Page 32 of A Furever Home (Gaynor Beach Animal Rescue #8)

“He could’ve killed you.” I suddenly felt dizzy, looking at that wound and imagining what it might have done if he’d hit Arthur in the chest or the head. I forced my eyes away. “Attempted murder. He should be locked up forever.”

Arthur let go of one shoulder to cup my cheek in his wide palm. “I love how fierce you are for me, but it was an accident, mostly.” He added, “I asked the cops if they were feeding his chickens, but they’d dumped the duty on Pam at the rescue. As if she needs more work.”

“Pam?”

“She runs the local in-home fostering program. I used to do that, but when I got the chance to start the shelter and save more pets, I jumped on it.”

I bet you did. Arthur was a protector through and through.

“She still does vital work. The shelter helps, but there are always more pets and some who don’t do well in a crate.

And chickens.” He actually chuckled. “I got a huffy text string from Kevin complaining that the sheriff wouldn’t let him volunteer to feed Frank’s chickens.

Conflict of interest. Kevin insisted helping Frank’s birds should show he was unbiased, so not a conflict but proof of goodwill.

He was peeved they forbade it. But I’m glad if the cops are keeping the kid away from a man like that, even while he’s in jail. ”

I scowled. “I hope the bastard serves a bunch of time. He hurt you.”

“My sexy defender.” Arthur rubbed his thumb across my lip, then put his hand back on my shoulder as his eyes darkened. “Get me naked.”

He’d worn socks in the house so I slipped off one, baring his knobby, pale foot, and then the other. I helped him ease his ankles from the sweats and boxers until he stood naked before me. “You okay?”

“If we slow down or stop every time you ask that, we’ll never actually make it to bed. Let me lean on you and I’ll get in.”

I guided him, yanked the covers down, and eased him onto the bed.

He really did look much better, at least to me, than he had in a while.

The furrow in his brow had smoothed out, telling me that must’ve been a sign of pain.

His color was good, cheeks flushed, not pale, and the creases by his eyes were smile wrinkles.

He ran a hand down his broad chest, his eyes on mine.

God, I want him. Within a few moments my shoes, socks, jeans, boxer briefs, and henley were a distant memory. I ran a finger over my abdomen. “You’re not the only one with scars.” I didn’t want to explain it now, but the surgery had left its mark, only now beginning to fade.

“Saw that last time. Don’t care.” Arthur smiled. “You take my breath away.”

That felt a little fanciful, but given what he’d endured in the past two weeks, I could understand. Our meeting had begun with a bang, and it’d been dramatically up and down ever since. And to be honest, my breathing wasn’t all that steady right now either.

He held out a condom.

I grinned and took it.

He appeared relieved.

I scooted over to grab the bottle of lube, and then headed back to the man waiting with his arms open.

He’d eased his injured leg to the side, flat on the bed, and raised the other leg.

The pain wrinkle hadn’t returned as he lightly stroked his erect cock.

I scooted between his thighs. Then sighed.

“I wanted this to be all romantic and stuff. Go super slow, kiss every inch. Last time—” You were injured.

“And this time—” I want to take my time…

“You have a sister waiting. It’s okay. We’ll find a moment, when everything’s calmed down, to go slow.” He squeezed his shaft. “I’m pretty desperate here—so I’m good with fast even if your younger sister wasn’t home alone.”

“I’m going to not think about sisters.” For a few minutes, anyway. I held the bottle of lube. “Do you mind if I prep you? I kind of like?—”

“I don’t mind lying back and letting you do the work. At all.” He held my gaze. “It’s been a little while.”

“Oh.” The local gay men were blind, not to see what they had in their midst. At the same time, I could imagine he was so busy he didn’t take time for himself. Between the shelter and his wonderful menagerie, he’d barely been able to slow down after having been shot. “Let me know if I go too fast.”

In the interest of moving things along, I opened the condom packet and rolled the rubber on my very perky cock.

My touch and the sight of Arthur waiting, open for me, turned perky to rock hard.

Truly, Arthur was lovely—all strong muscles under the soft padding, ginger hair, and pale skin.

Even the bullet wound didn’t mar his unique perfection.

I coated my fingers with lube.

He grinned.

I leaned forward and ran my fingers around his rim.

He nodded.

Slowly, I slid one finger in, his ass giving way easily, and enjoyed the heat and his soft groan.

I loved prepping partners with whom I had a connection—but there hadn’t been many.

Hookups were mostly one and done. I savored the intimacy that this act brought with it when deeper feelings were involved.

Like now, with this man. After I gauged Arthur was fine, I added a second finger.

He held my gaze with an intensity that nearly robbed me of breath. “I’m okay.”

