Page 106 of Hand Picked
Webb pulled back just long enough to yank my T-shirt over my head before lowering his mouth to suck on my other nipple while he continued to toy with the piercing. He knew exactly how to drive me wild.
The warm sun hit my skin, adding to the heat Webb was already building up inside of me. I threaded my fingers through his hair and looked around. He was right. There was no way anyone from either side of our properties would see us unless they’d gone out of their way to find us.
“I told everyone to stay away,” he said as if reading my mind. “Aiden’s at the movies with Amanda, and everyone else knows to avoid this area unless they want a free show. We’re alone, I promise.”
“You told them that?”
“Can we stop talking about our family? I have half a mind to build a little hideaway house just for us. Something over past the river on the northern edge of the property. But we can talk about it later.”
His voice took on a gravelly, growly tone when he was turned on, and it drove me wild. He knew it, too. I swore he did it on purpose.
“My pants,” I squeaked. “Too tight.”
His hands moved down to make quick work of removing them. As soon as he palmed my dick through the cotton of my boxer briefs, I let out a loud, desperate groan that would have been embarrassing if I was lucid enough to care.
I wasn’t.
And now I was fantasizing about a sex cabin, a place we could be as loud and debauched as we wanted. Now that Webb had fully embraced the male side of his bisexuality, he’d been an eager student insistent on trying all kinds of things.
I’d never been a complainer, and I wasn’t about to start now. Even if it meant I was getting naked in broad daylight among the heritage varietals on our family land.
“Take off… clothes,” I said through heaving breaths. “Naked… Webb.”
His grin was sexy as heck, especially when it had that hint of devilry in it. It promised very good things for me and my body. I knew this from experience. Lots and lots of experience. Our dresser had carved a groove in the wood floor in front of our bedroom door until one day a simple hook-and-loop latch had appeared on the doorframe.
Uncle Drew had rolled his eyes at us that day and muttered something under his breath about the dresser being louder than the sex. Maybe he was right, but that was only because Webb had gotten excited about using his T-shirt as a gag that week.
Within moments, Webb and I were naked like freaking Adam and Steve, up against an apple tree, and I was too drunk on desire to even make a joke about it. His fingers had gotten magic slick from somewhere and were already dancing across my gland. One of my legs was hitched up over his hip, and the rough bark of the tree dug into my overheated back.
I was too far gone to help keep my leg up, and it kept slipping down. Finally, Webb spat out a curse and spun me around, shoving me face-first against the trunk. Apple trees weren’t, in general, very tall, but thankfully, this was one of the old heirloom ones from a million years ago before they…
“Fuhhhh-freaking freak!” I cried when he slid his fingers back home. “Freak. Right there. Babe. No-oh-oh,yes.”
His fingers were little miracle-makers, and I needed them to stay right there forever and ever amen.
Instead of doing that, he pulled them out and replaced them with his bare cock. I groaned against the trunk. One of Webb’s hands clutched the back of my neck and held my face against the tree as his other held me spread open for him. I focused on relaxing.
“Good boy,” he teased affectionately. Even though it had started off as a joke the first time he’d said it, it made me hot when he said it during sex. Very hot.
“Shut up,” I argued weakly. We both knew I didn’t mean it.
“Have I told you lately how grateful I am that you prefer to bottom?” he hissed in my ear from behind me. “Because the clench of your body around me like this is the fucking best thing in the fucking world.”
We’d tried switching things up. Webb had been super open to bottoming and had actually handled it well, but afterward, we’d both admitted to preferring it the other way.
Thank God. Thank all the gods. Thank the god of bottoming specifically.
“Move,” I groaned. “I’m good. Go.”
His soft lips grazed the back of my ear even as his hand held my neck in its firm grip. “Don’t want to hurt you, love.”
I squeezed my eyes closed and focused on the feel of him. “I love you,” I breathed.
“Thank fuck for that because I can’t live without you, Luke. I love you so damned much.”
His arms wrapped around me, and his clever, callused fingers toyed with my piercings as he thrust into me. I was sandwiched between the rough bark of the tree and the warm strength of my husband, whose cock lit me up inside until my usual babbling pleas spewed forth.
“Need to come,” I cried. “Please. Webb. Please. Need. You.Please.”
