Page 68 of Eyes Like a Hurricane

A strangled noise leaves the back of his throat as he closes his eyes and takes in a steadying breath. His fingers dip below the waistband of the shorts, and when they make contact with only my skin, he slowly smiles. Removing his hand, he walks me backward until my back is against the counter. Slowly his mouth meets mine, and our tongues tangle. I release a moan of pleasure and gently bite his lower lip.

His left hand tangles into my hair, pulling me closer to him. He groans as his other hand slowly draws up my shorts, only finding smooth skin. When he reaches the apex of my legs, he runs his fingers over the outside of my lips. Dipping his finger into my center, he slowly circles my clit, rubbing in a tortuously slow rhythm.

Just before I’m about to come undone, he steps back, and says, “I think the shower is warm. Let's step in and continue where we left off.”

Once my back hits the water, he presses my back against the cold stone wall. My hands grab his shoulders, pulling him toward me. I seal my mouth to his in a passionate kiss. I kiss him as if this were our last breath.

“I need you inside me, Lachlan,” I moan against his mouth.

He doesn't make me beg, though at this point, I would. His hands reach under my thighs, hoisting me up against the wall, until we are almost eye level.

“Tell me what you want, Aislinn,” he whispers, looking at me through water-soaked lashes.

“I’m on the pill. Take me deep and slow,” I whimper, biting my lower lip.

He nods, and I feel his head nudging my entrance. Inch by inch, he enters me, and I press my shoulders against the stoneto cool my skin, which feels like it’s on fire. His touch burns an imprint wherever it goes.

His mouth kisses down my sternum until he moves his tongue to circle my nipple, causing me to buck against him. The steady thrust of his hips creates the perfect amount of friction against my clit as it rubs against his pubic bone.

Tingles travel up my spine and I come undone, moaning his name into the steam of the shower. His body begins to move erratically as he chases his own release. I can feel myself constricting around him, squeezing him tight. My name is nothing but a whispered growl off his lips as he buries his forehead into the crook of my neck.

Before he sets me down, he wraps me in his arms and murmurs, “I love you, sweetheart,” against the shell of my ear.

“I love you, Lachlan. More than you could ever know,” I sigh against his temple.

After getting clean in our shower, we both look dreamy-eyed and a little dazed. Satiated in the most primal way.

His body is a work of art. As he stands there, with his towel slung low on his hips and water beading down his defined chest, I take a moment to drink in his body. I love the ridges of his abs that rise and dip with each muscle. My eyes stop at the sculpted V-line that ends where the towel begins. The smattering of dark hair on his chest and the trail below his belly button leave me wanting more. I force myself to stop before I encourage a round two.

After getting dressed, I scamper into the kitchen. I grab supplies to make a quick sandwich for each of us, and we walk back to the barn.

The alpacas are sleeping in the corner, nuzzled together. They look peaceful and calm. Their breathing is steady. I lookinto the food and water trough and realize they ate and drank well. It looks like they will adjust quickly.

Lachlan busies himself with making our straw and blanket bed. In the office, he opened an old cedar trunk and pulled out lots of wool blankets. He rolls one into the shape of a pillow for us to rest our heads on and lays the rest out flat to protect our skin from the straw.

“This will be perfect. I’m getting pretty tired. The alpacas look comfortable. Their breathing is stable. They have consumed enough food and water. I think they are down for the night. Do you mind if we call it a night a bit early?” I ask.

He lays down and opens his arm, motioning for me to join him. “Come lie down, sweetheart. It’s been a long and eventful day. Let’s get some rest while we can, just in case the alpacas wake up in distress.”

I crawl up the makeshift bed and place my head in the crook of his shoulder. He wraps his arms around me, pulling me close. Reaching to the side, he slowly lifts a blanket over the top of us. I try to make out the ceiling of the barn. There is barely enough moonlight filtering through the exposed beams to see bits and pieces of the rafters. I look up to meet his eyes. With the shadows cast over his face, I can’t read his expression until I see the gleam of his teeth.

“Sleep well, Hurricane. Thanks for everything today. I love you,” his voice rumbles beneath my cheek.

The vibration goes straight down my spine all the way to my toes. “I love you to the moon and back. Sweet dreams,” I murmur, yawning.

His free hand tilts my chin up, and he gives me one last lingering kiss.

Placing my hand across his chest, my eyes become heavy, listening to the rhythmic beat of his heart under my temple. Itgives me such a strong sense of safety, home, and adoration. I drift off with a ghost of a smile playing across my lips.

All too soon, “COCK-A-DOODLE-DOO!” rings out through the barn. My eyes fly awake, and I’m assaulted by the sights and sounds of pre-dawn in a ranch barn. The light streaming through the openings between the boards hits us like lasers. Dust particles dance through the rays of the early morning sun as I try to gain my bearings and bring the world around me into focus.

At the end of our straw bed is a huge rooster. Lachlan begins to stir beside me, grabbing my waist to bring me back down for warmth. How did he not hear that horrible wake-up call? It sounds more like an alarm or a security warning system, but this is my first time being four feet from a crowing rooster. Probably doesn’t help that I’m still half asleep with a thick layer of sleep coating my eyelashes.

“COCK-A-DOODLE-DOO!” echoes throughout the wooden beams again, and this time Lachlan peeks his eyes open just enough that I can see his vibrant green eyes through the tiny slits.

“Lachlan, why is there a rooster on our barn bed?” I groan.

His voice rumbles, hoarse with sleep. “That’s just Gibbler. Amelia named him when she was four. For the most part, he isn’t aggressive. Just ignore him, and he’ll go find Noah. It’s his day to open the barn for dawn chores.”

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