Page 6

Chapter

Six

GINGER

R oscoe pauses, his lips tantalizingly close to mine, his baby blues washing over my face. The air thickens with anticipation, a primal pulse inhabiting the space between us. A sigh parts my lips, and his eyes tick to my mouth, darkening into two depthless pools.

With an anguished groan, he claims my mouth, all semblance of self-control evaporating in the ferocious heat of his demand. Tremors shudder through me, as if the planet has stopped spinning, and time unwound to a standstill. I slip my fingers from his, clinging frenziedly to his neck, every ounce of pent-up yearning animating me. My lips sting, pressing so tightly against his that I draw blood as we tread the line between passion and pain.

A deep, resonant growl rumbles in his chest, and his hands thread into my hair, locking me against him. His hot, velvety tongue swipes into my mouth, sending shivers of want shuttling up and down my spine to the juncture at the top of my legs. I feel a new tightness there, a great aching throb.

His kiss feels desperate, like his scream in the abyss of the afternoon woods. Our teeth clank together as our heads fight for the right angle. Our hands roam frantically over each other’s bare flesh, breath rising in impetuous pants. He sucks my bottom lip into his mouth, biting it and dragging it with him for one tantalizing second. Ferocious, devouring need consumes me. I chase his lips, and he claims me raucously in return.

Tremors of pleasure run the length of my spine. My pulse pounds cacophonously against my ribs. Animalistic, unthinking, I dissolve into unadulterated appetite.

His beard tickles my cheeks, and his long hair sweeps over my shoulders, veiling me in a world of ravenous intimacy. His stroke deepens, urgent and rhythmic, an unbridled call to deeper, darker pleasures. I’m a live wire, sparking and igniting at every point his flesh touches.

Roscoe’s head drops to my neck with a rough grunt, the hard thrill of his teeth against the vulnerable flesh of my throat, ripping a hedonistic moan from my lips. Everything about him is feral, untamed. It fans a primal need in me that no man has ever exposed—voracious and insatiable.

His hands slide the length of my back, pressing my flesh hard, massaging and squeezing me down to my hips, intensifying the ache tearing me apart from the inside out with each caress. Unrepentantly, I twist in his lap, straddling him and feeling the long, hard length of his cock against my inner thigh with satisfaction. No, wicked anticipation.

His rough hands tighten jealously, his fingers digging into my flesh as he drags my pussy over his lap demandingly, drawing shudders of ecstasy from me as his shaft digs into my moist panties. I arch my hips, grinding back and forth over his boxers, stoking his passion and awakening longing I didn’t know lay dormant in my soul.

Roscoe brings his free hand to the top of my camisole, ravenously tugging it down to my waist as I wiggle my arms free of the spaghetti straps. His eyes blacken, staring at my ample tits. For the first time in my life, I appreciate my plump figure as lust sparks and flames in his eyes.

Dropping his head, he ravages my breast, swirling the areola with his tongue as my nipple hardens, begging for more. I arch back in surrender as he flicks and plays with my tits, alternating sucking and teasing them into aroused peaks. My hips buck, beseeching him for more.

The breath hisses between his teeth as he bites my nipple, wresting a shocked whimper from me as his hand pinches and plays roughly with the other, alternating nibbling and sucking me. Uncontrollable moans and cries fly from my lips. Mindless words … begging him not to stop, entreating him for more, pleading for the mountain man to possess me in savage, reckless ways.

His hands delve greedily beneath the waistband of my lacy panties, grabbing my ass cheeks and pressing my pussy tightly against his massive arousal. I amaze at its transformation from the first kiss to now as my pussy throbs, thoroughly drenched.

A throaty groan escapes Roscoe’s lips, and he rests his mouth against the pulse point of my neck, panting, “I need you so much, Ginger. You have to stop me.”

“No,” I whisper, running my fingers through his hair. “Please, don’t stop ever.”

“Fuck,” he grimaces. “But I can’t be what you deserve. Everything I touch, I hurt or lose. I can’t risk that with you. I can’t … ruin you.”

I palm his cheeks, forcing him to look at me. Overwhelming lust pulses between us. Thick tension impregnates the air, making it impossible to breathe. I need everything about this man—the strength, warmth, and safety he embodies.

