Page 84 of Still Yours
“H-Huh?”
“You must not remember how much I loved seeing you get yourself off when we were on the counter.” He tilts his head and gives me a mischievous look. “Let me see you massage your clit.”
His dirty talk has the intended effect. My vagina swells with want around him.
I skate my hand down my clavicle, between my breasts, and over my navel. He watches the whole thing, his eyes hooded with the dark dare.
When I reach my slit, I rub two fingers over my small nub, made larger by his presence and my prodding.
I arch underneath him at the instant zing of pleasure I bring to myself.
With a cocky smile, Stone rasps, “My sweet Lavender,” and thrusts with my swirls.
I bite back a moan until Stone encourages me to unravel, eager to hear my moans and pleas to go faster, harder, more.
He does, rising on his hands so he can watch his cock slide out of me, then in while my fingers work on myself.
Stone likes what he sees. His jaw cuts through his skin. Tendons and muscles pop in his cheeks, and his skin has a strained flush.
“I’m not coming until you do,” he grits out.
I’m beyond comprehension. I’m writhing against the sheets, angling so his cock hits me just right, and pleasure builds beneath my hand.
“I’m coming,” I gasp.
“Hal…” he stutters between thrusts, “le-fucking-lujah.”
We come together, our sweat-coated bodies meeting, sliding against one another and taking all the other has to give.
I release my clit and scrape my nails down his back, marking him more permanently than he did me last night and taking from him all that I want.
We end on mutual gasps, flopping onto our backs side by side and catching our breaths.
After a few beats, Stone’s head turns to mine. “I’d say this warrants a giant feast, don’t you?”
I laugh up at the ceiling. “I’mstarving.”
Stone rumbles with a pleasured growl before climbing on top of me again.
Most of our guests arrive on time.
It’s a good thing because I’ve timed the appetizers for their arrival and would love it if everyone ate them warm.
Maisy, Carly, and Mae arrive first, laden with flowers, pumpkin pie, and a local cheese plate.
“Happy Thanksgiving!” Maisy greets brightly as they wander in. She kicks at the doorframe, dislodging the buildup of frost and dirt on her boots. The weather has turned into November’s gray skies and frigid wind, but no snow. November likes to greet us with dead, slimy leaves and hard-packed earth. The whole white Christmas thing doesn’t really apply to Falcon Haven—we really only see it come February.
“Where’s Judy?” Maisy asks after scanning the entryway.
I glance at Stone, who greets everyone with his trademark smile, his eyes dulled with concern. “She’s not feeling well and says she’ll come down when dinner’s ready.”
Maisy hums in sympathy. “Mind if I go up and say hello?”
“She’d demand it,” I say before Stone can deny her. Mrs. Stalinski is already upset about not being able to join in the early festivities, so I don’t want her to think we’re keeping her isolated.
Stone and I have been switching off all day between Thanksgiving prep and taking care of Mrs. Stalinski, a woman who threatened to smother us in our sleep if we tried to cancel today after we noticed she wasn’t doing well.
Stone catches my drift. “Just let me know if she needs anything,” he says to Maisy.
