Page 23 of Up in Smoke (The Bunkhouse #3)

MESA

The sun has set, but the lamp in the corner of the living room still provides enough dim light for me to track his movements.

The faint smell of dried lavender blossoms still floats through the small space from when I made tea earlier. I wish I could bottle up the aroma to get a better whiff. Then again, I’m not sure its soothing effects are strong enough to calm the surge of flutters I’m experiencing right now.

I hold my breath when Tripp’s hands bracket my hips. In one easy motion, I’m lifted to my feet and standing beside the couch in front of him. His legs spread as he scoots to the edge so he’s no more than a breath away from my waist.

The first touch of his lips as he skims them over the bare skin just above my leggings is chilling.

I place my hands on his shoulders to keep myself upright.

Looking down at him, as he practically worships the span of flesh between my hip bones like he’s been waiting lifetimes to do it, is nothing short of euphoric.

I inhale a shallow gasp when he opens his mouth to drag his tongue over the tender spot below my belly button.

There’s already an unfamiliar, pounding pulse in my core, despite him barely touching me.

He might feel it too because he pulls his tongue back into his mouth not a moment later and presses his forehead to my stomach with a deep sigh.

My hands slide over his firm shoulders, inching toward the column of his neck. It’s tan from his days spent in the sun, and I run my thumbs up either side just to feel the fluttering underneath.

His eyes are closed, forehead still pressed to my midsection. I trap my bottom lip between my teeth when he finally resumes kissing my skin. My fingers are tingling with the need to continue their search for new places to touch him.

“If your skin tastes this good,” he groans, rubbing a circle with his thumb just above my hip bone, “then I know I’m in for a treat when it’s your sweet cunt under my tongue instead.”

My hum of approval comes instantly. A fact that shocks me, if I’m honest. I want his mouth where the wetness is pooling underneath my panties right now. The visual alone has me desperate for it. Not a single intimidated or self-conscious thought clouds my desire like I thought it might.

“I already know how smart you are.” He lifts his gaze to mine. “But are you a fast learner too, Mesa Kate?”

I lean closer as I contemplate my response. Tripp waits patiently for me to speak. His hands do the exact opposite by pulling the sides of my elastic waistband down.

“I’d like to think so,” I answer honestly. It’s hard to be anything but truthful when I’m currently being stripped of my pants. “Most of the time.”

“Good.”

“What if I’m not?”

“Then I’ll have you ten different ways by the end of the week until you catch on.”

Don’t scream.

Don’t squeal.

After I step out of my leggings, Tripp tosses them somewhere behind me and scoots back. His shoulders and hips line up with the back of the couch, legs spread. I wonder if he’s going to tell me to get on my knees.

I’m surprised when he reaches toward me, hooks his index finger through the center of my bra again, and pulls. It makes me smile that he’s done that twice now.

My hands instinctively shoot up in front of me. They land on his chest, and I fall forward.

Tripp pulls me even closer with his finger still hooked in my bra. His other hand scoops under my backside, lifting and then setting me back down to sit in his lap once my legs are bent on either side of him.

My fingers curl into his shirt. He smirks and stares down at my chest that’s rapidly rising with little pants.

“What now?” I whisper.

The distance between us as I straddle him disappears completely with one firm press of his hand on my lower back. I circle my arms around his neck.

“There’s no checklist to follow,” he chuckles. It’s warm against my skin.

Maybe I expected a clear order of operations. Proven steps to follow. A direction to take that he knows firsthand will get the job done and leave me satiated but unattached. Maybe I hope for him to switch to instructor mode and pull out a lesson plan.

His mouth finds the edge of my jaw, and my thoughts scatter like marbles on tile.

“But you could start with not holding up your weight anymore,” Tripp says between languid kisses.

Each word against my skin makes me shiver. My eyes close, and I tilt my head as his mouth works closer to my ear.

I hadn’t realized I was keeping myself from being fully seated on his lap. The burn in my thighs confirms I’ve been holding myself up. Just enough.

Two hands smooth over the tops of my thighs in the next second. Protecting myself against feeling what’s underneath those jeans of his is no longer an option, and I sink down fully.

I’m glad, too. Because god , the friction is heavenly.

My body takes over on pure instinct. The first grind of my hips makes Tripp’s eyes slam shut. The second pushes a moan up my throat.

“Now every time you breathe out,” he whispers in my ear, “let your tension go with it. Relax.”

My shoulders drop on command with my next breath as I try to lose the last bits of rigidness left in my muscles, even as he unhooks my bra and throws it to the side. The stiffness in my arms dissipates soon after, and I melt into his warm body.

All because he told me to.

Following his directions seems automatic. Something in his voice. Something in the trust built between us. I’ll follow any of his commands as long as it keeps feeling this good.

I’m aware of how close our mouths are. If he pulls his head back just a few inches, we’ll be face-to-face again, and he’ll see it in my eyes—just how terribly I want to know what it’s like to press our lips together.

It’s always been my favorite part about sex. The one thing I know I won’t mess up.

He barely lifts his hips. Still, it’s enough to press his hard length against my clit. What unbridled confidence possesses me to rub against him and drop my head to bury another moan into his neck, I’ll never know.

