“I guess we’ll have to try it out to see if it works.” She gives me a tentative, saucy grin.
And I make good on my sensory exploration promise. We undress each other slowly, savoring the experience. I kiss every bare, sweet inch of her, spending the most time between her thighs, licking and kissing until she’s writhing under me and calling out my name as an orgasm rolls through her.
I’m fully prepared for that to be where it ends, but Lainey tugs me back up and wraps her legs around my waist. She’s already slick from my mouth and her orgasm. “Lainey,” I groan when I settle against her, warm and wet.
“I want to know what it feels like to have you inside me.”
I lift my head and meet her hazy, lust-soaked gaze. “Are you sure? We don’t have to—”
She looks suddenly unsure. “You don’t want to know what I feel like from the inside?”
“That’s not—” I have to clear my throat. “Yes. Of course I do, I just don’t want you to feel pressured—”
“I don’t feel pressured. I feel like I’m under pressure. Like one of those mints dropped into a bottle of soda and shaken with the top on. That’s what it’s like when you kiss me, so I want to know what it’s like when you’re in me.”
“Is this . . . have you . . .” I don’t know how to ask without making it awkward.
She tips her head to the side, brows furrowing for a moment until they pop back up. “Oh! You think—” She bites her lip. “I’m not that inexperienced, RJ.”
There’s no good way to respond, so I drop my head and kiss the side of her neck. “I just wanted to be sure, and I want this to feel good for you—for both of us. Let me grab a condom.” I’m grateful that there’s one in my wallet, because the box I bought the day after I met Lainey—hopeful that at some point we’d get here—is upstairs in my nightstand.
I kneel between her thighs, and Lainey sits up, taking the foil square from me. She strokes me a few times, then bends to kiss the head, wetting it with her lips before she tears the wrapper open and rolls the condom on. It’s sexy and sweet and so damn hot. Especially when she straddles me, positions me at her entrance, and sinks into my lap.
This is nothing like our frantic make-out sessions. It’s slow and gentle, a leisurely climb to the peak. When I feel myself getting close, I still her with my hands on her hips and kiss her as a distraction. Over and over, I balance at the edge and back off until Lainey can’t stop the orgasm from stealing her breath.
I flip her over so I can keep the rhythm, chasing down my own orgasm. I try to bury my face against her neck, but she cups my face in her hands. “I want to see you,” she murmurs, eyes soft and searching.
I meet her gaze, and my ego pretty much expands to fill the entire universe. Lainey’s eyes hold fascinated awe, like there’s nothing more enthralling than me in this moment. I come hard, eyes locked on her gorgeous face, wishing there were no end to this feeling.
I drop my forehead to hers, breathing hard. She kisses the corner of my mouth. “I would do that again and again and again just so I could see that look on your face.”
“What look?”
“Pure rapture.”
“That belongs to you and you alone.”
Orgasm drugged, we kiss until exhaustion creeps in. I remove the used condom, tie it off, and toss it near the fireplace. I pull the blankets over us, and Lainey curls into me.
I think about how I could get used to this—not just the sex, but her. And I wish I’d started this with the truth instead of a lie, because it’s too late to take it back . . . but I promise myself I’ll find a way to tell her before we leave Alaska. And I hope like hell it won’t ruin what we have here.
CHAPTER 10
THE FALL IN
Lainey
Having grown up on a farm, in a rural area, homeschooled, and with social anxiety doesn’t mean I never had a boyfriend. I did. Not a lot, but a few, and most of them were long term. Well, longish term.
Also, having four older brothers meant dating could be difficult—and often secretive. In addition to the secrecy came the challenge of finding opportunities for privacy. Even now, at twenty-five, I’ve never lived away from home for long. Because of the farm, none of my siblings have strayed very far from the hub of the family wheel. Everyone lives within a few miles of each other.
Sure, the house we all grew up in was big, with lots of places to sneak off to—barns are decent places to make out in, if you can get over the smell. And animals don’t generally rat you out—unless you happen to kick over a bucket and it lands in a cow stall, scaring the crap out of them.
Even with the challenges I faced in the dating world, I went out with a guy who had his own place for a while. That proved helpful in expanding my sexual repertoire and putting theory into practice; however, based on my most current experience, that guy wasn’t all that great in bed. Certainly not as giving, skilled, or well endowed as RJ.
Suffice it to say, I don’t put up a fight the next morning when RJ suggests we get the rest of my things and bring them back to his place. But first we have more sex. And then a shower, which leads to more sex. I can see how that particular location might be a little dangerous with someone who isn’t as strong or agile as RJ.
Being intimate with someone who is in such amazing physical condition is pretty fantastic. Not only can he pick me up and carry me around like I weigh as much as a bag of potatoes, he can also hold me up—with the help of the shower wall—and give me an orgasm. It’s extraordinary.
He’s rather extraordinary, really.
After last night there’s a shift between us. It feels like we’re connected in ways beyond intimacy.
We make a quick breakfast, get the rest of my personal effects from my crappy cabin, and return to his place. And yes, we have more sex. Actually, that’s pretty much all we do for the rest of the day. That and eat. I wander around in one of his button-down plaid shirts, and he wanders around in his boxer briefs—my request, obviously.
I’ve never had a fling before, and I’m aware that’s what this is. He lives in New York, and I live in Washington. He has to run an alpaca farm, and I have to finish my master’s and get a job, eventually—or start my PhD, whichever makes more sense.
So I try not to worry about what will happen when I go back home. Instead, for the first time in my life, I just let myself enjoy the time I have with RJ and hope that my heart can handle it. I also enjoy sex with him. A lot. So that helps too.
Days bleed into each other as RJ and I settle into a routine. We make meals together and go boating almost every day, and I even manage to work on my thesis paper. His internet reception is far superior to what mine was, so I’m actually able to get quite a bit done . . . all things considered. As the days on the calendar count down to his impending departure, everything that doesn’t involve spending time with him takes a back seat.
A few days before he’s supposed to go home, RJ changes his plans. My ticket is open ended, and he doesn’t have any obligations until the middle of July, so he suggests that he stay longer. My heart skips a few dangerous beats at the thought of more time with him. I’m so attached to him already, and this is only going to make it that much harder when we have to leave. But I’ll take a bruised heart in exchange for more time, and he delays his departure so we both leave closer to mid-July.