Knotted (Trails of Sin 1)
It’s after midnight when she sits on the edge of the bed and sighs. “One thing’s for sure. You never do anything half-assed.” She looks at me with the same scrutiny I’ve been giving her. “When you protect those you love, you do it with every breath in your body.”
“The same can be said when I hurt those I love.” I stand over her, shirtless, exhausted, and saddled with sins. “I abandoned you when you needed me in Chicago. I broke your heart when you returned home. I withheld vital information to manipulate you into obeying me.” A jagged breath drags from my chest. “I don’t deserve you.”
“The one who believes he doesn’t deserve me is the only one who does.” Her gaze drifts away for the span of a thousand unraveling knots. Then she meets my eyes again. “I forgive you.”
I breathe in, and my chest expands with the enormity of those three words.
“I forgave you ten days ago.” She reaches for my hand. “When you held my wrist in the truck, I knew I would accept everything you’ve done to bring us to this point. Right here. Together.”
Jake towers over me, an imposing pillar of strength and promise. He said I would talk about the ravine, and I did. He said he would tell me everything, and he did. Only one thing remains, and it thrums through the bedroom, engulfing my senses.
“No more miles between us.” The predatory intensity in his eyes captures, claims, and marks his territory.
“No more years.” I remain on the edge of the bed before him, trapped in his sights.
“No more secrets.” His unblinking gaze stares through me with unmasked desire. Jaw locked and hands flexing at his sides, he looks as if he’s going to eat me alive.
“I love you, Jake Holsten.” I lick my lips, my mouth dry. “Even if you don’t go slow. Even if it’s not that great.”
He laughs, a dark rumble of thunder. “I’m confident you’ll come on my cock this time. Multiple times.”
A pleasurable shiver skips up my spine. “If I knew it was you in the barn that night…”
“Tonight, you know. Take off the shirt.” His command ravishes my body, thrusting into me with deep vibrating tones.
I lift the shirt up and off.
He drinks in my nudity, his attention loving me raw and his dominant nature owning my depths.
“On your knees.” He points at the rug beneath his bare feet.
He wears jeans, unbuttoned and unzipped, and nothing else. His hot, hard, half-naked body is incentive enough to run my mouth all over him. But it’s instinct that slides me off the bed and onto the floor. The instinct to please him, to surrender to him in every way.
As I lower to my knees, his breathing loses rhythm, his chest a heaving slab of power that contracts and expands. I rest my hands on his trim hips, and the position puts me at eye level with the hardness straining against his briefs through the open zipper.
Three years ago, I held his cock in my hand in the dark. I haven’t actually seen it since we were sixteen, but I felt every steely inch of him inside me that night.
“You said something to me in the barn.” I feather my fingers along the rigid shape of him through the cotton. “Do you remember? You pressed your lips—”
“Against your cheek. I wanted you to feel my voice when I said, I love you. I belong to you. No matter the time or distance, I’m yours.”
His words decimate me. The severe look on his face accelerates my pulse. His hunger is raw, palpable, and only a couple layers of clothes away from becoming very real inside me.
“Pull me out.” He tangles his fingers in my hair.
My skin tingles and heats as I lower his jeans and underwear and free his swollen length. Jesus, he’s bigger than I remember, thicker, harder, and hungry.
His balls hang heavy and full beneath his jutting cock. A clear bead of arousal wells on the plump tip, and I ache to catch it with my tongue.
“I need you to take the edge off.” His voice strangles. “It’s been too long, and… Goddamn, stop staring at it.” His features tense as if he’s in pain. “Put it in your mouth, Conor.”
I slide my lips over his shaft, relishing the taste of that salty drop. I draw him in until he bumps the back of my throat, and his growly groan envelopes me, urging me to suck root to tip and back again.
He tightens the fist in my hair, and I let myself go, tonguing the velvety skin with a yearning I’ve only ever felt with him.
The room pulses with our uneven breaths, and the rug offers little comfort beneath my knees. But I’m exactly where I want to be. Where I’m supposed to be.