He groaned and tipped me back as he took one nipple into the heat of his mouth. I moaned and arched into his lush kiss while bliss poured over me. He pleasured my breasts until I was slick between my thighs and desperate to feel him against me, within me, intimately.
“Please,” I begged. “Make love to me,” I whispered in his ear before nibbling on the edge in the way that I knew made his dick painfully hard.
“Are you sure?” He ran his tongue down my neck, and I sighed at the pleasure tingling along the surface of my skin.
“God, yes. I feel like I’m going to burn up if you stop again,” I admitted wantonly. Every time we’d gone this far in the past, he’d always put a stop to the festivities, speaking of honor and respect.
I didn’t want honor. I didn’t want respect. I wanted to get fucked.
Easing away, I stood up, tore my dress over my head, and let it fall from my fingers. Then with his eyes huge and tracing all over my body like a caress, I pushed my simple lace panties off and bared all to him, hoping he wouldn’t find me lacking.
“You’re so damn beautiful, Savannah.” His tone held nothing but awe.
Then I watched with slow breaths as he stood and removed all of his clothing, revealing the body of a ranch hand that had been working hard all year. His muscles were honed to golden perfection on his lean frame. His abdominals were defined, showing six sculpted muscles that led to a slight V at his hips. My mouth watered at the sight.
In a moment flat, I was in his arms, and he’d taken me down to the soft blanket. His mouth was all over me, and I too kissed his skin wherever I could reach. Then he skimmed his lips down my belly and used his mouth between my legs. It was my favorite thing we’d done to date. He was a master at it. We’d taken that step before, many, many times, pleasuring one another with our mouths, but never going further.
When he tore an orgasm from my body with his mouth and fingers, I tugged at his shoulders, insinuating how I wanted him to rise over me. Once he’d secured a condom from his pants pocket and rolled it on, he wedged his much larger frame between my thighs, using his hand to center his length at my entrance.
“You sure? I can wait forever for you to be ready.” He offered me another way out .
I smiled at my good fortune. I had the only man in Sandee, Montana, who cared more about me and my needs more than his own.
“More than sure. Make love to me, Jarod,” I whispered and took his mouth in a deep kiss, tasting myself on his tongue, which ramped up my excitement a thousand degrees.
Then he pushed slowly inside, one inch at a time. It was tight. Filling. Mind-bending. There was a pinch of pain and then a release as he pressed fully inside.
I gasped and arched against the pleasure-pain. His eyes were wild, his breath coming in uneven pants against my cheek. “Are you okay, baby? Did I hurt you?” he asked with a pained note to his tone.
“No.” I wrapped my arms around his body and held him to me. “It’s perfect.”
He kissed me for a long time and then he slowly started to move, in and out in a beautiful rhythm I matched until we both cried out our releases into the fading light of day.
Together we found a different kind of love, and it was beyond beautiful.
“Savvy! What the hell are you doing standing in the hallway looking out into space?” Dakota hollered at me as she stomped my way in her robe. “The stylist is looking all over for you. Come on, we’re already in hot water from my debacle with the waxing lady.” She hooked my elbow with hers, and I numbly followed her, thoughts of my first time with the love of my life disappearing with every step I took.
“Here she is!” Dakota led me over to my stylist, who clapped when I arrived.
“Oh my God, you are so gorgeous!” She fluffed my red locks. “Jewel tones all the way for you!” the woman gushed.
I fingered my promise ring once again as the woman went through a rack of vastly different dresses, each exquisite in their own way.
I’m sorry, Jarod. Please forgive me.
Episode 9
The Pregame
FAITH
After the waxer ripped every shred of hair and decency from my body, I spent hours—hours—putting clothes on and taking them off. Over and over. Ad nauseum.
“Do you like this powder-blue lingerie, Faith?” My stylist held up a lacy little set. It was pretty and high quality. Something I’d never be able to afford on my own. The edges of the cups were deeply scalloped in a demi-style that would show more than it hid.
“It will look incredible against your tanned skin tone.” She tittered, holding the almost nonexistent panties that went with it near my hip.