5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Winter

Waking up hours later, my stomach is still warm and content from finishing every drop of my soup. Moore couldn't be convinced to nap with me, claiming that he had responsibilities to attend to. But thankfully, like he promised he would be, he's in his room when my eyes open.

Sitting in the old arm chair a few feet away, I find him watching me. He looks almost menacing in a hot villain sort of way. It makes me want to crawl out of bed and right into his wide lap. I notice my box of things at his feet, too, but ignore it entirely. As much as I love my crafts, I'm finding Moore to be much more alluring at the moment.

When he notices that I'm alert, he doesn't look away to pretend that he hasn't been observing me. He must know that I like it.

Instead, he asks, "How are you feeling?"

The timber of his voice makes me feel gooey inside. "Better," I admit softly, sitting up in bed and tucking my legs while a yawn leaves me. "Less sore, I think."

"Good," he says with a breath of relief.

When he doesn't move, to come closer, I slowly get out of bed and stand, reaching my arms to the sky. "I'm just going to stretch for a minute," I say, watching his eyes fall to where my sweater is riding up. His gaze sears into the bare skin of my stomach and butterflies tumble around in my belly. "If that's okay?"

He can only manage a grunt of confirmation.

I use one hand to grab the opposite shoulder, gently stretching my slightly achy arms before switching sides. Rubbing the back of my neck, I groan, rolling my head from side to side.

"This room is so big," I comment, looking around as I circle my ankles and wiggle my toes. "You could totally do yoga in here."

"Do you like yoga?" he asks, remaining in his seat.

"Love it," I declare happily. "Haven't been doing much of it lately on account of living in a closet for two years, but I'm hopeful I can get back to it now."

The room grows lethally quiet. I feel the air shift around us, tension rising.

In a haunted, hushed tone, he asks, "Two years?"

Cheeks pink, I look at his thunderous expression. He's furious but not at me. For me.

My arms wrap around my stomach as I attempt not to fully cave in on myself. Weakly and without a word, I nod.

"How the fuck did we miss this?"

I frown. "It's not your fault?—"

"This is my fucking rig, it is damn-well my fault," he snaps, not quite yelling. He's trying so hard to quell his anger, I can feel it.

"Your rig?" I gape. "You own this place?"

"How… how could you have been here, right under my nose for two years ?"

Now he just looks sad. Defeated even.

" Hey ," I clip, using my stern voice. "Don't blame yourself for something you could have never prevented. My dad did this. He did this. You didn't do this to me, Moore. You've only ever helped me. And if you could somehow see through fucking walls, you would have saved me sooner. But you're not a superhero, handsome. You're my hero, but you're still a man."

"Winter… I?—"

"I don't blame you, but I'll be very upset with you if you blame yourself."

He blinks and then mumbles, "I'm not trying to blame myself, not really. I just don't understand how this could happen, sugar."

"I don't understand it either," I say with a shrug. "I think evil things can't always be explained… but they can usually be healed. I already feel healed, if I'm being honest. That probably sounds ridiculous and maybe it's crazy, but I've lost enough time. I just want to move on from it."

"You are," he pauses, swallowing hard, " unbelievably strong, Winter."

Blushing furiously, I bite my lip. "That means a lot coming from a man as obviously strong as you."

He catches me checking him out and chuckles. "Being big doesn't always mean strong, sugar."

"It's not just your size," I admit, shaking my head. "You have strength in your eyes. That's the first thing I remember when you saved me, feeling how safe looking into your eyes made me feel."

"Fuck, sweetheart," he swears, leg bouncing with anticipation while he sits. "A man only has so much control."

"What do you need a silly little thing like control for, Moore?"

"I'm holding on by the smallest thread here, sugar," he rasps. "You need rest."

"Oh, I'm very rested," I tease. "My legs are pretty sore, though. Would it be too much trouble to rub them for me?"

His spine straightens and his leg freezes. "You want me to rub you?"

"If you don't mind," I answer, rocking on my heels. "You can distract me from the discomfort while telling me about this place. Don't think I've forgotten that you're apparently the owner ."