This Ranger chose to run toward pain and ugliness to save me. Unlike my father, who abandoned me in so many ways after my parents’ divorce … and every other man who disappointed me after that. I need Roscoe, my savior and angel, with every ounce of my being—the man who makes me feel everything all at once.

“You can’t ruin or hurt me, Roscoe. I won’t allow it.” What a lie! The words tumble out of my mouth, spurred by soul-deep craving. “Please. Don’t. Stop.”

His right hand slides inside my panties, his fingers gliding through my drenched folds. I moan, my head falling back as my hips strain toward his seeking fingers. The cave quiets, our fast-paced breathing and the crackling of the fire the only sounds. “You need me, Sweetness. You’re fucking drenched.”

Sweetness. He’s never called me this before, and I love it. My breath catches in my throat as his skilled fingers explore my folds, teasing the top of my mound. Dousing his fingers in my slick arousal, he circles my clit with his thumb, robbing the breath from my lungs.

“Yes, Roscoe. Please,” I pant, my eyes rolling back in my head. So much has happened in less than twenty-four hours. So many dramatic emotions have gripped me. I need to feel alive after being so certain I would die. I need to feel loved and cherished and as wild as the forest caching us. I need this man to invade and claim.

“I’m clean,” he growls, gripping my hip with his free hand.

“Me, too,” I gasp, my heart slamming against my ribs. I’ve never wanted a man so much in my entire life. I feel like I’m walking through a dream, unable to process anything apart from passion of the blackest and most powerful stripe.

“Goddamn, I need you so much. Beyond all reason,” he declares, lifting my hips so that I hover over him, straddling him on my knees as he tugs off his boxer briefs and recrosses his legs. My throat thickens, my heart pounding out my demand. I exhale sharply at the sight of his rock-hard erection. Without hesitation, he grabs my hip with one hand, using his thumb to recklessly push my panties to the side as he runs the tip of his cock through my wet folds, lightly penetrating me. I exhale sharply, shocked by the unaccustomed pressure and stretch.

His eyes flash to mine. “Wait. You’ve done this before, right?”

“Shh,” I urge, past words and reason. Biting my bottom lip, I use gravity to sheath his rod in one brash, downward thrust, the slickness of my pussy seating him completely inside me. I’m still semi-numb from the cold, which deadens some of the pain. But an acute sting stutters my inhale, and fat tears spring to my eyes. I bury my head against his neck, trembling and silently screaming out anguish as my fingernails dig into his muscular, scarred back.

He grimaces, a deep growl rumbling through his chest. “Dammit, Ginger,” he curses, shaking his head and pausing as if he’s weighing his options. “Fuck.”

“Please don’t stop,” I gasp, trying not to sob.

He growls again, low and quiet like a warning. Silence fills the cave, and my heart breaks, tears flooding my cheeks. I can’t meet his gaze, certain I’ve lost him with the move meant to keep him. I swallow hard, shivering in his lap.

“Please don’t stop,” I rasp again, regret seizing me.

Snagging his finger under my chin, he forces me to look at him. A battle between anger and tenderness rages in his face. The corners of his mouth point down. “Why did you do that?”

I shake my head, horrified by my impulsive action. “Because I can’t stand the thought of losing you.”

He takes a few deep breaths, his whole body taut as fear washes over me. Is he about to reject me? Will he hate me for what I’ve done?

After an interminable silence so tense my chest shudders and struggles to breathe, he runs his hands into my hair, gently massaging my scalp with his fingertips and pressing his forehead to mine with his eyes closed. I immediately relax in his arms, finding my home in the waves of comforting energy flowing from him.

So many acts of compassion have marked my time with Roscoe, but this one wrecks me in the most beautiful way.

Tears pour over my bottom lashes as he urges my head gently toward his, licking the salt from my cheeks before covering my lips with his. Unlike everything we’ve done so far, animalistic and primal, his lips explore mine tenderly, his tongue sliding gently between my parted lips to kiss me like a lover.

My heart stops in my chest as warm waves of affection wash over me, his mouth moving over mine sensually and slowly like I’m his everything. It cements what I already know in my soul. That I love him, well past logic or moderation, in a reckless, impulsive, hellbent fashion. I don’t know how else to do it with him.

