Wild Fire (Chaos #6.5)(63)

It had been a fantastic day, discovering time with Georgie was that good when there wasn’t drama swirling with Georgiana proving she wasn’t only gorgeous, but good in a crisis, had a crazy-awesome head on her shoulders and a spectacular sense of humor.

And on these thoughts, it was not a surprise to him that he could no longer see her in that dress with her beside him in his truck, her coat on, but still, when he pulled in his drive beside her Subaru, he had his door open before he had the ignition shut off.

Georgie wasn’t fucking around either. When he met her at the hood of his truck, she practically ran on her gold stilettos beside him, holding his hand, to get to his side door.

He knew Murtagh was well and truly his boy when the cat came to the doorway to the mudroom, let out a truncated, “Mur—?” but at one look at them, he turned around and moseyed off.

When their coats were on hooks and Georgie had thrown her gold bag to the counter, their knuckles slammed together as each sought the other’s hand.

He shot her a grin.

She returned it.

He enfolded her fingers in his, and even if she was jogging behind him to keep up with his long strides, he did not adjust those strides as he pulled her to his bedroom.

No way he was having her fully for the first time without being able to see, so he wasted the time it took to hit the light.

When he turned to her, she had her hands at the back of her neck to undo her zipper.

“You take off that dress, you wait until tomorrow for my dick,” he growled.

Her arms instantly dropped.

Yeah.

She knew when to give over.

And that scored right through his cock.

“Turn around,” he ordered.

She didn’t delay.

He moved in behind her and put his hands to her hips.

“Pull your hair aside,” he demanded.

She didn’t delay with that either.

He went in and kissed the exposed side of her neck.

Just with that, she shivered.

“Dutch.”

His name trembled.

That went through his cock too.

All of it did.

Working the area under her ear with his lips, teeth and tongue, he took his time moving one hand up her back to the zip.

He also took his time sliding it down.

“Dutch.”

That was a plea.

Inside her dress, he ran his hands up her skin on either side until he got to her shoulders.

He shoved the dress off and she instantly shimmied it down until it hit the floor.

Dutch turned her then and looked at her.

Open shoulders, gorgeous clavicle, ample tits, nipples aimed high, rounded belly, wide hips, shapely thighs, pretty ankles now with thin gold straps around them.

And little, black lace panties.

“Lose the panties,” he instructed.

She didn’t waste time shimmying those off too.

Trimmed, dark bush he’d already seen, and knew he loved, she’d left enough there it was all woman.

So he went there first, diving in, fingers slipping through her wet.

“You weren’t the only one ready for it all through dinner,” she whispered.

He stared into her eyes.

His Georgiana.

He slid his hand away, caught her by the waist, threw her on the bed…

And joined her there.

Dutch knew it’d go like it went. It was what he wanted for the both of them.

This being wild.

This bringing fire.

She almost tore his shirt getting it off him. He knew he lost a button or two.

In fact, she was so lost in it, one of his boots didn’t hit the floor, it hit the wall, she threw it so hard.

It was a tussle, who could get the most the fastest in every way imaginable. Lips and tongues and teeth and hands and fingers and arms and legs, even toes.

And he knew when she was done, ready for it, also she wanted up top so she could see him as she took him.

But that shit was not happening.

And Dutch had no issue with using his superior strength to roll her to her back and power-twisting his hips until they fell between her legs.

“Dutch,” she protested.

“Shut it,” he replied.

“Dutch!” she snapped.

He caught her under her jaw, gentle but firm, and she stilled under him.

Then she started panting, the pink in her cheeks rising, as he shifted his hips to find her, both of them staring in each other’s eyes.

“Dutch,” she breathed, the word heavy with want, need, hope, yeah, Christ yeah, it was there.

Right there.

Love.

He didn’t respond verbally, because he found her, pressed in with the tip, and she lifted her knees, pulling in the whole head.

“Baby,” he murmured, because just that was beautiful.

She ran her hands up either side of his spine, then drifted her nails, feather light, down the length of it.

When she curled her arms around his back, pressed her thighs against his hips, slowly, he slid in to the root.

She released a huh of sweet breath, clutched his sides in two ways, and Dutch closed his eyes and dropped his forehead to hers.

He’d been right.

Heaven.

He opened his eyes and hers were right there, warm and tender and hot and sexy and open and giving and Georgie.

“It’s done, you know that, yeah?” he asked quietly.