Page 7
Chapter
Seven
GINGER
“ W ell?” Roscoe asks dazedly as our breathing slows. “Are you ready to punch me yet?”
I laugh, feeling the angry spot on my shoulder where he bit me. “I’m not bleeding, but you are.” My eyes round as I look at the fingertips I raise from his clawed back, guilt seizing me.
“It’s all good, Sweetness,” he intones. “I want you to leave your mark on me. Besides, I made a mess of your pussy.”
I exhale sharply, staring at the cave floor until he commands, “Look at me, Sweetness. We need to talk about what happened.”
Worrying my bottom lip, my eyes meet his.
His face twitches, too many emotions washing over his expression for me to read. His voice comes out like a desperate sigh, throbbing and raw, “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I knew it would make you stop, and I didn’t want you to. I needed this experience with you in a way I can’t explain. Like I’m trying to capture a piece of you to keep with me forever.”
He rubs his hand over his face, sighing loudly. “I would have stopped,” he confesses throatily. “How badly did it hurt?” His voice caresses me, tender and soulful.
I shake my head. “I’m fine,” I answer, only half lying. I still straddle him, the pressure from the stretch of his thick cock numbing my pussy.
“I’m guessing you weren’t on birth control?” he asks, an odd edge to his voice. He clenches his jaw, making his beard twitch.
My cheeks flush as I shake my head. His face grows unreadable and impenetrable. “I’m sorry. I should have been more forthright. But the way you make me feel... My brain quits working, and need takes over.”
“Are you ready to pay for this for the next eighteen years?”
“I would pay for it with the rest of my life,” my voice squeaks.
He growls on an exhale. “You’re too good for me. Too fucking good, but I don’t know…”
“Don’t know what?”
“How the fuck I’ll let you go when the time comes.” His eyes redden, and he looks away, swallowing hard.
“Must you?” I stroke his cheek, my voice trembling.
“The only thing I must do is start over with you. Do things right,” he says, quickly swiping the back of his hand over his cheeks before setting his gaze on me. His lashes are moist, his eyes swirling with a depth of emotion I wish I could unravel. “I need another chance to make you feel good, Ginger. To show you what it’s supposed to be like between a man and a woman.”
My heart hammers in my chest, my eyes rounding quizzically. “Okay,” I sigh, anticipation lighting up my nerves.
“Let me get you cleaned up, and then we’ll try this again properly. If you still trust me after that botched-up fucking.”
“Botched up?” My bottom lip trembles. “I loved it. It made me feel so many things I’ve never felt before.”
“Pain shouldn’t be one of them.” He frowns, motioning for me to stand.
My cheeks burn. “Don’t look because there could be blood. I don’t want to gross you out.”
The big Ranger shakes his head, nuzzling my neck and massaging my hips with his big hands. “You could never gross me out.”
“But—”
“It’s not possible.”
I run my hands through his long hair, unceasingly fascinated by his flowing locks and soft beard. In this environment, surrounded by everything uncivilized and untamed, he’s gloriously wild, breathtakingly feral.
“Let me do this right for you,” he growls seductively, urging me to stand and follow behind him as he threads his fingers with mine. “Please.”
I nod, desire and curiosity twisting in my mind.
Stripped down to our souls, he cleans me gently with icy water from the falls and then scrubs his chest and cock briskly. A thick knot forms in my throat as I watch the droplets slide down his chiseled pecs and well-defined abs, anticipation building in my chest with the thrum of my heart.
Guiding me back to the bed of boughs, hands-held, fingers-entwined, he encourages me to lie down, his eyes sliding over my naked body as I recline. He follows, wrapping me in his warm, strong arms and pressing our bodies together. Lying flesh-to-flesh like this is deliciously sensual as his hands roam boundless over my body.
His lips cover mine, kissing me gently as my breath hastens. His hands stroke my cheeks and hair, and he makes out with me, our chests pressed together, our hearts happily slamming against each other.
“Damn, you are a good kisser, Aries,” he pants, finally pulling away to catch his breath with a lopsided grin.
