Page 8 of Overtime with Orion
He glanced toward the old boathouse, then back at me. “I’ve got a blanket in my truck. And there’s a spot by the water…”
“Show me.”
We walked to the small dock hand in hand, and I marveled at how right it felt. Natural. Like we’d been doing this for years instead of hours. The moon was nearly full, casting everything in silver light that turned the water into liquid mercury.
He spread a blanket on the wooden dock. When he turned back to me, I saw my own desire reflected in his eyes even in the dim light.
“Second thoughts?” he asked softly.
“None.” My hands went to the hem of my sweater, and I felt a thrill of power at the way his eyes darkened. “But I should probably warn you—I have no idea what I’m doing.”
“We’ll figure it out.” He caught my hands, stilling them, and the gentleness of the gesture made my heart skip. “But first you need to know—this isn’t just tonight for me. I know I’m supposed to be in town temporarily, I know it’s complicated, but you’re not a hookup.”
Relief flooded through me so intensely that it was almost dizzying. “Good. Because you’re not a hookup to me either.”
I pulled my sweater over my head before I could second-guess myself. His appreciative stare as I bared my body made me feel powerful and desirable and completely fearless.
“Your turn,” I said, surprised by the bold edge in my own voice.
He stripped off his shirt, and I couldn’t help staring. He was magnificent—all hard muscle and golden skin, with a few scars that told stories I wanted to learn. When I reached out and ran my hands over his chest, feeling the way his muscles jumped under my touch, he closed his eyes and made a sound that sent heat pooling low in my belly.
The air was cool on my bare skin, but the heat in Orion’s gaze kept me warm. My fingers trembled slightly as I reached for the button of his jeans. He watched me, his breath a visible cloudin the moonlight, his hands resting lightly on my hips as if to anchor us both.
I popped the button, the sound unnaturally loud in the quiet night. The zipper came down with a slow, rasping sigh. He kicked off his boots, and then, holding my gaze, he pushed the denim and the soft-looking boxers down his hips in one fluid motion.
My breath caught. He was…more than I could have imagined. Thick and erect, standing proudly against the dark thatch of hair at his groin. In the pale light, he looked both powerful and beautiful, a statue of a god come to life. A faint, musky scent, uniquely his, reached me, and it was the most intoxicating thing I’d ever smelled. The wave of pure, primal want that washed over me made my head spin. This was real. He was real. And he was waiting for me.
“Can I…” My voice was a hoarse whisper. “Can I touch you?”
A slow, devastating smile spread across his face. “As long as I’m free to touch too.”
I nodded, unable to form words. My hand was tentative as I reached out, my fingers brushing against the velvety heat of him.
He let out a sharp, hissed breath, and the sound gave me courage. I wrapped my fingers around him, my grip unsure at first, then firmer as I felt the solid, silken weight of him in my palm. I stroked him, a clumsy, exploratory movement.
A low groan rumbled in his chest. “That’s it, Larkin.”
As I moved my hand, his own hands began their exploration. They slid up my sides, his thumbs brushing the sensitive undersides of my breasts, making me gasp. He cupped their full weight, his calloused palms abrading my nipples, sending jolts of pleasure straight to my core.
Then his hands drifted lower, over the curve of my hips, my waist, my stomach, mapping my body with a reverence that left me trembling. When his fingers finally slid between my legs, abroken sound escaped my throat. He found me slick and ready, and one finger, then two, slid inside me with an aching fullness that threatened to buckle my knees.
We stood there for minutes that felt like an eternity, caught in a mutual discovery. My awkward strokes on him, his expert, gentle thrusts inside me. The world narrowed to this dock, to the sounds of our ragged breathing and the soft, wet sounds of our touching. Pleasure built inside me, a tight, coiling spring, but just as I felt myself nearing some unknown edge, he stilled my hand.
“Wait,” he breathed, his voice strained. “Lie down on the blanket.”
For a moment, I considered it. But a new, shocking boldness took hold of me. I shook my head, my heart hammering. I couldn’t believe what I was about to do, but the desire to taste him, to please him as he was pleasing me, was overwhelming. I sank to my knees.
“I’ve…I’d always wanted to try this,” I admitted, the confession a shaky whisper.
His eyes widened with surprise, then darkened with an intensity that stole my breath. I leaned forward before I could lose my nerve, parting my lips and taking him into my mouth. The taste of him was salty, masculine, utterly foreign and completely thrilling. My movements were clumsy, uncertain, but he didn’t seem to mind. His hand came to rest gently on the back of my head, not pushing, just holding.
“God, Larkin,” he moaned, his hips giving a tiny, involuntary thrust. “Your mouth…it’s so hot.”
Emboldened, I slid one hand beneath him, my fingers tentatively exploring the soft, heavy weight of his balls. He groaned, a deep, guttural sound that vibrated through me.
“Just like that,” he rasped, his fingers tangling in my hair. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me. No idea.”
I lost myself in the rhythm, in the sounds he was making, in the feel of him on my tongue. I was someone else, a braver, wilder version of myself, and it was the most liberating feeling I’d ever known. But again, he stopped me, his hands firm on my shoulders, gently pulling me away.
