Page 23 of Hot Chicken
Webb stood facing the spray, much the way I’d imagined him. His chin was tipped to his chest, his eyes closed, his hands braced on the wall, as water coursed down his spine and over the firm curve of his ass. Steam curled around every bump and ridge of muscle, from the sharp cut of his biceps to the narrow taper of his waist.
He was so fucking strong, this husband of mine. So used to carrying things—whether it was sheep or groceries, the weight of his family’s needs or his own fears—on those broad shoulders. But the man needed to remember that he didn’t need to carry things on his own. Not while I was around.
As I watched, Webb arched his back, stretching his muscles, and let out a long, low groan. His fingers flexed against the wall, including the one with the simple titanium wedding band that matched my own, and just like that, my mouth went dry, and my cock filled.
It hit me in the gut then that this man wasmine. Mine to touch. Mine to rely on. Mine to protect. Mine to love, even—orespecially—when he was terrified and putting roadblocks between us.
I stepped into the room, quietly stripping off the rest of my clothes as I went, leaving a trail like breadcrumbs across the black-and-white tiles.
Webb startled and turned as he heard me approach, but when I opened the glass door and stepped into the shower with him, his expression sharpened to something that made anticipation curl in my belly. My knees went weak… so I dropped to them.
He gasped in surprise, quickly positioning himself so that his big body blocked most of the shower spray, and I smiled softly. Then I wrapped a hand around the base of his cock and leaned in, nuzzling my face into his hip, dragging my nose along his length, just breathing him in.
The clean pine fragrance of Webb’s soap combined with the musky salt of his skin wasn’t just hot as fuck, it was like a trip wire in my brain—a key in a lock that sent all my barriers and inhibitions crashing down. This was safety, this was home, this wasWebb.The way Webb hardened in my hand at just that bare touch showed he felt the same. And when his strong fingers twined through my hair and I glanced up, the look in Webb’s eyes—the open, naked hunger there—made my belly flip.
Wordlessly, I took him in my mouth, groaning as my lips stretched around him and his familiar taste hit my tongue. Webb’s breath punched out of him on a gasp, and one of his big hands flew to the tile wall to steady himself while the other tightened painfully in my hair. I licked and sucked him with feverish absorption while my free hand moved lower, rolling and cupping his balls, tracing his rim with wet fingers.
With no lube in this bathroom—one downside of having a curious preteenandWebb’s sister home on summer break was that we didn’t get to turn every nook and cranny of our house into a lube cubby like my brothers-in-law did—I wouldn’t go much further, but Webb let out a low moan and spread his legs in invitation anyway, willing to take whatever I’d give him, trusting that I’d make it good.
I didn’t hold back, using my tongue and fingers in the precise way I knew would take Webb apart, wanting every flick of my tongue, every press of my fingers, to send a message.I see you. I love you.I’m here, and I’m not letting go.
Webb’s big thighs trembled, his hips stuttered, he shouted my name so loud it rang in the small space, and he came down my throat with his hand still fisted in my hair like he couldn’t bear to let me go.
Before I’d caught my breath, Webb grabbed me under the armpits, dragged me to my feet, propped me against the far wall, and sank to his knees.
“Webb.” The word was half sigh, half plea, my cock already so hard it ached.
He didn’t answer with words, just held my hips in place as he pressed open-mouthed kisses along the inside of my thighs, and his beard rasped gently against my skin. When he tongued the crease of my thigh, my breath hitched. When he licked a hot, wet stripe up my cock, I gasped, arching back against the cool tile.
If Webb’s kisses made me feel like his sole focus, the way he made love to me made me feel like a god—not a feeling I’d ever had before him. His mouth closed around me with aching slowness, sucking me deep, then shallow, using his tongue to tease the tip until I whimpered. Every move was deliberate. Relentless. Worshipful. Like he was savoring every inch, every taste of me, and couldn’t get enough. Like the only thing that mattered in the universe was my pleasure.
My head thunked back against the tiles as his hands were suddenly everywhere—cupping my ass, spreading me open, stroking along my ribs like he wanted to memorize my shape. The contrast of that hot mouth and those big, roving hands had my muscles quaking and tears leaking from my eyes. There was nothing better than the way Webb loved me. Not one single thing.
I came so hard my vision whited out and my knees threatened to buckle, but Webb’s hands were back on my hips, holding me up… because that was what we did for each other.
When I finally blinked my eyes open, dazed and boneless, Webb rose to his feet. “I love you, Luke Sunday,” he said, voice wrecked, like he thought his actions might not have been convincing enough.
I wanted to get up on my tiptoes and kiss him, but my muscles wouldn’t cooperate. Instead, I let my head fall against his broad chest, buried my face in his pec, and nodded.
Webb dried me off with a big towel, his touch reverent and gentle like I might break. He half carried me to the laundry room and dressed us both in clean underwear and T-shirts. It wasn’t until my shirt fell past my hips that I realized Webb had put one of his own shirts on me, but when I saw the look of satisfaction in Webb’s eyes, I realized he’d done it on purpose.
A few moments later, we were cuddled together in the swing on the back porch, my legs over Webb’s thighs and his arms around me as we swayed gently. Silently.
The sun had passed below the treetops on the far side of the Pond Orchard, and a warm, apple-scented breeze blew through my damp hair. In the pasture, one of the milk cows—probably Stella, the one Gage insisted was an “agitator” who’d eventually “incite a bovine rebellion, you guys, mark my words”—gave a plaintive moo that suggested it was nearly milking time.
A little ways up the road that led to Pond Pond, this autumn’s crop of heirloom apple varietals was still green on the vine, and beyond that, my ladies—the little flock of Romeldales I’d originally acquired, plus two generations of their babies—were feasting on summer grass, knowing in the instinctive way that animals always knew that they should make the most of summer’s bounty while they could. In just a handful of weeks, the seasons would change, and I’d kiss my husband and stepson goodbye in the mornings before heading to the elementary school to teach a fresh crop of second graders about multiplication tables, and poetry, and the golden rule of friendship.
The life I lived wasn’t just different from any life I’d thought I’d have; it was a freaking miracle. So much bigger and sunnier than I could have imagined even five years ago when I was flat broke and living in North Carolina… which just went to show that bad luck didn’t last and shockingly good things happened all the damn time.
I just wished I could make Webb see that.
“Can you imagine,” I found myself asking, “what would have happened if I hadn’t won that contest and come to the Hollow? Or, God, what if we hadn’t gotten drunk and blown the bugle down at the Tavern that winter night?”
Webb’s arms tightened around me. “I don’t even want to think about that. If either of us had done even one thing differently…” His voice trailed off.
I set my hand on his cheek and turned him toward me. “But, Webb, doesn’t that mean that sometimes things work out even better than we intend just as often as they go wrong? I mean, neither of usplannedto find ourselves accidentally married, or to fall in love, or to have this beautiful life. If you’d had a plan at all, it probably involved a woman, and Katey Valcourt at Panini Jack’s is probably still low-key hoping you come to your senses.”
He huffed out a laugh.
