Page 68 of Lovingly Restored

“I’ve been ready for months.”

Her eyes are round and glassy as she processes that. Is now the time to explain that I’m crazy about her? That casual was never the right word for what I wanted?

“Ash–”

She kisses me sweetly. “Now, Isaac.”

I adjust the pillows behind her and use my knees to spread her legs. She doesn’t need to guide me. I know exactly where to go, the tip of my cock easily finding her slick heat. Pressing into her the first inch, she moans. I give her another inch, pausing when her brows knit slightly.

“Ashlyn, I’m trying to go slow for you. But you feel so damn good.”

“Stay still for a second,” she breathes, “it’s been a while.”

I kiss and lick at her throat until her muscles relax and her hips move. That’s my cue to give her the rest of me. The torturous pace as I enter her all the way both pleasures and pains. Never have I taken so long to enter a woman before.

“Move,” she commands.

So I do. I keep my thrusts shallow. A slow pace will allow her to climb higher towards her next release but keep me from falling over the ledge too soon. Coming too quickly is an undeniable possibility with how good Ashlyn feels, with how far into my head she is. I slip my tongue into her mouth and move it in the same rhythm as my hips. Trailing a hand down my chest, through the centre of my abs, she reaches between us. I watch as she grazes her clit and swollen outer lips.

“Fuck yes, touch yourself, Ashlyn.”

I fucking love that she’s comfortable enough with me to play with her pussy while I thrust in and out of her. She must find something she likes because she flutters around my cock.

“Faster, Isaac,” she gasps, lips parted.

I oblige, picking up the pace. The glazed expression on her face tells me I’ve got the right rhythm, and when a smile stretches across her face, I decide I’ll do anything in the whole goddamn world to recreate it.

“I’m getting close, Ashlyn,” I warn. I’ll have to slow way down if she needs more time.

“Me too,” she whispers right as she tightens around my shaft and lets out the most contented moan I’ve ever heard.

“Ashlyn!” I call as I find my release, continuing to thrust erratically inside of her while I draw out the last bits of our pleasure. I drop my head to her chest, listening to the thudding of her heart, kissing her there.

“So, that just happened,” she giggles.

I smirk up at her. “What’s so funny?

“I have no idea. I’m happy.”

We’re both giddy from the wine, fantastic orgasms, and the long drive. Man, I love it when she laughs like that. I rest with Ashlyn in my arms. Content.

Chapter twenty-two

Ashlyn

IstretchsodeepI quiver, a goofy grin plastered on my face. The smile has been there since I opened my eyes and the memories of last night swept in. That was the best sex I’ve ever had. Isaac’s side is empty, the duvet pulled up and tucked in neatly. Through the window, I see the dark snow clouds have cleared and the forest floor is covered in pillowy layers of powder. The pine branches hang heavy, and tiny birds flit from perch to perch, gentle puffs of snow falling where they land. Throwing a hoodie over my sleep set, I descend the ladder and use the washroom, splashing my face with water and brushing my teeth. The wood stove crackles, and I’m planning to spend as much time next to that glorious warmth as possible today. I have vague memories of Isaac leaving bed last night, kissing me on the cheek and whispering that he’s going to add fuel to the fire.

The rhythmic thwacks of steel versus cedar guide me to him. I kind of think he’ll chop the whole forest down if I tell him I’m cold. I slide on my snow boots then step onto the front porch, squinting against the light reflecting off the crystalline snow. Isaac wears jeans and a hoodie, a red toque on his head, axe in hand. He’s sporting the same unrelenting focus he applies to projects in his workshop back home.

Home.

Since when did I consider Mummo’s house home? More importantly, when did I start calling her Mummo? That’s not my house or my grandmother, not by a long shot. Technically, it’s not Isaac’s home either. We’re both imposters playing house.

“Mornin’, beautiful.” His devilish grin sends a flurry through my stomach.

My brain beelines to last night, his solid form above me, the fullness of him inside my body.

“I asked if you had anything planned for breakfast?”

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