Page 38 of The County Line (Whitewood Creek Farm #2)

I grab her by the hips and toss her over my shoulder like she weighs nothing, my hand gripping her thigh possessively as I stalk toward the RV. Her breath catches with a surprised laugh, but it turns into something softer, needier, when I kick open the flimsy plastic door and carry her inside.

The rain-slick scent of earth still clings to her skin as I make my way to the back, where the wide bed takes up most of the bedroom. I drop her onto the mattress with a little bounce, and she lands sprawled and breathless, her hair fanned out like a dream.

I’m on her in the next breath, my hands moving with urgency and reverence. I kneel at her feet, fingers curling around the heels she wore to the funeral—black and elegant, like she’d dressed for war.

One at a time, I slip them off and toss them over my shoulder.

Then come the nylons.

Slow. Deliberate. I drag the sheer fabric down her thighs, watching the way it clings to her damp skin before peeling free.

Her breath hitches as the cool air brushes over her, and goosebumps rise in their wake.

I smooth a hand over the path I’ve just uncovered, needing to feel every inch of what it’s like to touch her.

She watches me, her chest rising and falling fast, her blue eyes darkened with heat, pupils blown wide. There’s a flush on her cheeks that has nothing to do with the temperature.

“Lean up,” I murmur, my voice rough with the control I’m hanging onto by a thread.

She obeys instantly, sitting forward so I can reach around her and drag the zipper down her back. The sound is loud in the tight space, like a promise. I ease the dress off her shoulders, letting my knuckles graze her bare skin, then guide her back down to the mattress.

I peel the dress from her, slow again, savoring every second as it lifts over her hips and off completely—until she’s lying there in nothing but a black bra and matching panties.

Damn.

“This body…” I whisper, drinking her in like she might vanish. “You hide it under cargo pants and those baggy police uniforms, but it’s fucking criminal how beautiful you are.”

Her lips part, a breathless sound escaping her as her eyes go wide, and for a second, she looks stunned—like no one’s ever looked at her this way before. And that’s a damn tragedy.

“Beautiful,” I repeat, low and reverent. “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, Molly.”

A shiver rolls across her skin as her thighs press together, and I know we’re both toeing the edge of something that’s been building for years. And we’re just getting started.

“You drive me wild. You, make me feel things I thought I was too damaged to feel ever again.”

I lean forward and peel her underwear from her legs, my breath slowing as her glistening pussy comes into view. She looks utterly delectable, soft and inviting, a vision I’ve craved since the first time I tasted her in my childhood bedroom.

It was dark then—shadows hiding the full glory of her body.

Now, with the sunlight filtering through the RV’s small window, I take in every curve, every dip, every part of her.

Her full breasts, tight nipples and curvy hips.

The slight patch of dark hair at the top of her pussy draws my eyes downward, pointing like an arrow to my new favorite treat.

I lick my lips, anticipation coiling tight in my gut.

She watches me, her chest rising and falling, and then reaches back, unhooking her bra like she can’t wait for me to finish.

Her strong, toned body is there, laid bare for me to play with. Everything about her is on display, a feast laid out just for me. Any lingering doubt about how I’ll take her vanishes, though that small, nagging fear that I might disappoint her still clings to the edges of my mind.

“You sure you want this?” I ask, my voice gravelly with need because despite how hard I am and how much I need her right now, I’ll always stop if she tells me to.

“I do,” she breathes, her voice tight and hungry. “Will you undress?”

“Not yet. First, your pussy is mine.”

And then I dive in, pressing my tongue into her opening as far as I can, tasting her, teasing her, letting her slick warmth coat my face and beard. She gasps, arching into me, her hands gripping my head, holding me in place as I get to work.

“Yes, Colt,” she moans, her voice a siren call that drives me wild. “Yes, fuck yes,” she groans.

My nose presses against her clit, and her fingers rake across my scalp, scraping sharply. I tilt my head up just enough to watch at her and catch her smile. “My favorite,” I groan against her soaked pussy.

“Colt,” she pleads. “I want you to fuck me.”

I pull back, my lips and chin wet with the taste of her.

The raw need in her voice shatters what little control I have left.

Standing, I yank my dress pants off and toss them to the side, and strip away my black T-shirt.

