Page 13 of Some Like 'Em Burly
The heat of her. The slip and slide of her tongue, the suction pulling all the way down to my balls, the shy glance she shoots me from beneath her lashes—it’s too much. I clench my jaw, tension twisting low in my belly until it hurts.
My hips rock forward faster. Losing my battle with myself, I plunge my hands into her hair. Her messy bun flops to one side, uprooted by my thick fingers, and I’m getting soot on her again, but I don’t fucking care.
Iwantmy hand prints on her. I want to sign my goddamn name on her ass. After all, she as good as owns mine, and she’s moaning in approval, only getting louder when I tug on her hair.
“Fuck. Yeah, that’s it. Such a good girl. Ah,fuck.” I barely have time to pull her hair in warning, but Gwen shakes her head, holding my gaze as she sucks me deeper. Holds me inside. And there’s nowhere I’d rather be, no fight left in me, so I twitch in her mouth, pulsing on and on, sparks zipping up and down my spine as I empty myself between her plump, perfect lips. Coming in with a tortured groan.
“Gwen.” I sound winded, still fucking into her mouth. “Cariad. Gwen.”
I come back to myself slowly, ears ringing. Somehow I stumbled forward half a step, bracing one hand on my anvil, and Gwen’s smirking up at me like the Cheshire cat. I tuck myself away with shaking fingers then reach down and pluck her off the floor, setting her down on the workbench with a surprised squeak.
“You’ve dirtied your knees.”
“Mhm.” Gwen kicks her heels, unrepentant as I scrub at her sooty kneecaps with the tails of my shirt. There are two pink circles from being on the hard floor, and I fight the urge to bend down and kiss them. “Did you like that, Rhys Evans?”
All the air empties out of me. How can she ask me that? Doesn’t she know that she ruined me a long time ago? That I’d already die for her to touch me again?
But first there are more pressing concerns. Like the fact that she’s kissed my cock before she’s kissed my lips.
“Gwen.” I cradle the sides of her face, careful with my rough hands. “Listen to me. That was everything. I’ll be thinking about what you just did until the day I die.” Even now, I still lower my face slowly. Give her a chance to shake her head or move away.
Our lips touch so gently. Her fingertips graze my beard, and when she sucks in a sharp breath, I groan and crowd closer, the flames dancing in the furnace at our sides.
I kiss her long and hard, like I should have done days ago. I can taste myself on her tongue. And if there’s a countdown ticking now in the back of my skull… well.
This has to end some time.
I can’t run from it forever.
Gwen
Itake Rhys Evans blackberry picking. I suppose it was inevitable, really—my attempts at flirting are ever so clumsy, so I’ve landed on ‘any excuse to spend time with the man’. And my need to be around him is even worse than before now that I’vetastedhim, now that I’ve licked the sweat from his skin and felt his spend flood my tongue, so when I decide to go picking in the late afternoon, I drag him along with me.
He doesn’t really put up a fight. The blacksmith downs his tools with an audible sigh of relief, and he doesn’t even change before we leave. He simply washes his hands and wipes his face and neck with a cloth.
And god, he must be sweaty under that shirt. Thatfreshkind of sweat, that smells like man and primal strength. The sweat I tasted.
“I’ve sent off ten job applications. And asked about three rooms.”
“That’s good,” Rhys murmurs, trailing me along the hedgerows. We’re taking a different route than my usual one, climbing the hillside to walk along the ridge of the valley, and it’s hard going, making me puff and pant, but it’s better this way. We’re less likely to bump into anyone, and in the meanwhile I can burn off some of this excess energy.
I shouldn’t have told Rhys ‘no’ when he offered to return the favor earlier. Don’t know what I was thinking. Well Ido, I wasthinking I wanted it to stand alone, to be my gift to him, but now I’m wound tighter than a bowstring. Every stride sends a pulse between my legs.
“No one has replied yet, but they probably will tomorrow.”
Rhys says nothing.
It’s cool out this afternoon, the wind whipping at the long grass and sending gray clouds skidding across the sky. Gold and red leaves dance on the breeze, proof that the season’s really turning, and my rescued wicker basket swings wildly on my arm.
It’s dented and damaged, but still good to go. A bit like me.
“Gosh, isn’t it nice out?”
The blacksmith’s eyes crinkle as he smiles down at me. It’s still a rare expression on him, and every time I win one of his smiles I feel like running a victory lap, a flag trailing behind me.
“I like it even better with you here.”
His smile fades. Oh.
