Rugged(63)

This same thing happened to him and Charlotte, didn’t it? She wanted to leave, he didn’t, and it split them up.

Laurel. Now is not the time to think about this. At least let’s get through the show’s premiere. Quit being such a Debbie Downer.

The party eventually breaks up and we drive back to Flint’s place, his hand wrapped tightly around mine the whole way. He keeps stealing hungry glances over at me, but I’m a good girl. I even keep my shoes on and my feet on the floor.

Once we get inside, though, all bets are off.

He devours my mouth with his as he slides my jacket off, and by the time I kick off my heels, he’s got me in his arms and he’s heading for the stairs.

“Put me down, you big brute,” I tease, my voice throaty.

Flint laughs. “Never.”

I’ve never been one for the ‘me Tarzan, you Jane’ fantasy of the big guy with a club in one hand and his woman’s hair in the other, but for some reason, when I’m getting man-handled by Flint, I go weak with lust. Maybe it’s the flannel.

I tighten my arms around him, dropping kisses down his neck, behind his ear, along his jawline, moaning softly against his skin as he carries me up the stairs toward the bedroom. But we don’t make it.

Instead, Flint goes to his knees on the top step and lays me down on the carpet, his hands roving over my dress, squeezing my ass, my hips, my nipples as he sucks my tongue. “Now,” I demand breathlessly. “No time for foreplay.”

“Isn’t that what we’ve been doing all night?” he chuckles.

“Touché.” I trace the hard line of his cock through his pants and then nudge him away, feeling the blood pound in my cheeks as I pull my dress up and over my head.

But Flint stops me before I can pull it off, pinning me down on the floor with his hands on my crossed arms. My black dress is like a blindfold now, and I feel the heat of Flint’s breath as he positions his mouth over mine, a layer of thin fabric between our lips.

“Close your eyes,” he says. “I’m going to f*ck you just like this.”

He kisses me through the lace, and even though I can’t see his face it’s almost hotter this way, or maybe it’s that I don’t know what he’s about to do to me. His hands go to my hips and tug my underwear down as far as my knees, but that’s where he stops. I’m still in my bra with my back arched, dress pulled over my head, exposed and vulnerable at the top of the stairs.

Everything’s super sensitized in the dark. Without my eyes to help me, all I have are my ears, my skin, the scent of Flint leaning over me. When his hand slides down my chest, caressing my belly, finally pausing just over my *, I shiver. Then he stops.

“Flint? What are you—”

Instead of an answer, what I hear is the sound of his belt unbuckling, his zipper going down, the hush of pants hitting the floor. My heart slams in my chest, and I’m dizzy with anticipation. I can feel how wet I am, and I gasp as Flint spreads my legs and breathes against my cunt. Long, slow, agonizing breaths. He’s teasing me. I tilt my hips, enticing him closer, but instead I feel him pull away from me and I wonder what’s next.

“Don’t move,” he commands, and I hear footsteps on the carpet, a door opening.

The next thing I know, his hands are on my lower belly, slick with lube that he strokes down between my legs, up the sides of my inner thighs. Before I can protest that we don’t need it, he hitches my legs up and slams his cock into me in one rock hard, perfect stroke that makes me cry out with the combination of pleasure and pain.

“Flint,” I moan, arms still trapped over my head, dress still blocking my vision. It’s true all I can see is darkness, but all I can feel is Flint f*cking me, so good, his breath quickening against my exposed collarbone, that musk of pine and sawdust enveloping me as he pounds me into the carpet. The lube wasn’t a mistake—I’ve never been so wet, and I can feel every inch of him as he glides in and out of me, so hard, so steady, so perfect. My moans are short, helpless cries as he thrusts harder, faster, deeper.

“I want to see your face when you come,” he growls, ripping the dress the rest of the way off me. The air is cool against my face, and Flint reaches down to tuck a loose strand of damp hair behind my ear without skipping a beat of the rhythm he’s built up.

Our eyes lock, and what I see in his gaze is…everything. He’s everything.

“Come for me,” he demands. “You’re mine.”

I come exactly four seconds later, so hard I can feel tears welling up in my eyes as I gasp for air. Flint holds me tight around my shoulders as I writhe against him, the orgasm jolting through me, draining all the tension from my body.

“Sorry,” I whisper. “You didn’t even—”

He covers my lips with his, silencing me with a kiss that’s basically exactly like a tornado except that it’s in my mouth and there are no flying cows and no wind and no barns get destroyed. When we finally surface to breathe, he says, “It wasn’t about me. Now let’s get you into the shower.”

Flint carries me to the bathroom, helps me out of my underwear, and then gets into the tub with me because I’m too weak-kneed to stand under the spray by myself. I lean against him as the hot water runs over our bodies, resting my head against his chest, and all I can think is, this is bliss.