There is a definite bittersweet thread weaving back and forth through my heart, knowing we only have this one night, but I won’t think about that until it’s absolutely necessary. This man comes with complications and I’ll take them, along with the good. As long as I can.
We push through the second door on the left and I gasp.
His bed is in the center of the room, huge, covered in white bedding. It is positioned in front of the ocean. Literally. One side of the room has no wall, no windows. It is simply open to the dark ocean, the full moon and the whitecaps crashing on the rocks below. Wind rushes in the room, making it feel like it’s outdoors, or the deck of a ship.
Easton sets me on the edge of the bed, kissing my mouth softly but thoroughly.
“Wait here,” he says, turning and leaving the room.
I’ve barely had a moment to flop back onto the amazing bed and revel in the softness when he returns, holding a fist full of flowers with the roots still attached. “You wanted flowers.” He lays them down on the nightstand. “These are from the front yard.”
The scent of lilac joins the salty ocean breeze in lifting my hair, tossing it around.
“They’re perfect.”
And then Easton is standing in front of me once again, his intensity penetrating now that we’re here. Now that his guard can completely come down. This time, I’m the one who pulls down the straps of my dress and bares my breasts to him.
He looks at them hungrily and unbuttons his shirt, yanking the buttons through their holes. “You are so goddamn beautiful. Like a dream I don’t deserve.”
“Yes, you do,” I whisper, letting my heels fall to the floor.
“No. I don’t.” He whips off his shirt, followed by his leather belt whooshing through the loops, the metal buckle cracking off the floor as he drops it. “Do you like my home?”
I nod distractedly, because oh lord, his chest is robust. Dusted with black hair.
Heaving.
His hips are two carved arcs that dive into his pants, bracketing a ripped stomach.
“It’s painted in blood, this house. Built with bones.” He looks down at his open palms. “I’ve done things with these hands that should stop me from touching you, but I’ve never been that noble. Although…” He yanks my thighs open, making me whimper. “You’re a fresh, little sacrifice even a saint couldn’t turn down, aren’t you?”
My knees start to shake in his hands.
And they tremble harder when the panties are wrenched down my legs.
Tossed over his shoulder.
“Oh, sweet fucking hell,” he growls, prying my legs open to look at my sex, wetting the seam of his lips. “Would you look at that pretty little gash? Goddamn.” A shudder vibrates through him. “I thought I could make love to you, cutie, but I don’t know anymore. As soon as you’re not whining and trying to shove me off anymore, what if I just fuck you blind?”
“You won’t.” I suck in a breath as my dress is drawn down my body and left forgotten on the floor. “Y-you’ll be gentle with me.”
“HOW?” Easton growls through his teeth, pulling me to the edge of the bed, using a firm hand to press me down on my back. I’m completely naked now, my core exposed, and the rasping sound of his breaths tells me he likes how I look. That I please him. A lot. “Jesus, little girl. You’re either on the pill or I’m getting you pregnant.” His face lowers to the place between my thighs and he inhales deeply, his hips rocking against the edge of the bed. “No rubber is getting in my way of this.”
I don’t have time to explain that I’m on the pill before his tongue is traveling hungrily through my folds, shooting sensation down to my toes. He presses his face to my flesh and moans, his fingers flexing around my knees. His nose nuzzles me in the most incredible spot. He rubs the damp seam of his lips side to side over that tingling nub, kissing it gently, worshipping it with words my brain comprehends, even though I am mentally spinning out. “P-please keep d-doing that.”
He does so much more than that.
His middle and index finger tuck into my opening and twist, exploiting a sensitive ring of nerve endings I didn’t know existed. And my back arches on a wretched sob, my entire body twisting, rising and falling like a billowing sheet tied to the laundry line. The side of his tongue saws wetly against the perimeter of that swelling bud, teasing me with partial contact, then rakes over it blatantly, making me scream. “Easton!”
By now, his fingers are pushing in and out of me, the pace decadent, smooth and unhurried while urging me somewhere. A little faster, a little faster. His tongue moves quicker on my clit and I start to whine, my toes straining, heels burying in the mattress.
Oh God. Oh God.
His middle finger tickles me on the inside.
His mouth closes over the bud and draws gently.
Pleasure stabs me in the center and my belly jerks toward the ceiling, sea air rushing in and clashing with my feverish skin, somehow heightening the lust, this proof of how hot I’ve become. How wonderfully agitated I am. A delicious tug increases in intensity until I’m shaking, my muscles seized and tense, followed by a deluge of relief so sweeping, I feel it in my hair follicles.
I have no idea how much time passes before Easton is dragging me up the bed, like a caveman bringing a clubbed female back to his cave. I’m dazed and sucking in oxygen, trying to reconcile what just happened with my body, when his mouth crashes down on mine and the build starts all over again. Because oh. Oh lord. His naked weight on top of me feels forbidden and essential and I don’t know how long I lived without it.
“You come so fucking hot,” he says against my mouth, delving his tongue deep, invading me with aggressive, anchoring strokes. “You taste it? You taste your hot little cunt?”
“Yes,” I gasp.
“You expect me to be gentle when you taste that sweet?” He reaches down and winces, bringing his shaft up against me. Where his fingers were before. He inches inside, stretching my entrance, hard into smooth. “Hold on to me. I’m going to try.” His hips push forward and I’m being filled, fully, achingly filled. “I’m going to try and go slow. But…fuck. You are so tight.”
I stroke my hands over his shoulders, lean up and kiss his chin. “I know. It’s okay.”
Moss-green eyes snag on mine, holding me in thrall with their power. The passion in those depths. “Are you trying to make this easier on me?” He bends his neck, his breath panting in and out between kisses. “Jesus, Scout. You’re the virgin.”
Yes, I am almost desperate to ease him.
Please him.
I’m shaken by the undeniable urge.
So much so that I reach down and capture his thick, muscular buttocks, yanking him the remaining distance, a hoarse sound leaving my throat.
“Scout!” He pants once, twice. “Ohhhh. FUCK.”
“Take me,” I manage, when the sharpest of the pain dulls into a throb. “I d-didn’t understand. Everyone makes love differently.” I pull my knees up and he sinks even deeper with a groan. “Maybe ours is rougher than others,” I whisper, writhing beneath him.
He pulls out and smacks into me, baring his teeth. “No. I can do this.”
“No.”