Page 42 of Curses and Cornstalks
His hands are pale gray, like the rest of him, his long fingers calloused from years of farmwork before he was cursed. Hesitantly, he brushes his fingertips along my jaw, down my neck, and my eyes flutter at the contact. Like his lips, his skin is chilled, feeling like ice against my scorching skin.
“I don’t want you to fear me,” he says softly, trailing his hand lower, to the hem of my sweater. “Parts of me look different, but I won’t hurt you.”
“I trust you,” I breathe as his fingers skim beneath the material.
He tugs my sweater off in a single motion, and the cold air kisses my skin. But the goosebumps that follow, rolling down my arms, have little to do with the temperature and everything to do with the way his eyes dart directly to the lacy, powder blue bra I’m wearing.
I fight the urge to laugh. “These have probably changed a bit since you’ve seen them.”
“Abit.” He grins bashfully. “How do you… um… get it off?”
My self-control snaps, and I giggle. “Hold on.”
For the sake of time—and my spiking libido—I quickly unclasp the bra and toss it aside. My nipples are so hard they ache.
“My God, you’re stunning,” he whispers before closing the distance and pressing me back onto the ground. His fingers trail over my exposed skin, skimming over my chest; he teases one of my nipples between his fingers, tweaking it until I whimper. “A beauty to behold.”
If my cheeks weren’t already ablaze, I’d blush again. Everything this man says turns me into a giddy, frazzled mess, and every touch sends my libido skyrocketing. I don’t remember ever being this hopelessly turned on, almost to the point of begging him to touch me.
I reach for the buttons of his coat, carefully undoing one, then look up at him for approval. He nods me forward, and I hurriedly undo the rest. Next, I tackle his plaid button-up, fingers fumbling as I try to hurry.
He shrugs off the shirt, adding it to the growing pile of clothes next to us, and my eyes fall to his naked torso. Gray skin stretches over rippling muscles and several long scars that trail over his ribs. My heart sinks when my eyes linger on the deep one stretching toward his chest, wondering who might have done that to him, but he soothes my worries a second later.
“They’re from working on the farm. Nearly died, but I made it… somehow.”
“Thankfully.” I smile.
With a glint in his eyes, he dips and takes one of my aching nipples into his mouth. I moan as his tongue swirls around the hardened peak, then he does the same with the other. His lips graze over my skin, nipping and sucking as he goes, while his fingers trail lower. Before I can ask if he needs help, he’s undone my jeans.
“At least I know how that works,” he chuckles, helping me shimmy out of my jeans. I forewent underwear, so all that’s left are my socks, which he smiles at before crawling back up my body.
He settles next to me, his hand moving over every inch of my body, as though he’s drawing with invisible paint while he learns my shape. He squeezes each of my breasts, affectionately rolling my nipples between his fingers, and nuzzles his face in the crook of my neck to tease my skin with his lips.
“Touch me,” I beg, desperation in my tone. The throb in my core is growing unbearable, and I know I’m soaking wet.
After a hundred years of celibacy, I figured he’d be more anxious to get inside me, but Atticus is content taking his time.
“If this is the only chance I get to have you like this, I want to savor every moment,” he says, his fingers diving for the warmth between my thighs. He nudges my legs apart gently and teases my wet folds. “Will you grant me that, darling?”
“Mm-hmm,” I hum, my eyes fluttering closed at the pleasure his touch brings. His finger brushes over my clit, sending a jolt through me, before he teases slow, steady circles around it. “You can have me however you want, Atticus.”
A chuckle shakes his chest, and his fingers dip lower. He slides one finger inside, adding a second right after, and my hips rock involuntarily.
I want him harder, deeper, faster, but I’ll take this deliciously agonizing pace if that’s what he wants. He pumps his fingers in and out, and I wrap my arms around his shoulders to drag him closer.
“So beautiful.” His gritty voice cascades over my body and the tension in my core builds. I rock my hips again, urging him to pick up the pace, and he does. “Do you want to come, darling? Is that what you want?”
Yes. Fuck yes.
But the only thing I can do is nod and pant as he buries his fingers deeper.
“I want to hear you,” he says, his voice vibrating over my skin as he presses his mouth to my throat. “Tell me what you want; let me give you what you need.”
“Faster,” I whisper, rolling my hips again. “Please, fuck me faster.”
A rumble rolls in his chest, and he gives me exactly what I crave. He pumps his fingers faster, deeper, until a steady stream of curses and moans falls from my lips like a whispered litany.
I’m so close, teetering on the edge of an orgasm. He must sense it too, because he adjusts his palm to rub against my clit and drives his fingers inside.
