Page 9 of Big and Grumpy
His bedroom is as masculine as the rest of the cabin, all dark wood and clean lines, but the bed is made with military precision and there are books stacked on the nightstand that suggest hidden depths.
He sets me down beside the bed, his hands framing my face as he studies my expression in the dim light from the hallway.
His shirt falls open, revealing a broad chest covered with dark hair. I run my hands over the hard muscle, surprised by the contrast between his rough exterior and careful touch. When my fingers trace the line of hair disappearing beneath his jeans, he sucks in a sharp breath. I open the button of his jeans and drag the zipper down.
"Marigold," he says, my name coming out like a growl.
Then his mouth is on mine again, demanding and hard. His tongue isn't gentle, and I wouldn't want it to be. He lifts me like I weigh nothing and carries me to his bedroom, dropping me onto his bed. His eyes lock on mine as he yanks my sweater up and off, his jaw clenching when he sees my black lace bra.
"Damn," is all he says, his large, calloused hands covering my breasts, thumbs roughly circling my nipples through the lace.
My body responds instantly. I've never been with someone so unapologetically masculine, so direct in what he wants.
I reach behind to unclasp my bra, and Holt's eyes narrow as I pull it off. He makes a rough sound in the back of his throat.
"Christ," he mutters, lowering his head to my breast.
The wet heat of his tongue sends electricity coursing through me, and I arch into his touch, wanting more. He lavishes attention on one breast then the other, alternating between gentle suction and teasing flicks of his tongue that have me gasping his name. His hand trails down my stomach to the waistband of my leggings, pausing there in silent question.
"Yes," I whisper. "Please, Holt."
He peels the leggings down my legs with agonizing slowness, his eyes feasting on every inch of newly revealed skin. When I'm left in nothing but my matching black panties, he sits back on his heels to admire me.
"I need to see all of you," he says, his voice rough with want.
I lift my hips, allowing him to slide my panties down and off. The cool air of the bedroom raises goosebumps on my heated skin, but Holt's gaze burns hotter than any fire.
Holt is so big, even a girl my size is easy for him to throw around. His large hands explore every inch of me, discovering places I didn't even know could bring pleasure. When he finds the spot where my neck meets my shoulder that makes me gasp, he returns to it, learning my body with the focused attention of a craftsman.
"I need to taste you," he says, his voice a rough command that sends shivers down my spine.
And then he's moving down my body, pressing open-mouthed kisses across my stomach, my hips, the soft insides of my thighs. He positions himself between my legs, his broad shoulders pushing them further apart. The first touch of his mouth against my center tears a cry from my throat that would embarrass me if I had any capacity for self-consciousness left.
"That's it," he encourages, his dark eyes watching my face as he works his tongue against me. "Let me hear you, Marigold."
His tongue traces lazy circles around my clit before dipping lower to explore my folds. Each stroke is deliberate, designedto build my pleasure incrementally. His fingers join his mouth, one thick digit sliding inside me, then two, stretching and filling me with exquisite care, while his tongue continues its relentless assault on my most sensitive bundle of nerves.
The sensation builds and builds until I'm clutching at his shoulders, my nails leaving half-moon impressions in his skin. My hips rock against his face, seeking more pressure, more friction, more of everything he's giving me.
"Please," I beg, not even sure what I'm asking for. "Holt, please."
He understands my incoherent plea. Rising above me, he quickly sheds his jeans and boxers, revealing his impressive arousal. He settles between my thighs, the hard length of him pressing against my entrance in tantalizing promise. His eyes search mine, seeking final confirmation.
"Yes," I whisper. "I want you."
When he enters me, the feeling of fullness is so perfect, so complete, that tears spring to my eyes. He's large in every way, stretching me in a delicious burn that borders on too much.
"You okay?" he asks immediately, freezing in place, his jaw clenched with the effort of restraint.
"Better than okay," I assure him, wrapping my legs around his waist to draw him deeper. "Don't stop."
What follows is unlike anything I've ever experienced. Holt moves with the controlled power that defines him, each thrust precisely calibrated to bring maximum pleasure. He starts slow and deep, gradually building a rhythm that has me clutching at his back, my heels digging into his firm buttocks. His eyes never leave my face, watching every reaction, learning what makes me sigh and what makes me moan.
"You're so beautiful," he murmurs against my throat, his voice rough with desire as he takes his time with me, building thepleasure until I'm gasping his name. "So perfect, Marigold. I've been wanting this, wanting you, for weeks."
I run my hands over the muscled expanse of his back, feeling the power coiled there as he moves above me and within me. Every thrust pushes me higher, closer to a peak I can feel building with unstoppable force.
When he shifts slightly, changing the angle so that he hits a spot deep inside me, I know I'm close. The pressure builds and builds, winding tighter with each movement of his hips. He seems to sense my approaching climax, his thrusts becoming more targeted, more insistent.
