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“Did you build this fireplace?” I ask because it looks handcrafted. The stones are all different shapes; it’s not something I’ve seen in most houses. Not something from the local building supply companies.
“I did.”
I stand up and rub my fingers over the stones. “Are these from the creek?”
“They are.”
“You pulled all of these out of the creek yourself?”
“I did.” He presses off the floor, circles his hands around my middle. “Call it therapy. And my way of keeping our memories close. It’s time we make some new ones.”
“Hmm, your lips feel so good against my skin. They warm me from my toes to my nose.” I giggle. “Thanks for today. You always knew how to make me happy. How to break a bad mood. I want a lot more days like today.”
“I live to hear you laugh. It makes my dick happy.”
I strip off my thin sweatshirt and pull the long-sleeved tee from his body, admiring every dip and valley of every muscle of his chest and sides. We dance to imaginary music as our upper bodies collide. He hooks his fingers in my pants and removes the yoga pants in one movement. After I remove his pants, I push my finger in his chest, and we sit on the floor.
My knees squeeze the outside of his hip as he trails kisses over my tiny tattoo sucks each nipple into his mouth, sparking me into moving over his erection. I can’t wait any longer, I reach between us, lift up and line him up. We’ve had an entire day of foreplay and I just want him inside me. I want to feel him pulsing against my tender, aching walls.
With my hands on his shoulders, I inch down on him, closing my eyes. Even though we had sex this morning, he feels too big to fit.
“Breathe,” he rasps.
And when I do, I relax and sink further down. I inhale another deep breath and take him all the way in. Swiveling my hips side to side, like he did to me, I’m stretching out.
“That’s my good girl,” he says as he presses his thumb against my little ball of nerves. “You’re wet and want me so bad. You want to have another O, don’t you?”
I sink my teeth into my bottom lip as he circles my center. Throwing my head back, relishing the moment, I feel so complete. It feels so good; I’m not sure I want to move. He lies back, and I place my hands on his gorgeous pecs. He uses one hand, grasping my hip and butt cheek, helping me set a pace.
It’s like we’re having sex in the creek with water rapids gently falling over the stones. He uses both hands, and I roll my hips, so my pubic bone grinds against his lower abs. They’re hard and provide the much needed friction since his hands are lifting me.
“You’re fucking beautiful,” he says as he kisses my arm. He stares up at me with a fiery gaze. “You fit me like a glove.”
Our minds are no longer in control—our bodies take over, and they know just what to do. He thrusts upward. I grind down. Our skin slaps together. His eyes pinch like he’s trying to hold off. I’m determined to give him the best night of his life like he’s giving me. He couldn’t be any deeper inside me. It feels like I’m filled all the way to my throat.
Nerves skitter up my spine, taking over my body. I’m having an out-of-body experience. I see a red river of welts overtaking my skin, and from the inside, I’m about to blow a gasket. Pressure is building and building. It feels like I’m in a deep-seated dream, but I don’t want it to end until he’s ready.
His hands move to my breasts. He lifts his head, taking one nipple between his teeth and pulling. It stings with both pain and pleasure. “Come for me. You have five seconds.” His voice is pure sex, and it makes my inner walls clamp down.
I call out his name like I’m screaming for an ambulance when bursts of my arousal coats his erection. He lets out a grumble that gets louder as it pushes its way through his lungs and the force of his orgasm slices me in half. My breasts fall onto him.
We lie together, gasping for oxygen with our chests heaving. Beau rubs my back. He’s my definition of masculine—not afraid to let me be in control but also loves to fist my hair and take me from behind.
When I find my voice, I cackle. “We’ve gotten way better at this.”
ChapterTwenty-Eight
BEAU
Turns out, all of the bourbon makers in the area received the same blue note about the awards dinner. Vanessa accepted theBest Local Batch Awardfor Barron’s 12-Year Special Reserve.
During the bourbon convention her dad attended, a group of professional bourbon connoisseurs sampled a selection then wrote reviews and rankings where they were compiled by a high-profile liquor magazine and presented the award.
There are ten distilleries represented. I don’t know any of them except Harlan Lockland of Lockland Distillery, which is located right outside Kissing Springs.
While keeping my focus on Vanessa, I join Mr. Lockland and his son, Branch, at his table. He rises to shake my hand and thank me for my service. TheKissing Springs Postdid a full page spread of all the guys who served in the military a few months ago.
Shaking his hand, he asks, “Any news on her dad?”