Again he asks, "You want my hands on you?"

"Yes, I do."

Bravely, I hook my thumbs into the waistband of my pants, gently pushing them off of my hips. The thick fabric tumbles to the ground, exposing my bare thighs. My sweater is just long enough to hide my panty-covered mound.

He sucks in a breath as he watches me, hands fisting the arm rests of his chair. Climbing into his bed again, I stay above the covers, splaying out my fully exposed legs.

"My thighs are the most sore," I inform him with a played-up pout. "Do you think you can help me, my hero?"

Silently, he gets to his feet—he can't help himself. It's like he's in a trance, mesmerized by my undressed state. He kneels into the mattress, moving up from the foot of the bed. My legs part, making space for him to come closer.

In a daze, his fingers graze the skin of my shins, experimentally caressing me. When his palms touch next, he slowly glides them up to my knees. My scalp tingles at the unfamiliar sensation. The rough, calloused texture of his working-man hands is wonderful against my soft legs.

My mouth waters and roots of my hair feel like a cold breath just whisked through them, like every nerve has just been stroked and he's nowhere near my head.

"S-so you own this place?" I stutter, feeling his hands retrace his previous movement.

"My family does," he answers, voice nearly robotic. "It's mine, but it's been in the family for decades."

"That's nice," I comment, unable to get a read on how he feels about this topic.

"It's fine," he amends with a shrug.

His hands move up to massage the bottom of my thighs, just above my knees. It's as sensual as it is relieving. My muscles genuinely are sore, after all.

"Does your family work here, too?" He chuckles humorlessly at the question and I frown. "What's funny?"

"None of them would be caught dead doing manual labor, let alone living in a place like this."

"I take it they're more business-like?"

He snorts. "You could say that, sugar."

Smiling uneasily, I try to catch his eyes with my gaze. "Why do I get the feeling that you came here to get away from them?"

His murky ocean-water orbs find my face. "Not just them, sweetheart."

My lips turn down into a frown. "I don't like seeing you sad, my hero."

"Not sad," he corrects, softly swaying his head from side to side. "I just haven't thought about them in a little while. It's strange."

Softly, I ask, "Strange how?"

"My whole life, I wanted to get away from their world. The glitz and glam, the dishonesty that is business connections, the politics of it all… I fucking hated it there. So, a few years back, I finally fucking left. Took over this place and never looked back."

"And now?"

He hesitates. "You're going to think I'm crazy."

"I doubt it," I assure him. "You'd be surprised what goes on in my head, Moore."

His eyes leave mine, but his hands move further up, begging to knead the middle part of my thighs. It feels so fucking good I have to bite the inside of my cheek to withhold any sort of whimpering or moans.

"Since fishing you out of the water, I've thought about two things," he says, voice thick and full of emotion. " You and my family. I don't think I ever meant to leave them for this long. Years without talking can pass by unexpectedly quick when you aren't paying attention."

"A brush with death can make people realize all they have to lose," I say solemnly.

Moore half-chuckles, shaking his head. "I haven't been thinking about what it would be like if I died without speaking to them in nearly three years. I've been thinking about how I want my brother to be my best man at my wedding someday. A wedding I never saw myself having. Until you."

I gasp, my heart beginning to race.

"And now you see what I mean by crazy."

"I don't think you're crazy," I blurt out with a rushed breath. "You should call him, your brother. He'll need a tux if he's your best man."

Eyes blazing wildly, Moore's hands tighten on my legs. "You don't mean that."

Leaning down to reach for his face, I plant my hand on the side of his head. My thumb traces his cheekbone and I smile. "I told you, I don't think you're crazy."

"You're unbelievable," he says, leaning into my touch. "I feel like I'm going to wake up tomorrow and you'll have been a dream. One glorious fucking hallucination."

"I'm not going anywhere," I reply softly. "Not without you."

"I won't ask you to commit to that?—"

"You're not asking," I interrupt. "I'm telling you. I'm not going anywhere without you, Moore. I've known you for only hours now and I feel like I might die if I can't be with you."

