Page 9 of Tempting the Single Dad
"Yes," I gasp as he adds a second finger, stretching me deliciously. "Only you."
He turns me gently, guiding me to face the hay bales, his solid warmth at my back. One arm circles my waist, holding me steady as his other hand pushes my panties down. They fall to my ankles, and I step out of them, suddenly hyperaware of being naked while he's still partially clothed.
The disparity in our states of undress shouldn't excite me, but it does. His jeans rough against the backs of my thighs, the leather of his belt buckle cool against my skin.
"Is this okay?" he asks, his voice tight with restraint as he positions himself against me. His hand slides around to where I'm aching for him, fingers circling my clit in maddening patterns.
"Yes," I breathe, pressing back against him. "Please, David."
When he finally pushes inside, it makes me gasp and clutch at the hay bale for support. He enters me slowly, inch by inch, one hand splayed across my stomach, the other braced beside mine on the hay.
"You feel amazing," he whispers, his lips brushing my ear, beard tickling my shoulder.
He holds still when fully seated, allowing me to adjust, his breathing harsh against my neck. The moment stretches, taut with anticipation, until I wiggle my hips impatiently.
His chuckle vibrates through me. "Eager?"
"Please move," I whimper, beyond pride or patience.
His first thrust drives the air from my lungs, controlled power that makes my knees weak. He establishes a rhythm that'sneither gentle nor rough, each stroke deliberate, angled to hit places inside me that make stars burst behind my eyelids. His fingers dig into my hips, guiding me back to meet him, our bodies finding a primal harmony.
The hay scratches my palms, the stove's heat warms my skin, and somewhere outside, fiddle music winds through the night. The contrast between the wholesome festival and what we're doing, half-dressed and desperate in a volunteer barn, adds a forbidden thrill that heightens every sensation.
"Wait," he gasps suddenly, slowing his movements. "Not like this. I want to see you."
He withdraws carefully, turning me to face him. The loss of him inside me is momentarily frustrating, but then he's lifting me back onto the hay bales, his strength effortless and sexy. He settles between my thighs again, one hand cradling my face, the other guiding himself back to my entrance.
"Better," he says, voice thick with emotion as he pushes back inside. "I need to see you."
The new angle sends pleasure spiraling through me. I wrap my legs around his waist, drawing him deeper, my nails digging into his shoulders. In his gaze, I see not just desire but recognition, as if he's seeing parts of me I've kept hidden from everyone else.
His pace increases, driven by my encouraging moans and the way my body tightens around him. My thighs begin to tremble, inner muscles clenching around him as tension builds at the base of my spine.
"I'm close," I warn, feeling the precipice approaching.
"Let go," he urges, his rhythm faltering as he fights his own release. "I've got you."
My orgasm crashes over me in waves, starting deep inside and radiating outward until even my fingertips tingle with it. I cry out his name, the sound swallowed by his kiss as he continues to move within me, drawing out my pleasure until I'm shaking and oversensitive.
Only then does he allow his own control to snap. His thrusts become erratic, powerful, his hands gripping me with an intensity that will likely leave marks. When he comes, it's with my name on his lips and his face buried in my neck, his entire body tensing before shuddering against mine.
For long moments, we remain tangled together, his weight partially supported on his forearms, our heartbeats gradually slowing in tandem. The twinkle lights above us blur into stars as I blink away unexpected tears—not of sadness but overwhelming emotion.
"Hey," he murmurs, noticing immediately. His thumb gently wipes moisture from the corner of my eye. "Are you okay? Did I hurt you?"
I shake my head, smiling through the emotion that's caught me off guard. "No, it's just... I've never felt like that before."
He presses his forehead to mine, understanding in his eyes. "Me neither. Not for a very long time."
Chapter 4 – David
I can still feel her on my skin.
The festival lights cast golden halos around us as we make our way from the warming barn back to the crowded plaza. My body hums with awareness of Miranda beside me, of her fingers loosely intertwined with mine, of the lingering scent of hay and sweet cider that clings to her hair.
I catch myself stealing glances at her like I'm seventeen again, not forty with a mortgage and a daughter and responsibilities that should anchor me against this kind of reckless falling.
Miranda's cheeks remain flushed, her hair slightly mussed despite her attempts to smooth it. There's a softness to her mouth now, a slight swelling from our kisses that sends heat straight through me all over again.
