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Under my curious fingers, his muscles tensed in response. By the time they’d found their way back down to the lowest part of his stomach, every inch of him was tense, waiting, as my hands went for his button, for his zip.
Air hissed out of him as my finger traced the little line of hair that disappeared down into the material of his charcoal boxer briefs.
I snagged the waistband of them, pulling them wide enough to slide them over his hips, drag them down as far as I could reach.
This time, it was my air that rushed out, finding him hard and straining, as big as the rest of him.
My sex clenched hard, anticipating the fullness as he slipped inside as my hand moved out, closing around him, stroking the soft skin as my gaze moved up to hold his, watching as his eyes got small, as his head fell back slightly.
I worked him for as long as he let me before his hand closed over mine, pausing it, then pulling it away.
His body folded a bit, freeing his legs, but also somehow producing a condom out of nowhere.
I had a short minute as he protected us to try to remember if I had ever seen the bulge of a wallet in his pocket, but came up blank, that kind of thing just background noise in the brain. But, apparently, he did. And he was prepared, even living in the middle of the woods with no women around.
I wouldn’t lie; I liked the idea of him being far away from all womankind, that it was unlikely that he got around as much as a man as attractive as he was normally would if they were in the ‘real world.’
It was possessive and odd seeing as I had never much cared about a man’s history before seeing as none of us were saints, all of us had pasts with the opposite sex.
“Meadow,” his voice called, low, searching, snapping me out of my thoughts, finding him finished, looking down at me, something that seemed like worry etching his brow. “You want to stop?” he asked, sounding pained at the idea, but happy to move away if that was what I needed.
“No,” I told him, a smile pulling at my lips as my legs went around his, as my arms wrapped him up as well.
“Thank fuck,” he growled before his lips claimed mine as his hands roamed my back, pulled me closer to the edge of the table, hitching up my knees to improve the angle.
His cock slid up my cleft, stroking against my clit for a torturous moment, making the pressure on my lower belly become almost intolerable before his lips pulled from mine, his eyes waiting for mine, then slowly slipping inside me, inch by inch, taking me, making me his own.
And nothing, nothing had ever felt quite as right as that moment.
His hand went to the back of my neck, curling in, just shy of painful, keeping my gaze on his as he slowly started rocking into me, an unexpectedly gentle rhythm for such a big, rough man. It was almost like he knew this moment would be important, would be something we would always remember.
We kept that pace even as my whimpers became moans, as the need became a clawing, painful thing.
Then he bent me back until I was flat on the table, planting one arm next to my body as his hand slid between us, working my clit as he thrust harder, faster, as the need for release overtook him as well.
“Come for me,” he demanded, voice somehow soft and rough at the same place, like he could so often be.
His finger swiped.
His cock slid inside me.
And I fell apart.
And he broke with me.
And it was, well, perfect.
His weight came down on me for a long time after as we both found our breath, slowed our heartbeats.
He recovered first, pushing upward, looking down at me with heavy-lidded, thoughtful eyes.
“You okay?” he asked, his other hand came up, stroked some of my hair behind my ear.
“Yeah.”
The smile that pulled at my lips felt big, felt beaming even.
Because that was how I felt at the moment.
There was a pause before slowly, amazingly, a similar smile pulled at his lips. It lit up his whole face, ripped away all the tortured, all the guarded, all the darker parts of him, leaving just the sweet, the soft, the content.
My hand rose, pressing into his cheek, trying to capture the moment, make a mental picture of it.
His head turned, his lips pressing into my palm before he slowly pulled upward and out of me, turning away to find his clothes.
I took a deep breath, willing some strength back into my muscles, then sitting upward, waiting for him to hand me my clothes which he was gathering up with his shirts, his pants hanging off his hips, the button and zip still undone.
