Page 75 of Little Bird
And dear God in Heaven, he’s big. He stretches me until I think I might burst, and when he pushes into me completely and hits a spot I didn’t even know existed, I gasp.
“Fuck me,” I whisper. “Oh God, Gabe.”
“Fuck you?” he asks, his lips quirking. “Is that a request?”
I want to hit him. I want to punch him right in his smirking face for making jokes right now. But I can’t martial the ability to do more than make a face at him. All of my nerve endings are screaming, and I’ve lost control of my muscles.
He makes the face back at me, and then starts to move.
His thrusts are slow and measured at first, pulling all the way out and then sliding back in, shifting until he’s hitting my clit with each slide. I rock with him, taking him again and again and adjusting for his size while he builds me up, his thrusts getting faster and faster as he gets more confident.
He never stops looking at me, and I can’t bring myself to look away from him, though the intensity makes my heart feel like it’s going to explode.
“Stop playing,” I finally gasp. “Gabe, please.”
Now he finally drops down on top of me, his chest warm and wide and his lips against my ear. “Please what, Little Bird? Tell me.”
The nickname makes me feral and brave, and I tell him what I want without stopping to consider how stupid it is. “Fuck me,” I whisper. “Now. Please.”
He chuckles softly like that was exactly what he wanted to hear, and his actions immediately speed up, his thrusts coming harder and faster. He pins my legs up to my chest and rears up over me, pounding into me as he turns his face to the sky, and I look past him to the clouds above, my body building up to a crescendo that I can’t understand. And when he turns his face back to me, his eyes are nearly black with need, and his mouth is twisted with his passion.
“Girl, I can’t... I can’t...”
He doesn’t finish the sentence, but I don’t need him to, because I feel what he’s trying to say. His cock grows suddenly harder and bigger, and my body responds like this was some prearranged contract. I get immediately wetter and tighter, everything in me drawing down to clench his cock, and he groans. I throw my head back, trying to contain the sensation, but he grabs my chin and makes me look at him as he thrusts once more.
Twice more.
Three times.
My orgasm starts when the tip of his cock hits me that third time, and my body spins and bears down, waves of pleasure riding through me and pulling him into me, and seconds later he’s releasing himself with a roar, his eyes on mine and his fingers still on my chin. And I think this is everything. This is everything I’ve been searching for. I’m complete and whole and safe and loved.
More loved than I’ve ever been.
And above him, the snow starts to come down again, as if the world is sending its blessing over us. I should be cold. I should be frozen.
But when he drops down on top of me, his breath ragged and his skin burning, all I feel is safe and whole. I wrap my arms around him, pull him to me, and wonder if we can spend the entire night out here, or if we’ll freeze to death before we fall asleep.
I can’t think of anyone I’d rather freeze with.
Though I’d rather live, and see what we become tomorrow.
Gunner
I sit at the counter in the kitchen, staring down at the papers in front of me and feeling strangely warm and full.
I found the papers in the workshop when I went in there to look for the paperwork I printed out last night, and a quick glance at them had told me they didn’t belong to me or Gabe. Instead, they had Taryn’s handwriting all over them, scratches of notes surrounding a typed set of bullet points and some sort of flow chart. I’d grabbed the papers up and brought them out with me, morbidly curious as to what she’d been up to, then poured a glass of wine and sat down with them.
Now that I’m actually looking at them, I can’t believe what I’m seeing.
The girl has written an entire plan for the business for the next year, and it’s... very good. Better than good. It might actually be brilliant. Social media campaigns. Photographs. The story behind the story, with a focus on Gabe and me as the heart behind the pieces. Plans for how to go viral.
Plans for influencers to pick us up and start talking about us.
It has very little to do with the actual company or the furniture we make, and more to do with the artists behind the pieces and how we came to be the men we are and make the furniture we make. There’s an entire section about my grandfather and how he founded Hawke’s Wood and the business itself. How we combine forestry with our work.
She’s even put in a section about Hawke’s Wood at Christmas, and the new movement among the kids this year to help those in need.
I’m shocked at how much time and effort she’s obviously dedicated, and impressed at how smart it all is. She’s gone into detail in the places she thinks are particularly useful and outlined ways we can improve our performance across platforms. She’s also done an entire section on the photography, which she’s noted–—in a handwritten scratch–—that she’ll take care of.
