deeper, harder. The seal of their lips was tighter. His tongue explored her mouth more fully, and when her tongue met it, his groan was louder, pitched lower, almost a growl.
Petra’s skin felt too small to contain her. Her nipples had tightened to pebbles, the hairs on the back of her neck and over her forearms stood straight up, and when his hand skimmed like fine sandpaper up from her waist, over her ribcage, and covered a breast, the sensation was so acute, so intense, it was almost pain. She grunted and arched, pressing herself into that touch, and rocked herself against his thigh, feeling the hairs on his leg like electric charges, feeling her fresh wet slick his skin. She could come just like this, with his mouth on her mouth, his hand on her breast, his thigh against her core. His cock on her thigh, caught in the friction of their writhing bodies.
Then, as if he sensed as much, he brought his thigh higher, pressed it hard against her, took her nipple between his fingers and rolled it.
Yes. Yes. Yes, she was going to come. God, she’d thought she hadn’t missed sex in these intentionally arid six months, but she’d been—fuck—wrong. So very wrong.
As her orgasm charged ever faster toward her, Petra hurried toward it, flexing against his thigh as fast as her body would move. Jake understood, pressed his thigh even harder, kissed her even more deeply, tugged and twisted her nipple, not enough to hurt but exactly right to keep the pleasure at the top of its intensity, at the point at which to pass it would ruin it.
He wasgoodat this, and honestly, she hadn’t expected that at all.
Her climax exploded, sending brilliant, sparking ecstasy through her body, making fireworks explode behind her eyes. She broke from their kiss at last and curled up, slamming her forehead into his shoulder, clenching her hands on his back, feeling her nails sink deep, feeling her core throb against his thigh.
He didn’t try to prolong things, didn’t try to double another orgasm on top of the one that still had her curled tensely against him, and she was glad. She loved this moment here, the slow easing of all that piquant sensation, the way her heart warmed as her body softened. She rarely wanted sex to be an athletic competition, a marathon where the parties crawled to the finish, exhausted and sweat-drenched. Rather, she preferred the slow meander, savoring every step along the way.
This was something Petra had noticed as a difference between her male lovers and her female or nonbinary lovers. Her sample wasn’t nearly enough to claim it was a difference between men themselves and everyone else, but in her experience, men seemed to prefer athletic sex, as if only sweaty, almost violent sex was masculine, and anything else was not.
She would have said that Jake, who’d entered her acquaintance as he’d entered her bar—leather-clad, fight-bruised, his stride an actual swagger—would surely have been such a man. But she had been utterly and wonderfully proved wrong.
Riding that wave of sweet satisfaction came a thought that she didn’t want this to be a one night stand—but she let it float away. Better not to read anything into anything. Better to let this be simply its own perfect, singular moment.
Now, again, he was staring down at her, that same unreadably vulnerable look in his eyes. She wanted to ask him his thoughts, but they hadn’t said a word to each other since the kitchen, and she felt superstitious. Would words make an incantation to undo all this? She wasn’t willing to chance it.
But his cock was still a beam between them, and she didn’t need words to do something about that. Without looking away from him, she reached over to her nightstand, opened the right drawer, rooted awkwardly around until she was able to pinch the edge of the box of condoms and withdraw it.
He glanced that way and, finally, really smiled. Reaching over, he took the box from her and worked a packet out with one hand. Nice dexterity—but she’d already had ample evidence of that.
He tossed the box to the nightstand and tore the packet open with his teeth. Then Petra, who wanted to really get hold of his cock, took the packet and pulled the disc from it. With only a glance, she asked if she could. Shifting his body, he nodded yes, and Petra reached between them, took his cock in her hand, and rolled the condom on.
As her hands moved over him, his eyes shuttered and faint spasms traveled the length of his body, head to toe. When she finished and brushed her fingers over his tight, heavy balls, he groaned.
Then Jake shifted again, settled between her legs, propped on his elbows, looking down at her, searching her eyes. His hands gripped her shoulders as if he thought she’d try to wriggle away. But she wasn’t going anywhere.
Instead, she raised her legs and hooked them around his hips. Their positioning was almost perfect; she could feel his tip pressing nearly where it needed to, knew that all it would take was ... yes. A slight shift on her part, another slight shift on his, and he was in.
He hovered there, only his tip inside her, and didn’t move. His eyes were vibrant with meaning she couldn’t quite reach. As much as she loved moving slowly, she wasn’t sure if his hesitation was meant to be savoring or if it was reluctance. Still unwilling to break the spell of their silence, Petra slipped her hands down to his ass and clutched, hoping that would encourage him.
