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“J-Jessica MacGregor,” I manage. “Maybe. Hopefully.”
And the gruff lighthouse keeper—hesnarls, reaching over to smack the stove off, before hooking his fingers into the waistband of my leggings. I lift my ass in a daze, helping him to work them down my legs, and then his craggy face isthere, mouthing at the fabric of my panties. My baggy blue sweatshirt brushes against his forehead, but he just groans louder and buries his face between my legs.
Kissing me for the second time.
Kissing me where no one has ever touched me before.
Long, black hair brushes my trembling thighs. His beard tickles my skin, and his shoulders are so huge where they hunch over me. Even with him bent double, I feel tiny.
“Mine,” Murray growls before licking me from ass to clit through the fabric. “My wife.”
“Oh.” I sound winded. “Oh my god.”
We’ll need to clean this counter.That’s the loud, ridiculously unsexy thought bouncing around my brain before the heat and damp of Murray’s mouth finally drag me under. Then all I can do is cling onto his shoulders, bunching his fresh flannel shirt in my hands, while my hips rock and his tongue works me through the fabric.
“Hook them to one side.” I smack at his shoulder, and it’s like a kitten pawing at a giant bear. “Lick me properly.Murray.”
Thick fingers wedge between us and yank that final layer out of the way.
Thank god. Thank freaking god.
And it’s like nothing I’ve ever felt before. No shower head could compare to this, because this isn’t just heat and moisture, it’s… hunger. Ravenous hunger.
The scarred lighthouse keeper is eating me alive. And all I can do is cling onto his shoulders, cheeks flushed as I beg for more. All I can hear is my own ragged breaths and my pulse pounding in my ears and the creak of the counter beneath me.
“So good.” He cranes his neck and plunges his tongue past my entrance, licking all the way inside me as my toes curl in their fluffy socks. “You hear me? So fucking good, Jessica. Want to eat you for breakfast every morning. Want you sitting on my face each night in bed.”
AndIwant this man’s rumbling praise as my alarm tone. I want to listen to it on a loop in the shower every morning. What a way to get hyped.
It doesn’t take me long. I’ve been wound taut all day, ever since I pulled up on that driveway and saw an honest-to-god giant step out of the front door. Every glance from Murray, every rumbling sentence and brief touch, it’s been ratcheting me tighter and tighter. Working me up forthis.
“Shit!” I seize up, going rigid on the counter. My toes are scrunched and my eyes are screwed shut. I can barely think, can barely breathe, can only let out a strangled moan as white-hot pleasure shudders through me in waves.
I jerk and gasp.
I grind my teeth.
And Murray groans, loud and long, like he’s getting just as much from this as I am.
When I finally suck in a deep breath, melting back against the counter, the lighthouse keeper raises his head and stares at me. His mouth is slick and his eyes are bright, his hands stroking possessively up and down my thighs.
Like he can’t bear to stop touching me. Like he’ll never get enough.
“Did you like that, Jessica?”
I nod, dumbstruck. Obviously I did. I’d have to be dead inside to be unaffected, and the evidence is right there when he fixes my clothes and helps me down, my legs wobbling against the kitchen tiles.
Murray’s mouth quirks at the bedraggled sight of me, before he turns to rummage in a cupboard. He emerges with a cloth and a cleaning spray, and I choke back a laugh.
“What?” He glances at me, spritzing the counter where I just sat then swabbing with a cloth. “Don’t look at me like that. We cook here.”
I lean my hip against the counter, still too dazed to stand up straight, and dissolve into giggles.
I love this man.
Murray
It’s too good to be true. Too good to be true.
