Page 9 of Mountain Man's Christmas Star
“Are you ready?”
5
IVY
“I’m on birth control,” I blurted.
Yeah, real smooth, Ivy. Maybe next I could discuss my dental history to really set the mood.
But what I saw from him was frustration. He squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them again.
“Fuck,” he said, shaking his head. “I should’ve thought about that. Didn’t even occur to me.”
“It’s all good.”
I shrugged, like this wasn’t one of the most personal conversations I’d ever had. I was naked while we were having it, so that only made it weirder, especially since my legs were spread and his massive erection was right there.
Speaking of right there…
I licked my lips. “Can I try something?”
The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them. His eyes, dark with desire, widened just a fraction. He looked stunned, then a slow, heated understanding dawned on his face. He gave a single, sharp nod, his jaw tight with anticipation.
Emboldened, I sat up, the hay rustling beneath my movements. My heart was a wild drum against my ribs. I’d neverdone this before. I’d only read about it and seen it in movies. But I wanted to taste him, to make him feel a fraction of the bliss he just gave me.
I wrapped my hand around his length. He was so hard, velvety smooth and hot against my palm. A shudder ran through him. I leaned forward, running my tongue tentatively over the tip, tasting a single, salty drop. He groaned, a deep, guttural sound that vibrated through me, and his hand came up to cradle the back of my head, his fingers tangling in my hair.
“Ivy…” he breathed, a warning and a plea all at once.
Encouraged, I took him into my mouth. It was awkward at first, but I focused on the sounds he was making, the way his hips gave a tiny, involuntary jerk. I found a rhythm, using my hand and my mouth together, learning what made his breath catch. His moans were my guide, each one fueling my confidence, making me bolder. I loved the power of it, the feeling of him unraveling for me.
“Stop,” he said suddenly, his voice rough. “Stop, or I’m not going to last.”
He gently pulled me back, his chest heaving. His eyes were black pools of need.
“Lay back,” he said.
I did exactly that, sinking back onto the hay. He knelt between my legs, his gaze locked on mine. He guided himself to my entrance, the head of his erection pressing against me. There was a moment of intense pressure—a sharp, stinging pain that made me gasp and my eyes water.
He stilled instantly. “Look at me,” he commanded softly. I forced my eyes to focus on his. “I know it hurts. I’ve got you. Just breathe.”
He pushed forward, just an inch, and the burn was exquisite and overwhelming. He was so big, stretching me in a way I’d never imagined. Tears welled in the corners of my eyes.
“Touch yourself,” he said, his voice strained with the effort of holding still.
The command threw me. “What?”
“Do it. Where you’re most sensitive. Right now.”
Hesitantly, I brought my hand down between our bodies. My fingers found the swollen, sensitive nub he’d worshiped with his tongue. I circled it, and a jolt of pure pleasure shot through the pain.
“Close your eyes,” he instructed, his voice a low thrum. “Focus on that. Focus on the good. Just on that feeling.”
I obeyed, squeezing my eyes shut. I blocked out the cold, the scratch of the hay, the initial sting. All that existed was the building pressure of his body joining with mine and the electric circles my fingers were tracing. The pain began to recede, replaced by a familiar, warm tingle, a coiling deep in my belly. I started to move my hips, meeting his shallow thrusts.
He let out a ragged groan as he sank deeper, his control fraying. “Jesus, Ivy… that’s it. Just like that. Take all of me.” His voice was a husky whisper against my ear, thick with awe. “You feel that? How perfect you feel? So fucking tight and warm around me.”
The initial sharpness had melted into a deep, stretching fullness, a sensation so intense it was its own kind of pleasure. A soft, breathy moan escaped my lips, the sound swallowed by the quiet barn. It was a wet, intimate sound, a stark contrast to the rustling hay.
