What We Find (Sullivan's Crossing, #1)(28)

“Yes. Even though I have a bad track record with promises.”

“You break them?” she asked.

“They usually break me,” he said. “Let’s sneak out the back door.”

*



Maggie held his hand and they walked to his little pop-up trailer. It was a tent, really, but it opened up out of a small, flat trailer that he pulled behind his truck. The base was metal, the top was canvas. It was spacious for a tent; she could almost stand up inside. It was not furnished with a king-size bed, however. There were two single but large cots, one on each side with space in the center. “Hopefully we won’t take up too much room,” she said.

“We’ll have all the room we need,” he said. He pulled her down beside him and after their shoes were off, they disrobed each other while they kissed. She was in a hurry and he was slowing her down. “Don’t rush this, Maggie,” he whispered, kissing her neck and chest. “Let’s enjoy it.”

“People can’t see our silhouettes through this tent, can they?” she asked. “They can’t hear us, can they?”

“You grew up in a campground and you don’t know? If you’re really loud, someone might get Sully out of bed and tell him someone’s killing a cat...”

She moaned and lay back on his cot. He pulled off the last of her clothes, her shorts and panties. Life was good, she thought. She’d shaved her legs without the faintest idea there might be sex in her life again. It was a miracle.

She’d been attracted to him since first meeting him, but that didn’t translate into making love for her. She just thought he was very good-looking for a bum. But it was really talking to him that did it to her. He was the clever one. She should have known he was learned in literature; he was so well-spoken.

Her Achilles’ heel was being told she was pretty. Not just pretty, so pretty. Maggie wasn’t used to that. People didn’t say that to her. They said things like, Of course you’re pretty, Maggie, and You’re a very attractive woman. She was ordinary. Not homely, certainly not ugly. But there was nothing special about her looks—brown hair, brown eyes, five-nine, straight teeth. She was always picked first in sports for teams but if there was a school play, she got the part of the aunt or sister while those achingly beautiful girls played Blanche or Cinderella. Those girls who would grow up to work as princesses.

His hands on her were so delicious; his mouth was heaven. He was determined to take his time, stroking and caressing slowly. She moaned and squirmed beneath him, the craving building, but he just hummed as he kissed, sucked, licked, nibbled, caressed. Somehow, he knew exactly how to touch her, how to titillate with his lips and tongue. He brought her nipples to life with those excellent lips. Then he kissed his way down over her belly and between her legs, his miraculous tongue torturing her for a little while as she gritted her teeth to stay quiet, gripping his shoulders. Then he kissed his way back up to her mouth.

“I think I could do this for a living,” he said. “You really turn me on.”

“I’m ready for you to get going here,” she said.

He laughed. “Are you now? You sure you want it bad enough?”

“I’m sure,” she said, running her hands down his smooth back, over his muscled butt. “I think you have a better butt than I do,” she said.

“Not possible. Your butt knocks me out.” He reached down and fumbled around under the cot. She heard him rummaging and he came up with a condom.

“That was convenient,” she whispered.

“My shaving kit,” he said. He knelt between her legs and looked down at her. “Maggie,” he said in a breath. “Look at you. So lovely. Ready for love.” He ran one finger from the hollow at the base of her throat down her body, over her breastbone, over her navel, over her pubis. He gave her clitoris a brief tease, then lowered himself into her. “Whoa,” he said in appreciation. “God, that’s good.”

“Good,” she agreed softly.

With his mouth on hers, his hands on her hips, he slowly rocked with her, gradually setting a pace that grew deeper and deeper, harder and faster. She pushed back against him, embracing him and kissing him wildly, little whimpers of hunger escaping her until before long she froze, lifting off the cot, lifting him in her sudden strength, and she clenched as she came with heat and power. While her insides gripped and quivered he emitted a deep groan and she felt him throbbing inside her. As she was coming down from the experience, he began to move, ramping her up again, making her come again. He was limited to the one, however—so sad for the man, she abstractly thought as she indulged a second orgasm, almost as good as the first.

Then she collapsed beneath him, weak and satisfied. “Oh, Calder,” she finally said. “That was amazing.”

He chuckled and ran a knuckle over her cheek, giving her bruised lips little pecks.

“Did we rock the tent?” she asked.

“Who cares? I don’t care. I’d be happy to rock this camper all night, entertain the neighbors.”

“Unfortunately, I can’t stay all night. The bed is too small, for one thing.”

“You can stay a little while, till I get a second wind. I’m not like some people, on a hair trigger and able to throw out an orgasm a minute. That’s a very neat trick, by the way. I bet I enjoyed that as much as you did.”