Page 25 of The Back Forty (Whitewood Creek Farm #5)

Lawson's breathing stills as he leans forward into me. “Fuck, Dani.”

His hands move again with more confidence, and when his thumbs part me open, he just…stares . Like he’s taking in a painting. Or a sunrise. Or something he never thought he’d get to see up close.

“You’re so fucking wet for me,” he says, voice full of praise. He presses the pads of his thumbs inside my opening just barely, and lets out this groan that sounds like it’s been dragged out of him against his will. “So tight. So warm.”

This is your boss, Dani.

This is your boss.

You tease each other.

That's all this is to him.

“You’re unreal,” he murmurs. “So fucking sexy.”

Okay, maybe this isn't just a bet anymore.

Then he leans forward. His beard drags over the inside of my thighs, the coarse scrape of it setting off a brand new wave of sensation that has my back arching off the couch. And then his lips close around my clit, and he sucks .

“W-whoa, whoa—” I gasp, sounding like a damn cowboy reining in a wild horse. My hands fly to his hair, threading through it on instinct, though I’m not even sure if I’m allowed to touch him. Aren’t I supposed to be proving something to him?

What am I trying to prove?

God, I have no idea.

Because his tongue is circling my clit now, not touching it directly, which should be a crime, but just around it and every rotation is winding me tighter and tighter with need.

“You’re edging me,” I groan out, wishing he'd move his tongue a little to the center to flick over what’s desperate for him.

He pulls back with a smirk and blows a stream of cool air across my soaked center.

“I’m showing you what your toy can’t do.”

“My toy moves faster than this.”

He snorts. “Exactly. You have no patience. There’s no anticipation. The slow tension? That’s what makes you come harder and feel more satisfied.”

"Well, right now I'm not satisfied." Which is a lie because having his mouth, tongue and hands on me is the definition of satisfaction.

He chuckles. "Patience, Dani."

Then he replaces his thumbs with two of his long, thick fingers and pushes them deep inside me, curling them upward just right into my core, right into a spot that no toy can ever reach. His other hand presses at the top of my pelvis down to meet it and I swear I see stars.

“Oh, shit,” I cry out, clenching around him.

He watches me, a crooked smile tugging at his mouth. “You like that?”

“That spot—right there,” I pant, my nipples tightening as he lowers his mouth again. His tongue resumes its torturous rhythm, licking slow, deliberate circles around my clit before finally dragging across it in quick, slick flicks.

“Y-yes, ugh, yes—”

Look, I know what you’re thinking, and I can tell that you're judging me right now.

This is supposed to be about proving to him that my toy is better, but no man, and I promise you no man, has ever taken his time with me like this.

Has ever wound me up so tightly that I feel like a coil, about to burst.

This isn’t about experimenting anymore, this is about experiencing, and I fear I’ll never be able to look at Lawson’s mouth, beard or tongue the same after this.

His hand releases my pelvis and grips my thigh harder, spreading me even wider to make room for his shoulders, anchoring me as I rock against his mouth. The friction of his beard, the heat of his tongue, the pressure of his fingers—it’s all spiraling, building and tightening into red, hot need.

“I’m—fuck—I’m so close,” I gasp, clawing at his hair, my hips tilting up desperately.

And then, right when I'm almost there, he stops . Tears his mouth away from me, but keeps his fingers buried deep, still curling and pumping as he locks eyes with mine.

“W-what are you doing?!” I shout in frustration.

“I need to stop,” he says, voice rough, lips glistening with me. “If you’re close already.”

My brain short-circuits.

“Why!?” I shout again. “It’s been like fifteen minutes of torture!”

He chuckles. “It’s been like three minutes tops, Dani. You said you didn’t like edging. That you didn't like the slow burn.” His gaze is molten. “I’m showing you that you’re wrong.”

“Why?” I manage to squeak out, breath shaky.

“Why are you torturing me? No woman reading a romance novel wants the slow burn torture to drag out for this long.

Eventually, we just need them to get it on so that they can have a release.

" Well, that's not entirely true. I do enjoy a good, torturous slow burn romance where two people fight everything inside them to not be together.

"And no woman wants to be teased when all she wants is an orgasm.”

Lawson’s voice deepens as his gaze locks on mine.

“Dani, I’m torturing myself more than you right now.

All I want to do is suck that sweet clit into my mouth and bury my face in your pussy.

I want to fill you up and then taste your pussy dripping with my cum in it.

I’m hard as a rock and probably leaking in my denim right now. ”

My brain blips for half a second as I try to process that. I wish I could see him better, but he’s kneeling, so his dick is somewhere pressed against the front of the couch hidden from my view.

“Then do it,” I hiss, throwing every ounce of logic and professionalism to the wind.

Screw decorum. Screw whatever the Marshall HR manual would say about this. I want his mouth on me. I want to come on his tongue and cock again and again.

He chuckles, wicked and warm, and then without warning, he pulls his fingers out, grips my waist and flips me around so I’m facing the back of the couch. My elbows dig into the cushions, knees on the seat as I steady myself. I’m on all fours, my ass in the air, completely exposed to him.