It feels a lot like comfortable surrender. A lot like letting go.

“Does it make you feel powerful? Feeling what you do to me?”

My hips move against him again, this time earning me a deep groan from Tripp’s rumbling chest.

“Yes,” I breathe out in an almost pained whisper.

There’s an even more untamed part of me dying to break free right now. I think it’s because I’m searching for relief—closer to the brink than I’ve been in a long time, if ever.

“That’s it, Mace. You already know exactly what your body wants you to do.” His voice isn’t distracting me, instead spurring me on. I suck in every bit of available oxygen into my lungs when he drags a knuckle through the center of my panties. “Look at me.”

It takes massive effort to pull my head from the safe space in the crook of his neck. When our eyes meet, he runs his finger back up, landing right on my clit. With firm pressure, he makes two impossibly slow circles with his thumb.

My mouth drops open, and I’m tempted to close my eyes to savor the sparks of pleasure coursing through my veins. The second my lids drift down though, he pauses his movement.

“I said, look at me.”

This time, I unblock every single emotion behind my gaze. His eyes bore into mine like they might reveal every secret he’s ever cared to know.

My fingers grip the hair at the back of his head with no restraint. It lifts a corner of his mouth a tiny bit. Tighter— tighter —until he’s wincing and fully smiling at the same time, as if he relishes the pain.

For a quick few seconds, my eyes leave his, scanning his body beneath mine. Even though he’s been steering the ship, I love the small sense of command being on top of him gives me.

Long, lean arms around me. Narrow hips pressing his rough hand into my core. Every part of him is drenched in lust, and I have to blink three times to remind myself to stay present.

This is happening. And it’s happening with the most drool-worthy man on planet Earth. Before he has a chance to redirect my line of sight again, I return to his eyes.

“Tell me something you want before I keep going.”

“Take your shirt off,” I blurt out in one breath.

As quickly as he reaches for the back of his shirt collar and pulls it forward and over his head, his hands are back on me.

“Better?”

I nod. Nothing could have stopped me from dragging my fingertips down his chest and over his abs. Solid, bare muscle has never looked or felt this good.

The sleeve of tattoos on his left arm is the only place decorated with ink, and there’s something intentional and dramatic about it that makes me want to mark the untouched skin on his chest with a bite or two.

He searches my eyes while I try not to whimper as his thumb increases pressure and movement over my clit.

“Kiss me,” he says.

I’m usually the one chasing down a kiss in situations like this. Tripp wants it and isn’t afraid to make that clear. I run my tongue over my lips and lock in on his expression, searching desperately to detect any hesitation. I only have half a second to try and find something that was never there.

He falls back, pulling me with him and crashing our lips together before I have a chance to fulfill his request. One closed-mouth kiss turns instantly to colliding tongues. It’s smooth but infused with heat. My chest presses against his. His head tilts left as mine tilts to the right.

It’s not gentle in any sense of the word. No warning comes before my panties are yanked to the side, and his middle finger pushes inside me.

“ Fuck ,” I breathe out, leaning away from our kiss to momentarily lose my mind.

“Do you have any idea how sexy it is that you’re so wet? I’m weak for that shit, Mace. You’re soaking my hand, and it feels perfect.”

I gasp as he pulls out of me and brings the finger to his mouth. Even without him working inside me, somehow, the tingles rage on.

He hums deep, and it makes me shiver. The sight of his lips wrapped around the taste of me makes me tremble even more.

It’s fuel to the fire building under my skin. I haven’t thought too hard since he directed me to get out of my head. But now, the realization is inescapable, and I can’t help but let the thought take shape. I’m already close. So close.

A tiny marching band makes its way to the finish line in my mind, poised and ready for the loud and celebratory moment when I finally smash through the banner.

I bite the corner of my bottom lip and smile as Tripp returns his hand to my opening. When I crash down on his chest again and our lips meet for the second time, the new flavor on his tongue is sinfully erotic. I love it more than I expected to. More than I should.

I pull away with a sudden realization. I’m going to like this part way too much, I know it. “Should we be kissing? Maybe we should have made a rule about not doing that.”

Meanwhile, I’m internally hoping he disagrees. Please disagree. Please .

He’s caught off guard and looks sad about it for a split second. I almost giggle because of it.

“I’ve been finger-fucking you. And you’re worried about kissing?”

“It’s intimate?—”

He pulls my face to his and huffs a tiny laugh. His definitive words barely slip out before he forces our lips together again. “You’re done making suggestions for now. That’s my job. More kissing.”

He devours me then, hungry and urgent. If he wants more, I damn sure do. Not just more kissing, but more of everything else he is doing. Without me saying it . . . he knows.

My tells. My quirks. He knows them all.

This time with two fingers, he sinks back into me. My lips cease movement, and I sigh into his mouth.

Rather than pumping them in and out, his fingers curl. There’s no slow build. It continues—intense and precise. Again, and again. While squeezing my eyes closed and riding the rhythm of his way-too-talented fingers, he attempts to pull my lips back to his.

“Please don’t stop. Keep going,” I beg quietly.

He breathes in my words like they’re shaped of air instead of sound. “If you were any sexier right now, I’d think I was dreaming, Mace. No fucking way am I stopping.”

But that last part was a lie.