His hand flutters against my opening, and I moan slightly at his delicate touch. My eyes lower, watching his forearms flex as he presses two fingers into me. I eke out a soft whimper, knowing that it isn’t going to take much effort on his part for me to release, especially with his unbound cock right before me, so big and hard, practically begging to be sucked until his salty come fills my mouth. All I want is to taste him, to swallow him, to be filled with everything he can offer.
He pulls his fingers from my wet pussy, smacking my ass. His eyes are heavy and laden with desire; my back arches in the mounting pleasure. I reach for his cock, but he tells me “No.”
I bite my lip, shake my head in question.
“I want you to get on your hands and knees,” he tells me. “And then I’m going to mark you as mine.”
I don’t hesitate, I get on the floor, my knees against the worn wood of the barn loft, my hands bracing me as he kneels behind me, pressing his cock into my dripping gap.
I don’t want him to go slow, to ease into me. I want him hard, and fast; I want to filled and I want to be consumed.
In this moment, I want to be his.
He knows what I want without me uttering a word, because his cock fills me, his hands are tight on my waist as he pounds into my core. And, God, I can’t help but scream out in ecstasy.
“Oh, fuck, Boone. Yes, oh, oh, yes,” I cry. My voice starts high-pitched and needy, with a hint of desperation as I call out his name again, and again. And of course I’m desperate; Boone’s cock fills my pussy so entirely that it’s impossible to imagine anything else ever fitting so perfectly within me.
“Oh girl, I’m gonna make you come so hard.” And he does; he thrusts deeper and my body is on fire, my skin tingling with pleasure and the fast pulse of climax. My toes curl and I moan, my back arching and my head thrown back. Boone holds my tits with both hands as I come, again and again against his body.
He pulls out of me sharply, and grabs at my waist so I turn on my back, falling into a pile of sweet hay. The stalks poke against my ass, but I don’t care. I can’t think of pain when so much pleasure is coursing through me.
Boone’s face is filled with heat, and he holds his cock in his hand, pumping his shaft as it begins to spurt all over my chest. My legs are fast and wrap around him as ropes of his creamy come fall across my chest, and my hands roll across my breasts, my fingertips taking what he releases. I put my fingers to my mouth, tasting him as he watches. His cock is still hard and all I want is him in my pussy. It’s only been a minute since he left my entrance, but I swear I’m missing something when he isn’t filling me.
“I want you in me,” I beg. “Please fuck me again. I need you.”
Boone looks at me with such confidence it makes me blush—with such confidence it makes me touch myself. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you since you arrived.”
Chapter Fifteen
Boone
I wake with Delta already showering in her bathroom. It’s promising, her being an early riser. It is an invaluable skill here at the lodge, when guests show up at all hours, depending on planes coming from Anchorage. But damn, I feel tense as fuck, as I shower and put on a pair of jeans. Today is the first opening day since my parents died. I don’t want to mess it up. Guests will be arriving this morning, and our first fishing trip is tomorrow. With Mason being an asshole, and Delta not technically being my wife, things aren’t as organized as I hoped.
I step into the bedroom with only my jeans on, and Delta’s bathroom door is open. She watches me in her mirror.
“You look ridiculously hot without a shirt on,” she tells me.
“Yeah?” I ask. “Well, I’m all yours, honey.”
She smiles, raising her eyebrows suggestively.
“I’m glad we can talk without arguing,” I say, pulling on a pair of socks.
“Me, too.” Delta pokes her head out of her bathroom. “Do I look okay?” She’s wearing a dress that reaches her knees, but it has a low back and thin straps; she’s clearly not wearing a bra.
I could easily have her undressed within seconds. All it would take is a simple flick of the wrist, and the dress would fall to the floor.
Which sound like a fucking brilliant idea, except that we’ve gotta get to the lobby. And the truth is, after yesterday in the loft, we fucked all night back in our room. It’s like we’re addicted to one another’s bodies. And it seems like we get along best if we don’t talk—so instead of discussing the problems with our arrangement, we just came, over and over again.
So I don’t undress her; no way will I be able to stop if I start.