12. Woody

12

WOODY

I tried to pull away as Emery cursed out the last of his orgasm, needing to distance myself from what we’d just done, but Emery was having none of it.

“No. Nope,” he said, sliding from my body. “You’re not running away this time.”

“Not running.”

“Mmhmm.”

He slid a muscular arm around my chest, holding me in place as he tied off the condom and chucked it near our feet.

“God, your body is fucking made for my cock,” he whispered, sliding his other arm around my belly, holding me against him.

We must’ve looked a sight, pants around our ankles, pressed up against each other like that, the circle of trees holding onto the smell of our sex. It didn’t seem like he was gonna let me go anytime soon, and I found I didn’t want him to. I let my head fall back against his powerful shoulder, secretly greedy for the way his skin felt against mine.

He’d been right, of course. After the whole debacle with Shane, how could I not be terrified when it felt so good to be held by him?

Emery mouthed the bruise he’d left on my neck, slowly stroking my cock, tugging the loose foreskin over the sensitive head, stretching it out, then back over the head again.

“Not gonna be able to go again,” I warned.

“I know,” he whispered, nipping at the shell of my ear. “I just like the way you feel in hand.”

If it had been anyone else, I’d have been annoyed at his insistent pawing, but his warm touch settled something inside me as his hands explored wherever they could reach. He abandoned my cock to grip at my thighs, then ran his hands over my ticklish hips, up under my shirt where he found and thumbed my flat nipples until they beaded up.

Soft, wet kisses up and down my neck, one side, then the other.

“What’re...” God, his tongue in my ear. “What’re you doin’?”

“Bringing you down,” he purred. “We went at it pretty hard, so I’m making sure your body feels safe.”

“I can take care of myself just fine,” I insisted, but let him turn me to face him.

“I know you can. But you shouldn’t have to.”

It was strange to be cared for like this. Sex had always left me feeling a little cold but standing here with Emery, our pants still in the dirt, it was strange to realize I’d never felt so warm and safe.

Not that I’d ever fuckin’ admit that out loud.

Emery kissed me like a lover as his large hand cupped an ass cheek, and I sank into the affection as his slick fingers found and circled my hole. I winced, then chased after his lips as he pulled back.

“Sore?”

I snorted. “Have you seen your cock?”

“I have,” he murmured, pushing two fingers inside me, the slick sounds bouncing in our little circle of trees. “That much girth is a blessing and a curse.”

“Don’t ever write poetry.”

“Happy to leave that to you,” he said, then slid his tongue into my mouth.

His intimate touch was comforting, and with his kiss he had full control of my body.

I suppose this isn’t that terrifying.

Finally, he withdrew his fingers and stepped away, grabbing a wet nap from his pocket—such a dad thing to do. He wiped his hands, pulled up his pants and underwear, and then helped me with mine. After smoothing his hand over the spent bulge in my jeans, he stared into my eyes, pinning me with a soft look as he carefully, deliberately zipped and buttoned me up.

He bent down for the condom, wrapped it in a napkin, and tucked it into his jeans, then grabbed a sandwich from his lunch pail.

Shoving it into my hands, he said, “Here, I made this for you,” as he placed gentle kisses on my forehead.

“Uh . . . thanks?”

“And if you ever disappear like that again, I’ll come back up here and fuck you against this same tree until you get the message.”

I swallowed thickly, his words stoking a different sort of fire inside me.

“And what message is that?”

He stepped in close, cupping my butt with his powerful hands. He rumbled in my ear, “That this tight, perfect ass is mine.”

“We’ve only had sex twice,” I pointed out, then bit into the sandwich. “My ass is mine.”

Fuck, this is one of the best sandwiches I’ve ever eaten in my life.

“You sure about that?” he asked, running his middle finger along the back seam of my jeans.

I shivered, tilting my hips, silently encouraging him to keep touching me. He raised his brow but kept running his finger along that damned seam. Pressing his hips to mine, he added another layer, placing kisses up and down my neck, my ears, my collarbones.

“Eat,” he ordered, and I felt equal parts compelled, annoyed, and turned on.

Fine. I ate the rest of the damned sandwich, even as his finger worked my back seam and his pillow-soft kisses were like a line of fire straight to my cock. By the time I was down to the crusts, I was panting and hard.

He pulled away with a wink and started in on his sandwich.

“What’re you doing?” I asked, palming my erection.

“I decided you were right,” he answered, grinning around a mouthful of meat and bread. “Your ass is yours. You don’t need me at all.”

“Put your goddamn hands on me, Em.”

“Hm?” he asked, finishing off the sandwich like it’d been an amuse-bouche.

It was my turn to press him against the tree, and I did, humping up against his hip, or trying to. Dammit, I needed his cooperation.

“Emery . . .”

He grabbed my hips, stilling them, not saying a word until I looked up at him.

“Whose ass is this?”

“Why’re you so fuckin’ bossy?”

He leaned in, his lips right next to my ear. “Because I’m the boss. And I don’t like sharing what’s mine.”

I shivered, breathing heavily as he turned, locking me into a gaze so heated I was surprised I didn’t combust on the spot. Not many people had the wherewithal to tell me what to do, and even fewer could get away with it. Emery was quickly proving to be the exception.

“Fine. I won’t fuck anyone else while we’re doing this.”

“And why is that?” he asked, touching his fingertips to his ear.

I let out a frustrated grunt, muttering, “Because this ass belongs to you.”

“Damn right it does,” he said, spinning me until my back was against his front.

In seconds, he had my jeans down around my thighs and my cock in his tight grip.

“That’s right, sweetheart. Lean up against me. Let me take care of what’s mine.”

I melted against him and he finally—mercifully—started stroking me. His other hand moved to my balls, stroking them in the opposite direction as his hot mouth clamped down on my sensitive neck.

This was just a hand job. That’s all it fucking was...though not even I believed that stack of lies. Emery was so fucking strong, thoroughly possessing me as he pulled every pleasure imaginable from my body.

And that’s what this was. Possession. Even if I wasn’t his, he didn’t want anyone else touching me. Didn’t matter what else I told myself; I was a slut for his hands, his mouth, his tongue, that fucking cock.

By the time he pulled the second orgasm from my willing body, I’d have promised him the fucking moon. As he put me back together, kissing me slowly, I decided that letting him act like he was in charge wasn’t too high a price to pay for this kind of full-body ecstasy.

Not that I’d cooperate for a second.