I chuckled. “And I didn’t even have to ask.” I scissored my fingers, opening him up a little. Then I twisted my wrist in just that perfect way and brushed his prostate.

He gasped. “Yep. That’s it.”

A drop of precum dripped from his tip onto his belly.

I leaned forward to lick it, reveling in the salty taste.

I wanted to do everything at once—give him a blow job, fuck him until he came hard…

make gentle love to him so I could prove how much I treasured him.

How much he meant to me. Because I had the distinct impression Arthur didn’t always feel he was worth the effort. Well, to me, he absolutely was.

Still, I slowly withdrew my hands. I coated my cock with lube as he grinned. Perhaps a little nervous, but a smile nonetheless.

I bent and kissed his soft stomach. “I’ll take care of you.”

“I know you will.” His words were quiet and sure.

I eased his good leg up over my hip, angling away from the bad one, and positioned myself over him so my cock nudged his entrance.

Again, he nodded—giving me the permission I sought.

I pressed in, reveling in the pleasure as his tight body accepted me.

When my crown breached him, he blinked and then offered that shy smile I loved so much.

Once inside him, I started to move, slowly, inch by self-torturing inch.

I’d withdraw a bit, then push in. Pull back, thrust forward.

Over and over, driving farther inside. Connecting us in a way that expanded in my chest.

“I’m good.” He said the words as I seated myself deep.

“I’ll—” I sought the right word. “—take care.”

“You can be vigorous. I’m not going to break.”

No, he wouldn’t. Because I’d never go too rough. Never do anything that might hurt him. He hadn’t shown a single sign of his head being a problem, and even though I didn’t entirely trust him to be honest, I also had to believe he trusted me enough to speak up if he needed a break—or even to stop.

I pulled out and thrust back in.

He grunted. In a good way.

Over and over, I drove deep inside Arthur, pleasuring him, pleasuring myself, our gasps and grunts melding.

Increasing the force as I took him higher and higher.

Chasing my own orgasm. “Can you jack yourself?” At the moment, I focused on not jostling his leg too much.

Or pushing his head against the headboard.

Or any of the other things I might do to hurt him, as spiraling need made it hard to focus.

He grasped his cock and jerked to the punishing rhythm I set. I chased my orgasm, even as I clung to the fact I wanted him to come first. My partners coming first didn’t always happen—but I rejoiced when it did. For Arthur, I was damned well going to make it happen.

Come on. Come on, Arthur. I watched a flush creep up his neck and his eyes darken.

“I’m coming.” He gasped the warning two strokes before his cock erupted. Slick spunk spilled over his hand and a jet hit my chest. He groaned, deep and low, and shuddered again.

“Thank fuck,” I muttered, hanging on to the edge of my own release by the skin of my teeth.

“Yeah. Fuck, yeah.” As his channel squeezed me hard, my own orgasm overtook me.

Release sent me flying right off the cliff and over the ocean.

Threw me into the vastness, and the rolling thunder of the waves.

I shut my eyes, release sparking over every nerve. This was every pleasure I’d ever known, every moment when I felt as big as the universe. I suddenly wanted to go to the sea with Arthur. To sit on the sand, at night, and gaze at the moon. Count the stars. Share this incredible feeling.

I’d never seen the ocean before leaving my family’s home.

Now, I walked on the boardwalk whenever I could, and the power and peace of it spoke to me.

From now on, the crash of the waves and that feeling of flying free would remind me of Arthur.

All this fanciful shit that had nothing and everything to do with this moment of connection. I blinked.

Our gazes locked.

That had been—bar none—the most intense climax of my life.

A sign Arthur Bjornsson was coming to mean even more to me than I was willing to admit.

Because even if we’d just sat on the sofa and cuddled tonight, I realized the intensity of my feelings would’ve been the same. Intimacy was what I craved.

Having a seventeen-year-old sister as a chaperone would make that difficult going forward. Still, I had to try.

But thinking of Cheyenne and the situation she was in dumped cold water on my bliss. We had to get back. I needed to protect her. She had to come first.

I realized I’d stiffened and looked away, when Arthur said, “Cheyenne.”

That he brought up her name meant he understood my dilemma. My problem. My worry.

“Yeah.” Slowly, I withdrew. “You okay?”

“I’m beyond okay.” He crunched up to grab the back of my head and kissed me. “And Brooklyn?”

“Yeah?”

“We’ll take it slow, and we’ll take care of Cheyenne. But I don’t want this to be the last time you drill me through the mattress.”

“No,” I admitted, meeting those incredible blue eyes. “Me neither.”

Thirty minutes later, after quick showers, quicker packing of the suitcase, and loading the menagerie into my SUV, we headed home.