MacKenzie Fire(78)

“We’ll go slow,” I say, holding out my arms. “Have sex with me now.”

“But you taste so good,” he says, putting his mouth on me again.

I moan, torn between wanting more of this and needing to feel him inside me, more of him, the part that will bring us both pleasure.

“Ian, please … I’m not going to last very long either if you keep doing that.”

“Are you complaining?” he asks, a low chuckle coming from deep in his chest.

“No. I just want to come with you.”

He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a condom from his wallet. “You don’t have to tell me twice.”

He pulls his jeans down and I finally get a look at that package I’ve been admiring for days. Seeing him running out of the shower didn’t do him justice. When he’s hard, there’s some sort of nature’s miracle going on down there.

“You ready for me?” he asks, back on his knees and poised between my legs, his hand on his dick.

“Are you ready for me, is the question.” I open my legs wider and move my hips a little, ignoring the straw poking me everywhere from the waist down. I must look ridiculous with my jacket still on but bare parts below, but I’m not willing to freeze my boobs off to look a tiny bit sexier.

Ian moves in closer and guides the head of his dick to my folds. He’s concentrating on being careful, but I can see the instant he finds the warmth that is me. His face relaxes and pleasure takes over.

“Oh, baby,” he says, “you feel so good.”

I hold my arms out. “Come inside where it’s warm.”

“Don’t mind if I do,” he says, lowering his weight down on me and pushing the rest of his length inside.

I moan with happiness. This is heaven, right here in this pile of straw.

He moans too and starts moving in and out. I meet every gentle thrust with one of my own. It’s tender but demanding. Intoxicating. I’m so close to orgasm, which makes no sense since we just started, but it’s a fact. It’s because it’s him. It’s Ian on me, the man who makes me crazy who I want to hit with snowballs and piles of hay. He’s on me and in me and he wants to make me come. He claims I make him crazy, but he wants me. He wants to possess me, to have sex with me. It’s blowing my mind, making me question everything. What does this mean? Will we be a couple now or is this just a game? I hope it’s not a game to him because it’s not to me.

His rhythm picks up and every muscle in his body is tensed. “Babe … I’m sorry … I’m going to come …”

“Me too!” I gasp, suddenly aware of the fact that I’ve lost control of everything … my thoughts, my body, my desires. I’m hanging onto him for dear life, ready to cry with need. “Me too!” I try to catch my breath. What’s happening?! “Oh my god!”

Waves of pleasure are coming for me. I can feel them. Approaching, building…

“Candice!” he yells. “Dammit!” And then a series of grunts and growls come from his throat as he slams into me over and over.

I lose it when he’s halfway done. Sounds are coming out of me that make no sense. They sound like they should be words, but they’re not. I hang onto his jacket for all I’m worth, riding this crazy merry-go-round until it finally stops spinning.

He goes still, collapses his entire weight on me, and we both sink deeper into the straw.

As I’m coming down off my sex-high, I start to notice straw bits poking me in parts that are really uncomfortable. Like, really, really uncomfortable.

“You okay?” he asks.

“Kind of squished, actually.” I try to laugh but it comes out kind of wheezy.

He rolls off to the side, pulling out in the process. “Better?” he asks.

I nod.

He closes his eyes and flops back over on top of me.

I can’t help but smile.

“Ian?”

“Yes?” he moans into my neck.

“You said I was going to be sorry.” I’m practically breathless which makes talking difficult.

“Yes, I did.”

“Guess what?” I ask.

“What?”

“I’m not. I’m not sorry one bit.”

He lifts his head and looks into my eyes. “Neither am I.”

We’re both grinning like fools. I feel like I could jump off this barn and fly back to the house. Now I know what that expression love gives you wings means.

“Wanna go again?” he asks, the devil in his expression.

I open my mouth to answer, but then the sound of a very unhappy cow baby interrupts me.

Ian rolls his eyes. “Hold that thought.” He kisses me hard and then gets up on his knees. “Gotta feed the calf.” He pulls the rubber off and stuffs it in a tissue he takes from his pocket. Getting to his feet, he pulls his jeans up and buttons them. He has straw bits everywhere.

“I thought you said you already did it.”

“I lied.”

“You butthead.”

“Yeah, what can I say?” He gives me his most charming grin. “I’m a butthead sometimes.”

“I want to do it!” I say, struggling to get up out of the mess. My butt is quickly losing the warmth it gathered from our exercise. “Holy mother it’s cold in this joint.”