22
" Nothing on this earth had ever felt as good as being inside Chloe.
He gritted his teeth, hanging on to the last remnants of sanity he possessed, as he tried to calm enough not to take her like some primal beast.
The grip of her.
The silky heat.
He braced his elbow next to her head and their eyes locked.
He was fucking Chloe.
This was going to change them forever.
He experienced a rush of panic that quickly dimmed as her thighs clasped his hips and she arched to meet him, gasping.
Her hands fell to his waist, nails digging into his skin.
He moved, gripped her wrists, and brought them up over her head. They were touching everywhere, the length of him sliding into her. Her breasts against his chest. Her inner muscles clamped around him and he cursed, thrusting inside her.
He'd think later. Much, much later.
He covered her mouth with his, his tongue sliding against hers. The air grew thick and humid. Tinged with a desperate, urgent lust. He ripped away and groaned.
Pumped harder inside her.
Her head pressed into the pillow and her neck arched.
He held her wrists tighter, he bit her exposed throat, before soothing the skin with his tongue.
She cried out. Her nails dug harder. Her thighs clenched.
Their movements deepened. Quickened.
He let her go, levered up, and rammed hard inside her, circling his hips. Grinding against her. Thrusting harder. Faster. Deeper.
The bed frame banged its frantic beat against the wall.
Over and over and over again.
Her body rippled down the length of his cock.
He jerked, losing what little control he had as he came in a loud shout, just as her orgasm rushed through her, milking him for everything he was worth, his vision dimming as intense pleasure tore through him in endless waves.
He had no idea how long they went on like that. Pushing and pulsing together mindlessly, lost in the aftershocks of bone-deep satisfaction. He collapsed on top of her, burying his face in the crook of her neck, inhaling that special scent, unique to Chloe. He licked her skin. Tasting salt and sex. "
― , The Cottage on Pumpkin and Vine
23
" They went at it. Their mouths a frantic, searching quest. As though they were trying to make up for thirty years of longing in this one kiss. He bit her lower lip and she raked her nails down his back.
They tumbled to the bed, and his body was finally, deliciously covering hers.
She arched.
He surged.
They rocked.
She dug her nails into the base of his back.
His hand came up to cup her breast, his thumb stroking over the nipple.
She cried out, and he caught the sound with his lips.
He ripped away from her, slid down her body, and captured her nipple with his lips, while his free hand snaked down into her yoga pants.
He licked at the hard bud. Sucked.
Her hips arched off the bed as he tugged harder and harder.
When his teeth scraped over her oversensitive flesh, she keened and she couldn't stop the words from falling from her lips. "Jack. God. Jack. Yes. More."
He groaned, the sound vibrating over her skin. He pulled her deeper into his mouth. His fingers slid down her waistband and into her panties. Her legs parted. His fingers brushed her clit. She bowed off the bed.
He circled the bundle of nerves and lifted his head. "So damn wet."
She could feel how wet she was, how slippery. "More."
He pushed one long finger inside her, and kissed her, brushing his mouth over her lips. "You feel like heaven."
She arched into his touch as his thumb relentlessly circled her clit. Around and around. Over and over. Until she thought she'd go mad with sheer need. "Jack. Please."
He plunged two fingers inside her, hooking on a spot so good she lost focus.
"Please what, Chlo?"
His voice, oh God, his voice. Achingly familiar and yet strange all at once.
He swiped over her flesh and she keened again as her body tightened. "Stop." Her head rolled back. "I'm going to come."
He increased his pressure and whispered against the shell of her ear, "Then come. "
― , The Cottage on Pumpkin and Vine
27
" The caterer would like to use your sideboard buffet for the skull platters, raven plates, and broomstick-style forks. The florist will provide a bouquet of black roses. The cauldron punch and batwing cups will go on the dining room table."
"Menu?" Amelia requested. "We'd discussed finger food last week. What did you finally decide?"
Grace ticked off the items. "All the food is easy to eat while standing," she assured Amelia. "Chicken-witch fingers, miniature goblin burgers, chocolate crescent witch hats, ghost sugar cookies, pumpkin Bundt cake, sliced caramel apples, small popcorn balls, and a big bowl of candy corn. "
― , The Cottage on Pumpkin and Vine
29
" He stretched out his long legs under the table, settled on his tailbone. He shook his foot, rotated his ankle, as if he'd sat too long. The movement caught the cat's attention. Archie's back arched, his tail swung, ready to pounce. A long lunge, and Cade stiffened. "Dude, I'm not a scratching post."
"Archibald Reginald Rose," Amelia called him by his full name. She clapped her hands. "No!"
Grace tipped on her chair, caught the action under the table. This was no sweet kneading from the Maine coon. He bared his claws on Cade's thigh, close to the man's groin. Cade inched back, avoided kicking the cat. His jeans were white-seamed and laddered. Archie swatted, then latched on to the loose, swaying threads. He tugged. Denim split, shredded, leaving a sizable hole.
No underwear for this man. A shift of his weight, and Cade flashed Grace. Not purposely, yet she got an eyeful. In that moment, she learned more about him than she ever needed to know. He tucked left. His sex, substantial. "
― , The Cottage on Pumpkin and Vine
30
" Killer dumpling," Cade said.
"Delicious dessert," came simultaneously from Grace.
"Seconds here, please," requested Cade.
Grace debated. "No more dumpling for me, but a little more ice cream would be nice."
Amelia rose, smiled innocently. "Food and sex, there's always room for seconds."
Grace blushed, and her ears burned.
Cade blew off any embarrassment he might feel. He leaned back in his chair, said, "I like the way you think, Amelia. Philosophy for all occasions."
"Old and wise and words to live by. "
― , The Cottage on Pumpkin and Vine