My cock stands hard and heavy against my stomach, aching for her.

I grip it, giving a slow, deliberate stroke as I stand at the end of the bed, staring down at her tight, perfect pussy.

She sits up on the bed, her tongue darting out to wet her lips. Her hands find my hips, pulling herself closer as she scoots to the edge, her eyes locked on mine.

“Let me suck you off first,” she whispers, her voice dripping with want.

Fuck.

Her hands wrap around me, both working together to fully encircle my shaft, and then she starts to stroke—slow at first, just enough pressure to tease, to torture.

My cock stiffens even harder in her grip, each glide of her palms sending sparks down my spine until they gather at the base of my neck.

I groan low in my throat, twisting my head side to side as tension cracks loose in every joint like she’s not just touching my body—she’s unlocking it.

Releasing all the stiffness that I didn’t realize I’d had.

Then she lowers her head. Her lips brush over my crown, soft, plump, and warm, before she parts them and closes them around my tip. She squeezes gently at the same time, just enough to make my legs tense beneath me.

“Fuck me, Molly.”

It comes out like a prayer. A plea. A curse.

Her tongue flicks against the sensitive tip, teasing me with the lightest swirl before she pulls back, licking down the thick vein along the side, dragging the flat of her tongue until I’m soaked, until I feel the cool contrast of the air on my skin, and it makes me twitch in her hands.

Then she wraps her lips around me again and starts to sink downward, slow, confident, taking me in inch by inch. Her mouth is hot and slick, her tongue cradling the underside of my cock like she was made for this and knows exactly what she’s doing. She goes deeper.

And deeper.

Until her nose nudges my pelvis and her throat flexes around me like a fucking miracle.

“Goddamn it,” I groan, one hand bracing on the window beside me, the other sliding to the back of her head. Her hair’s like silk between my fingers, and I tangle my grip there—not to control her, but because I’m barely staying upright.

No gag reflex for Molly. That’s one hell of a surprise.

She hums around me, a low, satisfied sound that vibrates through the thickest part of me and has me seeing stars. I’ve dreamt about this—about her—more nights than I’ll admit out loud. And now, the fantasy isn’t just real, it’s better. So much better.

I grunt when she tries to swallow, deeper this time, and gags just slightly.

The way she tightens around me nearly drops me to my knees.

She makes a noise I swear I’ll replay in my mind for the rest of my life—a desperate, needy whimper as she pulls back, lips stretched, wet and glistening, her breath heavy through her nose.

Usually pink and full, her mouth is pale now from the effort, flushed only with the smear of precum. She licks her lips, circles her tongue around the head again, dipping briefly into the slit, before she takes me all the way in once more, her throat opening like a gift.

Seven inches down, and she doesn’t flinch. Meanwhile, my knees are buckling, and my head feels like it’s not screwed on right.

My grip tightens in her hair, and I let out a long, broken sound that might’ve once been her name.

She’s wrecking me. And I never want her to stop.

When she takes me again, I can feel that familiar ache in my balls.

It’s a tightening. A zing that goes from my toes up into my sack.

I haven’t cum with a woman in so fucking long, I feel like I’m going to blow all over her face before I even get inside of her.

“Stop!” I bark out, causing her to pull back, her eyes going wide in shock. “I’m not coming in your mouth first. I’m coming inside of you tonight.”

Her eyes widen as I lift her back onto the bed then crawl up to meet her before laying on my back and flipping her until she’s on top of me.

I lift her hips over my crown and point it at her opening.

She’s so wet and ready for me, I can feel the slickness glide all over my bare top like a sloppy kiss.

“You on birth control, Molly?”

“Yes,” she responds.

“Good, because even if you weren’t, I wasn’t planning on wearing a condom. Been thinking about being inside of this sweet heat for too damn long and I think what we have between us deserves this.”

She nods, her breath catching as I release her hips, letting her slowly sink down onto me and fuck me I was right.

The sensation is indescribable—her tight, wet pussy gripping me, surrounding me in a way I haven’t ever felt before.

Not like this. Not with someone who means this much .

The pleasure climbs my spine, spreading in hot, electric waves that pool low in my groin.

I grit my teeth, fighting for control, hating how close I am to finishing already.

It’s been too long, I’m hardly inside of her but she’s too damn perfect.