Page 57 of Stars and Scars

Gray pumps his hips, hands going to the armrest over my head. He strains against me, taut as a high tension wire. I grind back, the intensity building and building as I near another climax. Grayson adjusts his position, the speed of his thrusts, slowing down and hitting all the right spots. He’s gauging my reactions, and changing accordingly. It’s like he’s inside of my head as well as my body…

I grab his chest and knead like a happy cat, eyes squeezing shut. Every time he slides in and then glides back out, he pushes me further toward the edge. I’ve never had it this good before. It’s like we just click on every level, without having to try.

“Charlotte,” he cries, filling my name with meaning. “Charlotte!”

I cross my ankles at the small of his back, clenching him to my body, giving him permission to let loose. His cock throbs as it empties, pushing me over the precipice. I suck in a deep gasp of air, hold it for a long moment, and then let out a scream that makes my throat feel raw from its sheer intensity.

Pulse after pulse of ecstasy shoots through me, turning my body into a mere puppet. I writhe and twist beneath Gray, unable to speak or think, only to exist in this moment of profound pleasure.

Grayson collapses on top of me, wrapping his arms tight around my chest. I clutch back at him, even as my whole body shakes like a bowl of jelly. My brain glows with the golden light of utter satisfaction.

Gray kisses me on the forehead, the cheek, the lips. I kiss back as best I can, though I’m still lost in the throes of ecstasy. I’ve never had a climax like this before. Not ever. Gray and I just work. That’s all there is to it. At least, on a physical level.

We lay together, our sweat mingling as it cools. I rest my head on his chest and listen to the thump thump thump of his heartbeat. Neither of us speaks. I’m not sure there’s anything that needs to be said, in this most perfect of moments.

I snuggle up against him, feeling the urge for more. I want more. The wind picks up, rattling the windows. A gust makes it down the chimney and draws bumps across my skin.

“It’s going to be a cold night. I’ll go chop some wood for the fire and stove.”

He grabs his outer shirt and holds it out to me.

“Here.”

I take it after a moment’s hesitation. Grayson goes outside, the door banging against the frame and then remaining open a half inch. Shuddering, I move over to close it fully, and seal out the increasingly chilly wind.

After a moment, I hear the meaty thunks of an ax splitting wood. I slide his shirt over my shoulders. Grayson’s scent envelops me. His shirt is still warm from being so close to his skin. I draw it around me like it’s his arms hugging me tight as I watch him chop the wood.

He moves with a grace and elegance that belies his rough edges. Grayson is clearly experienced at this sort of outdoorsy stuff. It’s a pleasure to watch him work, sending the ax in a downward arc to cleave another log in half.

Grayson gets a decent sized pile going, then slams the ax head home in the chopping block. He bends over to scoop up the wood and I move away from the window. All of the sudden, I feel weird for having watched him.

I hear him struggling with the door, and rush over to help him open it. Grayson sidles in, arms laden with roughly-hewn wood. The tendons in his forearms dance and pop as he moves over to the fireplace.

He carefully arranges a stack of chopped logs in the fireplace and rummages around in the dark shadow beside the stone structure. Grayson picks up a half-empty can of vegetable shortening and a folded paper bag.

“What are you doing with that? Going to deep fry a shopping bag?”

“It’s actually quite tasty.”

I do a double take, until I notice Grayson trying hard not to smile.

“You shit,” I say, laughing.

“This is to help start the fire.”

He tears a sheet from the shopping bag and uses it to collect some crisco, darkening the brown paper. Grayson flicks a lighter until he gets the paper lit. He quickly tosses it onto the logs as the paper goes up like a miniature star.

“See? It works.”

“Next time I go camping, I’ll have to bring some Crisco.”

I settle onto the sofa as the fire catches. The warmth spills out into the room, easing my discomfort. Grayson settles on the sofa beside me, about a foot of space separating us. It feels weird, considering how close we were not that long ago. I hope he’s not going to put figurative distance between us as well.

Grayson’s brows lift as he speaks.

“Do you go camping often?”

I cast my gaze down to my fidgeting hands.

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