My cheeks burn as I flirt, “The question is, are you Scorpio freaky?”
He chuckles, tweaking my nose playfully. “You have to judge for yourself. But I’d love to spend hours learning your body, every inch of it, and what makes you lose your mind. Get the right toys for you and find a million ways to get you off. Make it my li—” His eyes startle, and he amends his words. “Make it my mission to make your legs shake.”
“I want that,” I whimper, wishing he’d spoken his first impulse.
He smiles sadly, stroking my cheek. “Get comfortable,” he orders, moving towards my feet.
“What’s wrong?”
He shakes his head. “Nothing’s wrong, Sweetness. You’re just so fucking gorgeous. I can’t take my eyes off you. And you do fucked up shit to my heart.”
“Fucked up shit?”
“The best kind of fucked up shit,” he answers. “I’m a Ranger, Ginger, not a poet.”
I giggle as he strokes the outsides of my thighs, a dangerous glint in his eyes. “I’m going to eat you out until your pussy grinds into my face drowning me in your sugar-sweet honey.”
My breath catches in my throat.
Running his thumb over my clit again and pulling a deep groan from me, he says, “I like how you’re fully shaven.”
“Do you?”
“Yeah, it’s so fucking pretty and pink. Like a flower,” he says, splaying my lips open with his forefinger and thumb as the breath hisses in my throat. “And the way your clit sticks out when I do this … begging for me to suck it swollen. You turn me on so fucking hard.”
He laps my pearl to punctuate his statement, swirling his tongue around it greedily before sucking the nub gently into his mouth. I whimper, my hips straying towards his face, unable to string two words together. I thought what we did moments earlier was delectably carnal. But this move drives me mindless.
He chuckles. “You want that. Don’t you?”
“I want you, Roscoe, more than anything.” My eyes meet his, and I see tears swimming above the rim of his lower lashes. He needs to hear these words, so I repeat their sentiment. “I want you, Roscoe, and I need you.” My voice trembles at the end.
The corners of his mouth turn up, and he nods. “I need you, too. More than you could ever know.”
Before I can say another word, his velvety tongue covers my clit, lapping at me. The pressure is unrepentant and unrelenting as he swirls his tongue, slurping my pearl into his mouth and flicking it between his teeth with his tongue. His unruly beard tickles my inner thighs, the perfect contrast to his riotous tongue.
Stars invade my head, and delectable shivers slide up and down my spine as I relax into his possessive touch. I press my palm against my lips, muffling the primal cries he draws from me.
A deep growl wells up from his chest as he continues stroking and teasing me.
“Yes, baby, that’s what I need,” I pant, trembling at his passionate touch. “Please make me yours.”
He hesitates, and I kick myself for saying it like that. But instead of correcting me, repeating that he’s not good enough, he slides his fingers gently through my dripping folds as his tongue explores and tastes me.
“If this hurts at all, or you don’t like it, let me know,” he murmurs.
Penetrating me, his thick finger finds the rough spot at the front of my pussy that always undoes me when I masturbate. “I will give you everything you need. Everything in my power to give,” he promises. Is he talking about an orgasm or something else? The warm tenderness swimming in his eyes confuses and delights me.
He strokes me slowly and skillfully, his mouth teasing and taking me to ecstatic new heights. He makes me feel like the most desirable woman in the world…and the best tasting.
“God, the way your body responds to me, Sweetness… There are no words. Like it’s already mine. Like it recognizes my touch.”
I stifle a cry of pleasure as his finger and tongue send me soaring higher and higher toward some kind of nirvana. I feel unhinged, torn apart by my need for him, frantic to mate with him again and again. To feel alive and whole and make him mine, but I don’t know how to make him love himself, which must come first.
“I fucking love this pussy,” he says worshipfully, lifting his head to stare at me, his face flooded with warmth and tenderness. Something is happening between us, something so sacred and primitive that it requires few words. But each one is heavy with implication and meaning. It’s as if our souls are somehow already touching and communing with each other.
Desperation grips me. How do I hold onto these emotions? How do I keep this rugged mountain man forever?