Page 49 of Macon

Moaning breathlessly.

Clenching the bed, I focus on his skillful hands as he slips in and out of my wetness, his thumb swirling around my clit.

I start to writhe against his hand, seeing stars.

I feel him moving above me, but I’m so lost in chasing my orgasm I don’t care.

“Come for me,” he orders, and I scream out my release.

He keeps swirling his fingers around as I ride my high, and he kisses up my neck. I giggle, feeling his beard tickle my ear.

Mac lays down next to me. Pulling his hand out of my jeans, he lifts his fingers to his mouth and sucks them.

Moaning, he says, “Christ, I can’t wait to be inside you.”

Hearing him say that, I turn into his body. “Why don’t you,” I purr.

Mac grabs my chin, lifting my face so our eyes meet. “Oh, I will be, but first, let’s chat.”

Feeling rejected and disappointed, I move back.

He chuckles, pulling me back against him. “Oh no you don’t. Don’t act like that. I want and will have you in a few minutes, but first, I thought I’d try to get to know you better.”

I look up at him and ask sarcastically, “What would you like to know about me before fucking me?”

He snickers, leans down, and takes my mouth hard. I deepen the kiss, relaxing into him.

When we break for air, he asks, “Do you want to go back to Texas to your job?”

This surprises me. I answer, “Why?”

“I want to know if you’re going to be leaving me once we find your sister…” He pauses, searching my eyes, and when I don’t say anything, he continues, “Do you have someone or something back there?”

I think about this for a minute as we stare at each other. Do I have anything to go back to?

“I love my job. I’m good at it, but I don’t need or have to go back. I don’t have anyone back there but my best friend, Phoenix.” His eyes tighten, so I clarify, “Phoenix is the only ‘girl’ friend I have.”

He smiles. “You’re a bartender, right?”

I tease, “I’m a mixologist.”

He laughs. “Well, fuck me. That I’ll have to see. You do know I own a lounge, right?”

I shake my head because I didn’t know that. I haven’t been able to research him yet. I’ve only looked up their club.

“Sooo, you don’t have to go back—check. One more question. Why the baggy clothes? Aren’t bartenders or mixologists supposed to show off their bodies?” he asked, teasingly squeezing me.

I push him to his back, straddle him, and slide off my jacket without saying anything. Before pulling off my sweatshirt, I tease, “What, you don’t like my baggy clothes?”

“Fuck no!” he declares, gripping my hips and moving me over his hardness.

I laugh, but when I see the look of desire in his eyes, I become self-conscious. I look nothing like my sister. We are so different in many ways—she’s flawless, and I’m scarred.

When Mac sees my hesitation, he sits up and holds me around the waist.

“Wow, where did you go?”

I place both my hands on his face, feeling his beard. “I’m nothing like my sister. She’s flawless, and I’m scarred. She’s so much more than me.”

---