Page 13 of Melting the Grump
His hands cup my breasts through the thin fabric, the weight of them filling his palms perfectly. His thumbs circle my nipples until they peak against his touch. I moan, my head falling back against the wall, offering myself more fully to his exploration.
He accepts the invitation, lowering his head to replace fingers with mouth, the wet heat of his tongue soaking through cotton to tease sensitive flesh. Through the fabric, he draws one nipple into his mouth, sucking gently while his hand continues to knead my other breast.
"Scott," I gasp, my hands clutching his shoulders for support as pleasure spirals through me. My nails dig into his skin, leaving crescent marks that I want to soothe with my tongue. "The blankets… please."
He understands immediately, lifting me as if I weigh nothing, his hands gripping the backs of my thighs as my legs wrap around his waist. The movement presses the hard ridge of him against my center, drawing a groan from us both. In three strides, he's lowering me onto the makeshift bed of blankets spread before the stove.
His expression is a mixture of hunger and something softer, more vulnerable, as he gazes down at me. His chest rises and falls with rapid breaths, a sheen of sweat making his skin glow in the amber light. The fire pops and hisses beside us, sending shadows dancing across the planes of his body, highlighting the definition of muscle.
I reach for him, pulling him down until his weight presses me into the blankets. The delicious friction of his bare chest against my cotton-covered breasts draws a moan from both of us. His hips settle between my thighs, the hard length of him pressing against me through our jeans, creating a pressure that's both relief and torment.
His hand slides beneath me, unclasping my bra with practiced ease, then drawing the straps down my arms until I'm bare to his gaze.
"Christ, look at you," he breathes, his eyes roving over my exposed skin with such intensity that I feel it like a physical caress.
He lowers his head again, this time taking my nipple directly into his mouth, tongue swirling around the sensitive peak while his hand attends to its twin. The wet heat of his mouth contrasts sharply with the cooler air, sending shivers across my skin. He sucks harder, teeth grazing the tender flesh just enough to border on pain before soothing with gentle laps of his tongue.
I arch into his touch, seeking more, my hands exploring the muscled contours of his back, the narrow taper of his waist, the surprising softness of his hair as it brushes against my chest while he moves from one breast to the other.
I reach between us, fumbling with his belt buckle until it gives way. The metallic clink sounds unnaturally loud in the quiet barn, punctuated only by our heavy breathing and the crackle of the fire. My fingers brush against the hard ridge straining beneath denim, feeling him twitch at my touch even through the thick fabric.
"Abigail," he warns, voice strained, breath hot against my breast. "If you touch me there, I won't be able to go slow."
"Who said I wanted slow?" I challenge, emboldened by the naked desire in his eyes. I squeeze him gently through his jeans, drawing a hiss of pleasure-pain from between his clenched teeth.
With a growl that sends heat straight to my core, he captures my wrists in one large hand, pinning them gently above my head against the blankets. The position arches my back, offering my breasts up to him like a feast. His free hand trails down my torso, fingertips skimming the underside of my breast, the curve of my waist, the swell of my stomach, to the waistband of my jeans.
"I want to savor you," he says, his voice rough with desire. His eyes lock with mine, intense and unwavering. "Every. Inch."
His fingers deftly unfasten the button, drawing down the zipper with agonizing slowness. I lift my hips, helping him slide the denim down my legs, the rough fabric catching slightly on my skin before giving way.
He releases my wrists to remove my boots and jeans completely, then pauses, drinking in the sight of me nearly naked before him, clad only in simple cotton panties.
His thumb traces the edge of my panties, barely grazing the sensitive skin of my inner thigh. The light touch sends electricity shooting up my leg, making me squirm. He does it again, this time venturing just slightly higher, but still avoiding where I most want to be touched.
"Please," I whisper, beyond pride or pretense, my body thrumming with desire. "Touch me."
His smile is pure male satisfaction as he hooks his fingers into the waistband and slowly, torturously, draws the fabric down my legs. The cotton catches slightly where I'm wet, the tiny friction making me gasp. When I'm finally bare beneath him, he takes a moment just to look, his expression a mixture of awe and hunger that makes me feel both vulnerable and powerful.
When he reaches the juncture of my thighs, he pauses, his eyes meeting mine, seeking permission that I give with a slight nod and a breathless "yes."
His hand slides higher, finally reaching the heat between my legs. At the first brush of his fingers against my center, we both moan. I'm embarrassingly wet, slick and swollen.
He explores me with patience, discovering what makes me gasp, what makes me arch, what draws my nails down his back in helpless pleasure. His fingers trace my folds, spreading wetness, circling my entrance without penetrating. His thumb finds my clit, circling the sensitive bundle of nerves with just enough pressure to make my hips buck involuntarily.
"So wet," he growls, circling my entrance before finally, mercifully, dipping one thick finger inside. The intrusion is both relief and torment, not nearly enough but exquisite in its promise of more. "All for me?"
"Yes," I manage, my hips rising to meet his touch, seeking deeper penetration. "Only you."
He adds a second finger, stretching me while his thumb continues its maddening circles. His fingers curl inside me, finding a spot that makes stars explode behind my eyelids.
His mouth returns to my breast, teeth gently grazing my nipple before sucking hard, and the combination of sensations pushes me rapidly toward the edge.
I gasp, feeling the pressure mounting, my inner muscles beginning to clench around his fingers.
Pleasure explodes through me in pulsing waves, my body clenching around his fingers as I cry out his name. The orgasm seems to go on forever, each aftershock coaxed skillfully from my body by his relentless, gentle touch. He works me through it, drawing out every last tremor until I collapse, boneless and gasping, against the blankets.
Before I can recover, I push against his chest, surprising him enough that he rolls to his back. I straddle him in one fluid motion, the blankets soft beneath our knees, the fire castingdancing shadows across our skin. His hands immediately find my hips, steadying me as I smile down at him.
