Page 46 of A Wedding in a Week

He fills my hand like he’s been made to fit it, and I only wish I could fully feel it. I’m greedy for the complete sensation of how hard he is for me instead of this partial numbness that means I’m not sure if my hold’s good enough for him until he groans. I’m greedy all over again for more of that sound. Greedier still to see the precome my hold draws up, and I need to taste it more than breathing, so I shift, moving down the bed to bury my face in his pelvis.

His hair darkens there like the hair on his chest, which I skim with one hand while I keep my face buried. He smells so good to me. I can’t stop inhaling deeply. I also register other sensations. There are thuds under my hand on his chest, then the soft scratch of the line of hair leading down from his navel. I grasp his cock again, suck a deep breath, and get my mouth on him.

He must suck in a deep breath of his own. His stomach hollows, quivering as I blow him, my mouth flooding with his flavour, and my hum of appreciation must rumble.

He squirms, his hips lifting like his legs do. One lands over my shoulder, the other spreads wide, and the shift in position makes it easy to slide my slick thumb along the stretch of skin behind his balls.

He shudders out a shaky, “Stef,” and I’m almost certain that means yes. Then he tilts his hips again, only this time his whole body twists away from me and maybe it actually meant no.

I sit back on my heels to check. His cock shines with my saliva as he rolls back. His eyes shine too. I also see that the drawer to my bedside table hangs open. He’s found condoms and the lube I keep there. He also clutches a Farmers Weekly, and that’s how I find out that sex with Marc comes with laughter.

“Is this what you read to get off?” He flips the magazine open. “Top ten tractors for hill farming.” He throws the lube my way. I catch it as he lays back, turning pages. “Hmm, a fascinating article about grow-tunnel irrigation. Want to get me wet while I read it?”

He shifts the magazine so I see his gaze dance, and this could be my future.

I can picture it then as I uncap the lube and pour it. Can feel it in my bones as I touch him for the first time where he’s tight but opens for me. I take it left-handed and slow, imagining thousands of nights and mornings of him laughing through sex with me. Him groaning like now, too. The next groan rumbling through him comes with the magazine fluttering to the floor and with Marc slinging a leg over my shoulder again.

Each inch I feel with nothing but lube between us feels like claiming new land, not shouldering an old yoke. A fresh path, instead of one walked by every Luxton for generations. It’s ours, his and mine, no one else’s, and I love that he says my name again like he’s surprised I’m taking the time to find out where it’s best to curve my finger.

I pull out to add more lube, then slide back in, curving it again, and he lets out another sound that’s deeper. Lower. He grinds down, his inhale stuttering when I offer another. I don’t press both inside him right away. I circle where he furls in a soft yet still tight contradiction. I’d put my mouth there in a heartbeat if he wanted. Lick him loose and love it, but for now, I pause, knowing that I’ve got thick Luxton knuckles. It’s up to him to decide to take them.

He does, pushing for more than I give him for long, slow, groan-filled minutes until he rolls away again. This time, he uses strength that weeks of farm work have only enhanced to wrestle me down onto my back.

I don’t fight him as he straddles me for a third time. I also don’t point out that he’s forgotten my bruises. I’m too busy watching him roll a condom on me before he sinks over me—and forget what I thought about his cock being made to fit my hand.

This is where we fit best.

Here.

He bottoms out, both hands flat on my chest. Then he holds his breath, his eyes closing, and even if I only get to see him like this once, it’s worth it.

I soak up the flush that mottles his chest and shoulders. Drink in every groan he huffs out. Feel pleasure like no other as he lifts up and slides down. He rides me, and I know it can’t be easy when I’m big and he’s—

He opens his eyes, and I forget concepts like size or volume. Forget the span of the sky above this land or the depth of the ocean beside it. There’s nothing vaster than Marc’s gaze on me.

I sink into it, not drowning but flying, his cock bouncing with his movements until I hold it steady, wrapping tingling fingers around his erection. Then he braces on me again, fingers digging into the meat of my chest as he tells me what he needs to get off.

“Fuck me faster.”

I do, slamming up without restraint. We don’t need it now, not when we’re in step, in tune, in so deep that I feel him start to come before it can register to him. That means I get to catch him when his arms buckle.

Marc falls, but I’ve got him.

He’s got me too, as soon as his brain comes back online, not pulling off until I get mine. He raises himself before lowering oh so slowly, like making this last, and not scoring that job, is his sole mission, and each of my thrusts must do something for him. His still half-hard cock twitches, and I can’t help thrusting up harder than I mean to.

“Stef!” That’s all he says, but it doesn’t come with pain. I haven’t hurt him, thank fuck. My name comes with wonder, his cock letting out a last surprise spurt, and for one amazing moment, there’s no numbness in my arm, no tingling in my fingers as I climax.

I get to hold him like I’m a complete person instead of broken, every part of me in the right place instead of dislocated, and he’s the reason.

He’s breathless when he finally rolls off to sprawl across my mattress, his back offering a close-up view of his freckles.

There’s so, so many of them. But that’s okay.

I’ll just have to fight even harder for more time to count them.

17

I’m not woken by livestock the next morning. This time, my alarm clock is internal—a clanging bell that only I hear. It tolls a warning that’s impossible to sleep through.

---