"You're not dying," he insists firmly. "I won't let you."

I grin, pressing my lips to his cheek before laying back down. "Why don't we talk about our future tomorrow, so I don't overwhelm you too much, hmm?"

"You're a confident little thing, sugar," he says through a laugh. "You know just what you want, don't you?"

Nodding once, I sigh happily. "And don't you forget it, mister."

"And what is it that you want right now, beautiful girl?"

My body glows under his praise. "Your hands to move higher up."

Immediately, his massaging shifts upward. My throat vibrates with a noise of appreciation, a sweet moan barely leaving my lips.

"Better?" he asks gruffly.

"I think I'm sore a little higher, too," I whisper breathlessly.

"You think so, baby?" He looks up at me, eyes blazing. Suddenly, his fingertips brush against the fabric between my legs and my tummy turns to mush. "Here?"

When my head dips in a nod, he clicks his tongue. "No, sweetheart, I don't think you're sore here at all. I think you're aching ."

My fingers dig into the bedspread. "Why do you think that?"

"Because I can fucking smell how achy you are. How needy you must feel."

Face burning, I lick my lips and pout. "Can you make it go away, Moore?"

"Do you even know what you're asking, sweet girl?"

"Uh-huh," I nod, drunk on the lust surrounding us. "I want you to touch me until I feel better." His fingers twitch at the edge of my panties.

"Touch you how?"

"With your mouth."

Not a second after the words leave my lips does Moore have my underwear tugged to one side and his blazing hot mouth sealed over my sex.

Every bit of me reacts at once. Jaw dropping open to release a choked moan, my toes curling into the sheets. Like instinct, my thighs open wider to give his shoulders more room. When his tongue moves, my ribs expand with a ragged breath, and my back arches right off the bed.

" Oh my goooddd, " I cry out, my hand greedily reaching for his head. Fingers delving into his soft, short hair, the digits flexing and holding tight.

"Mmm," he rumbles against my slick folds.

Moore laps at my slit with fevered passion, the stubble on his face adding a rough edge to the pressure of his moist tongue. He's devouring me in ways that I can't even describe, every action only fueling his fire. My mind is becoming fuzzy, lust consuming every thought I attempt to muster up.

"Like that, sugar?" he taunts, teeth nipping at my little pearl of pleasure. When I whimper, he starts to suck on it. "Yeah, you love it, don't you? You like being feasted on, sweet girl?"

"Uh-huh," I manage to squeak.

Tension is building in my belly. It's intense—nearly too intense—and somehow, the best thing I've ever experienced. Being licked by Moore is much better than being alone.

"This is so much better than reading it," I babble. I'd doubt my ability to sound coherent if it weren't obvious that Moore heard and understood every word.

"No one has ever done this to you, sugar?"

"No one has ever touched me at all," I confess boldly.

A feral glint sparkles in his eyes. "No one?"

"Just you," I rasp. "Only ever you."

It's the exact right thing to say.

Spurred on by my words, he dives back in. Attacking my juicy mound with his mouth once more. He licks, bites, slurps, and strokes, working me over without mercy. My thighs quiver, feeling a wave of warmth roll through me.

The tension in my core suddenly snaps. Like a dam bursting, I come undone with a splash. Release pours out of me, my ears whooshing with blood as I lose all control. My thighs try to slam closed, tightening around Moore's thick head.

Rocking my hips into his face, my cum floods his mouth, cunt clenching and unclenching as a furious orgasm rages through me. My first real one, and it's so powerful that dark spots threaten my vision.

Panting, I gasp for air and mewl, throwing my head back. "Yessss, Moore !"

My eyes flutter open and shut, fighting the pull of unconsciousness. I'm not sure if I fully pass out, or if time simply evades me. But when clarity creeps back in, I find Moore looming above me, hand working frantically between his legs while he looks at my messy pussy. Though I'm tired, I can't allow myself to look away—even to sleep.

He is sooooo yummy to watch.