Page 9 of Rough Cut Mountain Man

She's got fistfuls of my shirt. I get the buttons of her blouse open one at a time. She gasps at the cold air on her skin, and then my mouth on her throat, her collarbone, the swell of her breast above the bra.

I get her bra open, and her breasts are pale from a summer spent indoors and her nipples go tight the second the air hits them and tighter when I close my mouth over one. She arches. Her hand goes into my hair and grips.

"God, Gideon —"

"Say that again."

"What?"

"My name."

“Gideon.”

I take her leggings and her underwear off together and drop them on the kitchen floor and she doesn't reach to cover anything, which I like more than I know how to tell her. I put my hands on the inside of her thighs and open her, and she watches me do it with her lip caught in her teeth.

I put my mouth on her.

She's already wet. I go slow at first, flat tongue, learning what makes her breath change, and when I find it — that spot slightly left of where you'd guess — her heel digs into my back and she says something that isn't a word. I work her clit steady, no tricks, two fingers pushed into her pussy and curled, and she starts to move against my face without any dignity at all.

"Don't stop, don't — that, keep doing that!"

I keep doing that.

She comes with her hand fisted in my hair and her thighs shaking either side of my head, and she says my name once, low, at the end of it, and it sounds like something being set down after being carried a long way.

I stand up. Wipe my mouth with the back of my wrist. She watches me do it, wrecked and flushed and grinning.

I carry her to the bedroom. She's laughing against my neck the whole way and then she isn't, because I've got her on the bed and I'm out of my shirt and she's up on her knees getting my belt open with more competence than I expected.

She takes my cock in her hand. Looks up at me.

"Tell me what you want," she says.

It’s been so long since I was with a woman, but thankfully it’s one of those things you never forget. "I want you under me," I say. "I want to feel you come with my cock in you. And I want you to look at me the whole time."

Her breath goes out of her. "Okay," she says.

Faye lies back and I push into her slow, all the way, and she takes it with her nails in my shoulder and her eyes wide open on mine like I asked.

It's not smooth. There's a knee in the wrong place and the headboard hits the wall and neither of us cares. I set a rhythm and she meets it, hips lifting, her hand splayed on my chest like she's holding something down.

And then, deep in it, she reaches up and puts her palm flat against my jaw.

"Hey," she says. "I've got you."

Something goes through me I don't have a name for. I stop moving. My forehead comes down against hers and I stay there, buried in her, breathing.

"You okay?" she asks.

"Nobody's said that to me in a long time."

She doesn't answer with words. She wraps her legs around my back and pulls me in, and I move again, and this time I don't hold anything back — I fuck her the way I've wanted to since the mill, one hand under her hip to angle her, my mouth at her ear telling her exactly how she feels, how good she takes it, how long I've been thinking about this.

"That's it," I say. "Right there. Let me feel it."

She comes a second time with her heels locked at the base of my spine, and the clench of her takes me with her, and I go over with my face in her hair. I come long and hard, with every ounce of my being. It’s a damn near spiritual experience.

After, she puts her cold feet on my shins and doesn't apologize for it.