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As much as I’d always prided myself on being vocal in intimate situations, I found that as I tried to assure him that wasn’t going to be a problem, no sound came from my mouth. All I could do was nod as the roughened pad of his middle finger grazed my swollen clit.
He pressed a soft kiss to my mouth, then my chin, then my neck, then he covered my nipple with his lips and nipped my beaded flesh with his teeth. The sharp sensation shot straight between my legs, and it continued to tingle as he flicked his finger along my sensitive bud.
I’d just had an incredible orgasm and did not think my body was capable of another. But within seconds, I felt the tension of bliss building low in my belly.
“I’m ready,” I panted, wanting him to fill me up.
He shifted, moving above me—his erection cradled against my sex as his hips burrowed between my thighs. My legs fell even farther apart as he reached between our bodies. The warmth of his breath washed over my cheeks as he gripped himself, lining his crown up to my opening.
My hands held onto his biceps as I watched him run his engorged tip up and down my feminine folds. With every pass, my breath grew more and more shallow. My hips began to roll of their own accord, my body signaling I wanted more.
His breathing was labored, and his body was tense as he continued teasing us both. Just when I thought he was finally going to give us both what we desired most, he stilled as he lifted his head, and his eyes met mine.
“Are you sure this is?—”
“I want you to fuck me,” I stated in clear terms, leaving no room for any confusion or doubt.
His nostrils flared as his signature half-grin appeared on his lips once more. I braced myself as he once again positioned his swollen crown at my slit. The pressure of his thick head againstmy slit sent a shock of bliss swirling low in my belly. He removed his hand and then pushed inside of me in one forceful thrust.
The sensation of his intrusion overwhelmed me. My back arched, pressing my shoulder blades into the blanket-covered bale of hay as my body adjusted to his size. This was the first time I’d ever been with someone as girthy as Harlan, and the sting was initially uncomfortable, but soon the sensation melted into bliss. I’d never walked the thin line between pleasure and pain, but that was exactly the tightrope I was on now.
Harlan’s fingertips dug into my flesh as he gripped my hip, tilted it up, then pulled out, and pushed into me once more. Again and again, he drove inside of me, stealing my breath and making me want to beg for more. My body was a glutton for punishment and pleasure.
“Yes, fuck me. Yes,” I breathed. “Harder.”
In the back of my mind, I knew that I was going to be sore tomorrow, but I didn’t care. I wanted all of Harlan. I wanted him to give me everything he had. I didn’t want him to hold back because we didn’t know each other, or because he was afraid he would hurt me.
He started giving me exactly what I was asking for. His speed picked up as his body slammed into me, and soon, I felt my release crash into me with an uncontrollable shudder of pleasure. The tension that had built low in my belly exploded as tingles spread through me. I lost myself in the rolling waves of ecstasy until the final ebb washed over me.
As I recovered, Harlan turned so he was on his back, and he pulled me on top of him. I rested my head on his chest, and I could feel his heart pounding against my cheek. Neither of us moved to get up. Harlan’s hand ran up and down my bare back, and I felt his lips press against the top of my head. I’d never felt more satiated in my life. Every cell in my body was singing with satisfaction.
Forget this town being emotional quicksand; I was in danger of falling in Harlan’s dick-sand.
14
HARLAN
A yawn claimedme as I squinted across the rolling green fields to the Moore farmhouse. I’d seen Miss Rhonda tinkering around outside, but there had been no sign of Daphne all morning. I’d seen a van pull up an hour ago and drop off luggage, but no sign of Daphne. I knew that she was leaving today. When I walked her home before sunrise, she mentioned that her flight was this evening.
I glanced over to the blanket in the barn, still lying over the hay bales where I’d made love to Daphne twice last night. After our first time, we’d laid in each other’s arms and talked. We talked about our favorite movies, music, and television shows. She told me that growing up, she’d lovedThe Gilmore Girls, so her favorite place to go when she used to come to Firefly Island was the gazebo in the Historic District because it looked exactly like the one in the center of town square in Stars Hollow, the fictional town the show is based in.
We talked about our favorite foods. She hated cooking, but she lovedThe Great British Bakeoffand Ina Garten’sBarefoot Contessa. We talked about where we expected to be at our ages. She thought she’d be an anchor on CNN, and I told her that I’dnever had a plan for after baseball; that I’d naively thought I’d have a long, successful career in the majors. That my injury had pulled the rug out from under my life.
We talked about our first kiss. Hers had been in Firefly Island under the pier with Billy Comfort, which I hadn’t been too happy about. But, when I told her mine had been at the same place with Nadia, she hadn’t looked too happy either, which I have to admit...I sort of liked.
We talked about what it was like for me growing up on a farm and what it was like for her to move, on average, every nine months. We talked about college, first loves, and what it was like to lose a parent.
I’d never been as vulnerable with another person as I’d been with her. I’d shared more in that short time with Daphne than I ever had in three years of therapy.
Then, out of nowhere, she sat up, put her shirt and shorts on, and said she had to get back so her aunt wouldn’t worry. I wanted to argue, but I knew that the sun would be coming up soon, which meant that people would be showing up for my classes, so I leaned down to kiss her goodbye, and that started round two. It was quick, but it was memorable.
The shrill sound of a whistle intruded on my walk down memory lane. I flinched as Weston called out for the class to switch stations. I watched, arms crossed behind my Aviator glasses, as red-faced students huffed and shuffled from one activity to the next, and another yawn claimed me.
“I told you, you should have taken today off,” Weston commented for about the fifth time this morning.
“I’m fine.”
His left brow arched, a clear sign that he did not agree with my assessment.
