Page 8 of Big and Brawny
"Orson," I say softly.
He leans closer, one large hand coming up to cup my cheek. "Tell me if this isn't what you want."
What I want. As if there's any question. I've been drawn to this man since the first moment I saw him, and everything I've learned about him since has only deepened that attraction. His dedication, his gentleness, the respect he shows me and everyone around him.
"This is exactly what I want," I whisper.
When he kisses me, it's with a tenderness that makes my heart ache. His lips are warm and firm against mine, unhurried but certain. I melt into him, my hands finding their way to his shoulders, feeling the solid strength of him beneath my fingertips.
The kiss deepens, and I hear a small sound escape my throat—part sigh, part moan. Orson responds with a growl that vibrates through his chest, his hand sliding from my cheek to the back of my neck, holding me with care.
When we finally part, I'm breathless and dizzy. Orson's eyes are dark with desire and disbelief.
"I've been wanting to do that since you showed up at my door with cinnamon rolls," he admits, his voice rough.
"What took you so long?" I ask, unable to keep the smile from my face.
"Wasn't sure if you'd be interested. Didn't want to be that guy who hits on his training partner."
"I am very, very interested," I assure him, leaning in for another quick kiss that somehow turns into a longer one.
We break apart at the sound of the announcement that the lighting ceremony will begin soon. Orson keeps his hand in mine as we stand up from our hay bale seat.
"Small towns," he says with a wry smile. "Everyone's probably already talking about us."
"Is that a problem?" I ask, suddenly uncertain.
His expression softens immediately. "Not for me. I'm proud to be seen with you. I just didn't want to subject you to the Whitepine gossip mill before you were ready."
"I think I can handle it," I say, squeezing his hand. "Besides, it sounds like your cousins already had bets placed on us anyway."
He laughs, the sound warm and rich. "Almost certainly. Boone texted me three times today asking for updates."
As promised, the lighting ceremony begins fifteen minutes later. We stand at the edge of the crowd, Orson behind me with his arms wrapped around my waist, his solid warmth at my back keeping away the evening chill. When the thousands of string lights illuminate the square all at once, transforming the festival into a glittering wonderland, I hear my own soft gasp of delight.
"Do you want to get out of here?" I ask boldly, surprising myself with my directness.
"Where did you have in mind?"
"Your place is closer than mine.”
The drive to his house seems to take forever, though it's only a few minutes. We maintain a careful distance, me following in my car, but the anticipation building in my veins makes every second stretch. By the time we pull into his driveway, I can hardly contain myself.
Orson meets me at my car door, offering his hand to help me out. Always the gentleman, even now when I can see the barely contained desire in his eyes. We make it as far as his front porch before I can't take it anymore, turning in his arms as he unlocks the door and rising on my toes to press my lips to his.
This kiss is different from the ones at the festival—hungry, desperate, full of the promise of what's to come. Orson groans against my mouth, one arm wrapping around my waist to pull me flush against him while his other hand fumbles with the door.
We stumble inside, neither of us willing to break the kiss. The door slams behind us, and suddenly I'm pressed against it, Orson's large body caging mine in the most delicious way. His hands frame my face, his kiss consuming, and I whimper as I feel the evidence of his desire pressed hard against my stomach.
"Orson Hartwell," I say, framing his face with my hands, "if you don't take me to your bedroom right now, I might combust on the spot. Yes, I'm sure."
A grin breaks across his face, boyish and delighted, before he sweeps me into his arms like I weigh nothing at all. The display of strength does things to me, and I wrap my arms around his neck as he carries me down the hallway to his bedroom.
The room is exactly what I would expect—neat, masculine, with a massive bed that dominates the space. Orson sets me down beside it with care, his hands immediately finding my waist as his lips reclaim mine. The kiss is slower now, deeper, both of us savoring the knowledge of what's to come.
His hands slide to the hem of my sweater dress, pausing there with a questioning look. I answer by reaching for the bottom of his Henley, tugging it upward. He helps me pull it over his head, and for a moment I can only stare. I've seen him in workout clothes, watched the play of muscles beneath thin fabric as he lifts, but this—the broad expanse of his bare chest, the definedridges of his abdomen, the trail of dark hair disappearing beneath his jeans—it steals my breath.
He slowly pulls my dress up and off, his eyes darkening as he takes in the sight of me in my black lace bra and leggings. The reverence in his gaze makes me feel more beautiful than I ever have before, more desired than I thought possible.
