Page 17 of Oops I Fell For The Lumberjack Next Door

My hands find the hem of her sweatshirt. The UNR one she's had since college. I pull it up, slow, my knuckles dragging along her ribs. She lifts her arms. The sweatshirt comes off. Underneath, a thin tank top, no bra. I can see her nipples pressing against the fabric, hard from the cold or from this. Both.

"Take it off." Her voice is raw. "All of it."

The tank top goes. Her breasts are full, soft, gorgeous. I cup one with my hand, thumb rolling over her nipple. She arches into me. My mouth follows my hand, closing over her nipple, sucking, tongue circling. She grabs my hair.

"Briggs. God."

I pull my thermal over my head. Her hands land on my chest immediately, fingers spreading across my skin. She traces the muscle, the ridge of my stomach. Her nails drag down, light enough to feel everywhere.

Her leggings come off. Black underwear. Simple. Cotton. My hands grip her hips, thumbs hooking the elastic.

"These too." Not a question.

She lifts her hips. The underwear slides down her thighs. She's bare underneath me, and I take a second. Just a second. Because this is Margot. The woman I've been thinking about for fifteen years, spread across a bed I built the floor for twelve hours ago, looking up at me with those brown eyes and her hair fanned across the pillow.

I drop to my knees beside the mattress. Pull her to the edge by her hips. She gasps. My mouth hits the inside of her thigh, kissing up. Slow. She's trembling. Not from cold.

My tongue drags through her pussy. One long stroke, bottom to top, ending at her clit. She moans. Loud. Her hand flies to my hair, gripping hard.

I do it again. Slower. Tasting her, learning what makes her breath catch. Her clit is swollen under my tongue, and when I circle it, firm and deliberate, her hips buck off the mattress.

Two fingers slide into her. Wet, tight, her walls gripping me as I curl forward, finding the spot that makes her thighs shake. My mouth seals over her clit, sucking gently while my fingers work a slow rhythm inside her.

"Oh fuck. Oh fuck, Briggs, right there."

Right there. My tongue flicks her clit while my fingers press forward, and she comes. Hard. Her back arches off the mattress, thighs clamping around my head, hand fisted in my hair. The sound she makes is something I'm going to hear every time I close my eyes for the rest of my life.

Before the aftershocks fade, I'm stripping off my jeans. Condom from my wallet. She watches me roll it on, eyes heavy, chest heaving.

"Come here." She reaches for me.

I cover her body with mine. Settle between her thighs. The head of my cock nudges against her entrance, slick from how wet she is, and I push in with one long stroke.

Her back arches. Nails dig into my shoulders. She's tight, hot, perfect around me. I hold still for a beat. Just feeling her.

Then I move. Slow, deep strokes that drag against her walls. Her legs wrap around my hips, heels pressing into my ass, pulling me deeper. My forearm braces beside her head. My other hand slides down between us, thumb finding her clit, circling with firm pressure timed to every thrust.

"Harder." She pulls me closer. "Please."

My hips snap. Faster. The mattress shifts on the new floor. Her breasts move with every thrust. I drop my mouth to her neck, tongue against her pulse, and she turns her head to give me more.

"You feel incredible." Low, against her skin. "You know that?"

She clenches around me. A whimper. Her hand grabs the edge of the mattress. My thumb presses harder on her clit, matching the pace of my hips.

"I'm gonna come." Her voice breaks. "Briggs, I'm..."

"Let go."

She shatters. Her whole body locks around mine. Pussy gripping me so tight I can barely move. The sound she makes, my name broken into syllables, pushes me over the edge two strokes later. I bury myself deep and come so hard my vision goes white at the edges.

We lie there. Breathing. My forehead against her shoulder. Her fingers loose in my hair now, tracing slow patterns on my scalp. The reading lamp throws warm light across the room. Princess Buttercup is purring somewhere in the kitchen.

"Stay." She says it quiet. Against the top of my head. "Tonight."

I lift my head. Look at her. Flushed, wrecked, beautiful. Hair everywhere. Glasses askew on the nightstand where she tossed them.

"Yeah?"