“What’s happening?” I ask, heart jackhammering as I glance over my shoulder and try to catch his gaze.

“I’m tasting you from a different angle.”

Any lingering embarrassment about him being my boss? Gone. I’m still wearing my sweatshirt, but everything else is bared to him, and Lawson now has a full, unobstructed view of my ass and pussy from behind.

His big hands run down the curve of my spine before spreading my cheeks apart. Cool air hits my rim, and I flinch. I’m not sure whether I should clench or relax but I definitely just clenched.

“You ever had your ass played with before?” he murmurs, sounding both amused and curious as his fingers brush over my puckered hole.

Yep, just clenched again. Is that sexy or am I totally blowing this whole foreplay thing?

“Feels like a question my boss probably shouldn’t be asking.”

He leans forward, chest pressed against my back, voice gravel in my ear. “But fucking your pussy with my fingers until you come is fair game? Tasting your slick clit and rubbing my beard on your thighs is appropriate?”

Before I can snap back with a snarky answer, two thick fingers curl deep inside me. I cry out, arching into the pressure as he starts to pump, the angle hitting just right to light my body on fire.

Damn, why does it feel this good to be fingered by him?

His other hand finds my clit, rubbing in tight, fast circles, making my legs tremble.

My arms are jelly, my core’s unraveling, and I’m so close to the point that I think he might finally let me come.

The pressure builds, and I chase it, chase him , ready to fall apart until he pulls his hand away again, stopping the release immediately.

I let out a pathetic whine. "Why are you torturing me?" My cheeks are flushed, my chest is sensitive, and my pussy’s throbbing with need.

“I'm not letting you come on my fingers,” he says. “It’s my face tonight, Dani. I told you, I’m proving a point, remember?”

And then he drops his mouth to me from behind. Tongue flat, he licks me from clit to slit, slow and claiming, before he plunges it inside of me deep and greedy with a groan. His tongue is long, and I just know in that moment, he’s probably a hell of a kisser too.

I scream when he sucks down on my clit, my body jerks back into his face like I’ve lost all control, which let's be honest, I have.

His beard scrapes my thighs, his fingers find my clit again, and he devours me.

Growling. Groaning. Saying things like “You taste like honey and woman.

" "Best pussy I've ever had," and “I can’t get enough of this cunt,” while his tongue drives into me with an urgency that makes my knees threaten to give out.

Lawson was right.

The teasing, the edging, everything that’s lead up to this moment has made it so much more sensitive and intense. And to think I never liked foreplay until now.

“Lawson, fuck— fuck , I’m coming,” I gasp, the words nearly unintelligible through the pleasure building in every cell of my body.

“Give it to me, baby. Come on my face.”

That’s all it takes.

My orgasm detonates. It’s wild, uncontrollable, explosive. I cry out as I shatter, thighs shaking, hips bucking, body pulsing. I squirt, at least I think I do because that’s a first, and Lawson groans, deep and dirty.

“Shit, Dani—fuck yeah,” he growls like he’s the one coming. His mouth moves over me, working me through it, lips and tongue and praise and filth until I collapse over the back of the couch with my arms, completely boneless and spent.

But he doesn’t stop.

He keeps kissing my pussy, my clit, my thighs, murmuring how sweet I taste, how fucking good I just came. I don’t remember the moment he scoops me up, but I’m in his arms, pressed to his chest, and then I’m being lowered onto a soft bed— my bed, I realize hazily.

He disappears for a second, then returns with a warm, damp wash cloth. I flinch when he touches between my legs, but he’s gentle and careful. Just like the way he was in Texas when he dressed me, brushed my teeth and tucked me into bed.

And when he’s done, he looks down at me with eyes I can’t read. Tender. Intense. There’s a tent in his pants, an unmistakable sign of his arousal, and I open my mouth to say something, but he just shakes his head, a slow smile curling at the edges of his lips.

“I can—” I start, but my voice is scratchy and wrecked. It’s been a long day, and that orgasm just ended whatever strength I had left in me.

“Just say I was right. That’ll be enough for me for tonight,” he says.

I try to sit up, but my muscles give out, so I flop back and laugh, throwing an arm over my eyes. “You were right. You were so fucking right. Happy now?”

He chuckles. “Very, actually.”

“I mean, unless you want to attach your face to me permanently, I’m still gonna need the vibrator.”

His eyes darken as he watches me, silent, unreadable again, and I wonder what’s running through his mind.

Was this just about the debate? Was that all it ever was?

Or did something shift between us downstairs?

Did I take things too far with that comment?

Why is it so fucking confusing with him sometimes?

Why can I read his mind before he says something in a boardroom but out of it, I have no idea what he's thinking.

“Good night, Dani,” he says finally. And then he turns and walks out, disappearing into the hall before I can say another word, leaving me tangled in the sheets with a messy head, a satisfied pussy, and way too many big, stupid feelings.

I guess it was just about the stupid argument after all.