His hands caress my flesh, leaving goose-bump trails as a newfound sweetness transforms his movements. It feels like lovemaking, not fucking, his breath warming my cheek.

He showers my face in kisses, inviting me, “Hold onto my neck, Sweetness, and ride me at your own pace. Use my body to make yourself feel good. Take what you need from me. There’s nothing I won’t give you.” He murmurs the last sentence gruffly, his voice tender but controlled.

“I’m sorry,” I sob, staring into his cerulean eyes.

Anger and shame vanish as he whispers, feathering my face with his impossibly soft, kissable lips, “People do crazy stuff when they’ve been through what we’ve been through … when they feel what we feel.”

Feel what we feel? I part my lips to ask what he means, but before I can, his tongue slides into my mouth again, toppling my ability to communicate or think as he swirls and sweeps me into bliss. I tremble in his arms, heating from the inside out, enveloped in an intimacy so powerful and intense that Roscoe no longer feels like an entity separate from me. His heart is open in ways I’ve never felt before, his body radiating connection.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he sighs, his voice awe-filled and trembling, his eyes peering so deeply into mine that I feel like our souls weave together. He pushes a stray hair off my face, palming my cheeks and gently wiping the tears from my eyes as I move over him tentatively, my body hesitant after the initial penetration. “Put your hand on my heart,” he commands. “I want you to feel my soul.”

With my palm pressed to his rock-hard chest, I roll my hips over his cock to the boom of his heartbeat. Everything else dies away. Nothing exists except for us, a searing union born of pain and death, desperation and hope, and the refusal to give up even when life looks impossible.

His breathing increases as my confidence grows, and I slide up and down his shaft, experimenting with the angle and depth, my heart fluttering in my chest. He closes his eyes, his face flooded with pleasure. Deep groans of approval resonate from his chest. His heartbeat urges my hips faster, and their thrusts deeper, booming powerfully and resonantly beneath my palm as I take more and more of him, falling in love with his thick, powerful rod. My pussy tightens, so slick I’m certain I’ll drench his balls.

“Fuck, yes,” he whispers in reverent tones. “The way you ride me … the way you grip my cock is every-fucking-thing.”

Our eyes lock, a soul-deep connection palpably forged. I long to put it in words, confess my love for him. Yet, as I stare raptly into his eyes, his soul tells me things no language could express.

His body tenses as my gushing channel flutters and grips him more tightly, and our fast-paced pants dominate the cave. Suddenly, pressing his big, rough hand over mine where it rests on his chest, he says, “I need you to let me lead now, Ginger. Do you trust me to do that?”

“Yes,” I answer breathily, so in love with him, I can’t utter another word.

“I want to show you how good you make me feel. How good you ride my cock. I want to make you come.”

“So, I’m doing okay?”

Rubbing my cheek, he says so softly I strain to hear him, “Everything you do, everything you are is fucking perfection.”

His hands slide up my back, gripping my shoulders as he changes the angle of his penetration, hitting the bundle of nerves near the front of my pussy that always gets me off when I masturbate. The thrust of his head over my G-spot sends me floating, enveloped in blissful clouds of desire. My unrestrained moans fill the cave.

His breath comes in frantic gulps, and his flesh dampens with beads of sweat as he spits on his thumb, sinking his hand between our bodies and finding my clit. He circles it expertly, the pressure and speed melting me from the inside out as I scream against his shoulder, riding thick waves of pleasure.

“Come for me, Sweetness.”

The cave fills with the musky scents and harried sounds of rutting—fast-paced breaths, naughty wet noises, and flesh smacking flesh, as Roscoe claims me wantonly. My body flies upward, absorbed in overwrought ecstasy, and I climax hard, trembling and riding his cock as I launch his name lustily into the towering silence of the forest.

He pounds me with his thick rod before burying his head in my hair and sinking his teeth roughly into my shoulder to muffle his scream. Thrusting his hips upwards, he floods my pussy with warm waves of cum as he bruises my hips with his grip. I love the dizzy mixture of desperation and devotion, marked by my mountain man in the most primitive ways.