Page 55 of Harvest Brew With the Mountain Man
“Fuck, you take me so good, baby.”
Moaning, whining behind his hand, he reaches up my sweater, digs into my bra, and squeezes my breast. My hips slapback into his in perfect rhythm. As my cries get louder, West trades hands, covering my mouth with the other and sliding the two fingers that were inside me into my mouth.
I moan around them as I suck. I swell around his hard cock as he chokes a moan into my hair. My legs buckle as my stomach tenses. Every muscle below coils up and locks in place.
“I’m coming, baby,” West groans as I take him with me.
I feel the rush of wet heat fill me as West pinches my nipple, his hips chasing as he releases inside me. I bite down on his fingers, crying out as my body loses control, giving and taking.
I moan, circling my hips, prolonging this feeling.
West’s hand, at my breast, moves down and holds my waist still as he presses deeper and stays. Our release fights around his hardness that slowly softens. I’m leaking around him. In this moment, fuck the mess. I’ll take twenty more of those, please.
We’re both out of breath. My body loses all function to stand on its own. West holds us up against the wall, his chest rapidly rising and falling as our lungs pump necessary air into our lungs.
“Damn, Nyx,” he exhales. “I’ll never get enough,” he laughs.
I turn my face, and his lips automatically find mine. This is my favorite part. I adore what we just did, but this, this intimate moment, where the blinding haze of wanting the other fades, and we’re fully present again. Each kiss, a reintroduction.
“Hey, baby,” he whispers.
“I love you,” I whisper back.
“I love you,” he returns. Then my charming West grins. “Fuck the festival and reopening. Let’s go home and do that again.”
My chest sweetly aches, laughing, as he pulls my pants up before righting his.
“Keep it in your pants, Hero,” I smile, patting his chest. “We have a long day ahead of us.”
Sighing, he grabs my forgotten drink and brings it over. “Don’t I know it.”
Giddy, I take the mug and drink. Moaning, I sigh in bliss.
“Hey.” He faces me. “What did you end up naming this?” I ask.
That mischievous smile pops that one dimple. “Come and see.”
“Um, sure, but I’m in desperate need of a clean up. This is why women carry extra pairs of underwear in their bags,” I mumble, taking said bag and heading to the bathroom.
Once we’re both fresh and presentable, West takes my hand and guides me back outside.
“What did you do?” I ask, suspicious.
He just wiggles those brows over his shoulder, still walking us toward the fireplace. West grabs my shoulders and turns me to face the display.
How did I miss that?
Under the Harvest Brew display, a sign reads:
Pixie Harvest Cider
“You didn’t.”
West wraps his arms around me from behind, resting his chin on top of my head. “I did. You inspired me. Now, you’re forever memorialized for Fall.”
I turn in his arms and kiss him, balancing my cider as I stretch up and mold my body to his. His hand squeezes at the top of my ass, groaning into the kiss.
“Stop groping your girl. I need her at your booth.”
