Chapter 21

Jo

Jakob is a lot to take in.

And I mean that in more ways than one.

He hovers over me, the wide expanse of his chest practically glowing in the moonlight. The pale mop of red hair is swept back from his face, and the color matches the fur that swirls over his chest. He is broad and strong, with ridges and planes that tempt me to touch him, taste him everywhere. His shape tapers down to a set of narrow hips with the soft belly of a man who enjoys good food, which I find indescribably sexy. The vee lines angle down in a long sweep, emphasizing the thick length that stands at attention before me.

His cock seems to throb under my gaze with its prominent, engorged vein marking the underside. His tree-trunk legs are strong and equally as furry as his chest. Below his chest, at the top of the left side of his ribcage is a fine-line tattoo of a moth, both enticing and startling in its detail. Jakob is the picture of everything I crave. Virile, strong, safe, and just a little bit wild.

"You're cold," he says.

I say nothing but reach my arms up to beckon him closer.

He needs no other instructions. He's over me, covering me with his heat, our bodies generating enough warmth for this chilly night.

Never have I felt more thankful that I live out in the woods with hardly any visitors except the occasional deer, foxes, skunks, and wolves. Oh dear gods, please keep away the skunks and wolves tonight!

All thought of possible danger dissipates like steam when Jakob touches me.

My Jakob is so patient, so loving, taking his time to run his hands along every inch of my skin, kissing me tenderly yet thoroughly along the way.

I wonder if he heard what I asked for.

His mouth covers one nipple and sucks while his arm cradles my head. So sweet. So thoughtful.

And then, Jakob's fingers dig into the flesh of my thigh. His mouth on my nipple sucks so hard it's sure to leave a mark.

Finally. My sex weeps.

His caresses go higher and higher until his firm hand cups my pussy. My body jerks at the sensation, and I'm full of wonder at how it feels all new again, even after everything we've already done.

The mere touch of his rough fingers between my legs makes me ache to let him fill me. His mouth and wicked fingers that worship my breasts make me wet with need.

I know he must be able to feel that, too.

"You're already so wet for me, baby."

"Jakob," I whisper. "I'm ready."

He pops one nipple out of his mouth and blows on it. I feel a rush of heat spread across my chest, and desire blooms in my lower half. "Shh," he says. "There's no rush." I moan as he repeats his worship with his mouth, this time to the other nipple.

The sensation is sweet torture. And I need more. I need him between my legs, and not just his fingers. Though I don't like the idea of anyone else besides Jakob invading my thoughts during sex, I have not been able to get the words "pounding and pumping" out of my head since this morning.

Jakob sinks one digit into my slick channel, then adds his middle finger, then uses his thumb to caress my aching clit.

I reach for him, meaning to pull him up for a kiss, but he sucks one of my fingers into his mouth.

The dual sensation of that combined with the sensation of his two thick fingers pushing in deeper, harder, then pulling out, then in again, is enough to make me as wild as a feral cat as I wriggle under him.

The noises as he works his fingers in and out of me…oh gods…if anyone was nearby, they would know exactly what that is. The thought of it makes me blush.

But I know it's just us and the trees and the wind and the stars.

"Jakob, you're…I…I'm…"

When the pad of his thumb sweeps over the tip of my aching clit once more, my body seems to curl in on itself with the power of my release.

"Gods, you're beautiful. Look at you."

But I can't look. My eyes are squeezed tightly so he won't see them rolling back in my head as my orgasm shoots through every bone, every neuron, every nerve ending.

It's so powerful I feel as though I squirted in his hand. Oddly, I don't feel self-conscious about it.

The Josephine from yesterday would definitely have felt some kind of way about that. Today, I feel cosseted, cared for, surrounded by someone I trust with every fiber of my being.

This is my best friend. My Jakob.

"I'm ready, Jakob," I insist, barely able to get out the words.

"You're ready when I say you're ready" comes his reply.

No one talks to me like this. On Jakob's lips, a breath away from mine, with two fingers buried deep in my flexing cunt, it's an entirely different story.

"Oh, Jakob…"

The next thing I know, Jakob's fingers exit my pussy and I feel the loss. I begin to shiver deep inside.

That is, until his hand is replaced by his rough beard.

Gasping, my eyes fly open to find Jakob's face between my thighs.

Oh gods…no one has ever done this to me before. I don't know what to do here…what does one do while receiving oral? Will he expect me to give him oral in return?

On one hand, I want to cover my face with the blanket because this is so much. So much sensation. His beard, his whole face, is just…there! And the sounds! And his tongue…in one moment, I'm bucking off the ground with the shock and overwhelm, and in the next second, I am warm honey. Boneless.

I must give off the impression that I'm alternating between tension and surrender because at one point Jakob lifts his head. "Do you want me to stop, love?"

The affectionate term squeezes my heart.

I lift my head and look down at his face, his expression a mix of concern and primal hunger. It shakes me to my core to see him this way.

"No," I rasp. "I don't want you to stop, Jakob."

The drag of his hand down the outside of my leg makes me feel strangely calm. "If it helps, you should know that you taste so damn good, Jo. Like nothing in this world."

Oddly, that does put me at ease. It's no longer shocking after watching Jakob lick his fingers clean the other night. But I'm beginning to believe he finds me that desirable. Hearing this repeated helps me a lot.

"I'm so pleased," I say, kicking myself for being so wooden. What is wrong with me?

A low growl emanates from his chest. "You're a fine one. The finest."

Nothing. Absolutely nothing is wrong with me in Jakob's eyes.

His mouth returns to what he was doing before, laying waste to my nethers. It's like nothing I've ever felt before.

I surrender to the intensity of the moment, letting the waves of rough pleasure carry me as I stare up at the cloudless night sky, the late September moon high and bright. I feel like some sort of ancient witch having a sex ritual under the stars. I've read about our ancestors doing all sorts of things to honor the gods. I let my mind go where it pleases while Jakob's tongue turns my insides into fizz.

In my head, I hear drums that aren't there. I imagine a harvest ritual. Drums start slowly as everyone watches this ritual play out. I'm the virgin tribute, and Jakob is my king. I've been chosen for this one special purpose. It's strange and primal and utterly barbaric, but here I am, getting completely turned on by the idea of having my autonomy taken away.

Turns out, letting my mind drift and my body surrender makes everything better. A release like a spring thunderstorm takes over, and I cry out. My hands act on their own, reaching for Jakob, taking his hair between my fingers.

"Jakob! Oh gods!"

He compounds my orgasm by continuing to lick and suckle my clit. The powerful response sends shockwaves through me like lightning.

"There you are. You come so good for me, Josephine. You come like a goddamn sex goddess."

He leans over me, propped up by one arm on the blanket, and my eyes feast on the sight of his free hand fisting his cock.

"I'm ready, Jakob. I want you inside me. Please."

He wets the tip at my core. I shiver.

"My princess."

No one has ever called me that. No one would ever look at me and think that word. I'm not poised, graceful, or stylish. I'm not from privilege, nor am I practiced in etiquette or manners. Some would say I'm hardly even feminine, having been barely raised by a man—though what my father did could hardly be considered "raising."

And the only princess I know of, Princess Flora, is a force of nature. We've never met, but everyone knows her. She's all those things a princess should be. Charming. Expressive. Extroverted. Beloved. Spirited but sweet and feminine.

I'm nothing like her. And yet, here I am. Being called a princess.

And I want to receive it. I want to believe it.