Page 37 of Till The Cows Come Home
“Show me the stuff that makes you smell like trees.”
Chuckling, he kissed the top of my head, handing me a bar of soap and a fresh washcloth, and after creating plenty ofsuds, I began covering every inch of the man in front of me. The smell of spices and pine permeated the air as I began to lather. Careful to appreciate every part of his body, I started on his shoulders, washing from one arm to the other, before moving to his chest. Miles was clearly hard, the length of him jutting out between us, and if he was embarrassed by it, it didn’t show. He just stood confidently, eyes closed in relaxation as I explored his body.
There were parts I was eager to get more familiar with, so I dropped to my knees, innocently washing Miles’ legs. His eyes crack open, a smirk tugging at his lip before closing his lids again. Determined to see that composure slip, I began rinsing away any bubbles, peppering kisses along his thighs until I made my way between them.
I gripped the base of his cock, my center throbbing as I imagined how he’d feel inside me, and when I couldn’t stand my own fantasies any longer, I began lazily stroking as I continued my trail of kisses, pausing briefly when I reached his tip. I took the head inside my mouth, swirling my tongue gently as I eased down his shaft.
The moans escaping Miles fueled me and as I looked up through the falling droplets, I saw him looking back at me, watching as I took him into the back of my throat. As I began to increase speed, I felt his hand on the back of my head, threading his fingers through my hair, not as a guide, but as an anchor, as if the moment he let go he may drift away. I navigated every ridge with my tongue as I continued stroking, and as his muscles began to tense, soft mutters of my name escaped his lips in praise.
“Sage, I’m gonna come,” he moaned, gripping the wall of the shower.
Without hesitation, I took him as deep as I could and as he tensed inside my mouth, I tipped my head back, groaning as he spilled down my throat. When the pulsing of his cocksubsided and his body was no longer contracting, I sat back on my thighs not even attempting to hide my smug grin.
Before I could even look at him, he’d scooped me from the floor, pulling me in tight, his heart hammering inside his chest as he kissed the top of my head.
“You’re going to be the death of me,” he murmured into my hair, and I couldn’t help but giggle.
After a final rinse, we exited the shower, and as soon as my feet hit the rug, he was there wrapping me in a towel. When we got back into his room, Miles dressed in his own sweats and a T-shirt, which accommodated his height and broad frame much better.
“You’re not going to put my dad’s pants back on?” I teased.
“Although I appreciate getting lucky enough to slide into your dad’s pants this evening, I think I’ll stick to my own clothes. Not to mention, as much as I love seeing you like this, it seems as if you’re the one who’s now in need of an outfit.”
Realization set in that my options for bedtime attire were limited to my dinner outfit or the emergency outfit I now kept in my car, neither particularly comfortable for sleeping.
“It seems you may be correct.”
He rummaged through his drawers, handing me an oversized T-shirt and a pair of boxers.
“Why don’t you get dressed and cozy up in my bed while I make us a snack?”
“Food in bed? Have you no rules?”
“Sometimes rules are meant to be broken, sweet girl. Go on.”
I dropped my towel, painstakingly aware of Miles' eyes on me as I pulled his clothes.
“If I don’t walk away now, we will never sleep,” he groaned.
As tempting as that was, I crawled into his bed, and as Ipulled the sheets to my chin, I was immediately bombarded with his unique scent overwhelming my senses. While I waited, I retrieved the book I’d noticed on his nightstand, and as I thumbed through it I realized it outlined feed ratios for dairy cows. Even in his sleep, this man was thinking about the farm. I laughed, but after a few moments I was sucked in, so deeply absorbed that I didn’t notice Miles enter the room until his weight displaced the spot next to me in bed.
“I see you’ve found my guilty pleasure,” he teased, handing me a small plate.
I set the book down, blindly taking a bite of what looked like a piece of cake dusted with powdered sugar.
“What is this?” I groaned, my eyes shutting so I could give my attention solely to the taste.
Subtle notes of banana hit my taste buds, followed closely by vanilla and cinnamon, and I savored what may just be the best things to enter my mouth. Actually, I thought, reliving the last hour in my head, maybe second best.
“That is Jane’s banana bread, lathered in butter and toasted in a pan. It’s my favorite.”
“Oh my goodness,” I groaned, practically inhaling the slice.
“I know,” he responded, muffled by his own full mouth.
When we both finished, he took our plates, setting them on the nightstand before switching off the lamp, and as he curled up behind me, his mouth grazed the lobe of my ear, his breath warm against my neck.
“Thanks for trusting me with the reins,” he whispered.
