Page 31 of Where the Blacktop Ends (Whitewood Creek Farm #1)

“I close my eyes as I melt into him, wrapping my arms around his neck, pressing my chest against him, trying to eliminate any space that's between us.

A deep groan vibrates from his chest, sending waves of pleasure throughout my entire body as I rock my core downward, feeling the hard length of him between my legs.

His tongue slips deeper, savoring and exploring, as though he’s memorizing every taste, every second, unable to resist even as he tries to take it slow.

His hands are everywhere now: one cupping the back of my head, the other sliding down to my waist, palming my ass as he holds me up, all while treading water.

A small part of me fears that if we stop, he’ll pull away and rethink it all—decide this isn’t the best idea—to give in to what I think we’ve been feeling for weeks.

But I don’t want it to stop. I need him.

I’ve never felt this kind of fire before, this raw desire for a man so burdened and strong.

I want to be consumed by it, by him. I want to feel his fingers on my skin, inside me, to taste him, to have him taste me.

Troy swims us toward shallower water, never breaking our hold, until our feet finally touch the ground. When he pulls back, his hazel eyes search mine, silently asking for permission. I nod, lacing my fingers through his and lead him to the shore.

Reaching for my towel, I spread it out and pull him down beside me. We lie on our sides, his hands find my hips, pulling me closer, pressing me fully against him. His mouth is back on me, his lips trailing fire across my neck and face while I rock unashamedly against his leg.

“Georgia,” he murmurs, breaking our kiss again, his eyes scanning mine with a mixture of caution and desire. “This isn’t a good idea.”

I smile at him, letting the playfulness in my voice cut through the sexual tension and mask how much I will lose my shit if he stops this right now. “No, this is the best idea. What could possibly go wrong?”

He chuckles softly, shaking his head, but the battle between his head and hands is already lost. His fingers find the straps of my bikini top and gently untie it, letting the cool night air caress my bare skin as the tiny strips of material fall between us.

“You’re breathtaking,” he whispers, his eyes so sincere. My nipples harden, pressing into his chest, the roughness of his hair sending a shiver through me. With a shiver, I curl closer into him as his arm wraps protectively around me, while he undoes my bottoms.

He’s so big and warm, even coming fresh out of the frigid water. His touch is careful, considerate, and reverent as his hands move downward past my stomach, between my thighs, sliding one roughly padded digit easily into my opening.

And oh, my god.

“You’re so tight, so soft,” he murmurs against my lips as he claims my mouth again.

I wonder if he’ll regret this, taking these liberties with me under the cover of the dark, October night, but I know without a doubt I won’t. I’ve been craving this from the moment we met and having it now feels like the longest slow burn foreplay to the best orgasm of my life.

He pushes another finger inside of me, stretching me deliciously as he curves them just right. His thumb brushes over my clit, rubbing it firmly while his arm holds me against his chest.

“Can you take another, baby?” he asks.

I nod eagerly because what I really want is his cock inside of me, but everything he’s doing right now feels so good.

He forces a third inside, his fingers still gentle as his palm presses into my clit, massaging it slowly, sending my nerves into overdrive.

“Fuck, Georgia. The way that I’ve wanted to touch you for months now…” he groans against my mouth.

“Months?” I ask breathlessly.

He levels me with a stare. “Months, Georgia.”

Oh.

He pulls his fingers away all at once, leaving me empty, aching, before guiding me onto my back with a careful touch. Then he shifts lower, settling between my thighs with vulnerability that makes my breath race.

For a moment, I wonder if he’ll fuck me just like this—out in the open, without a care for the beach houses above and whoever might be watching. The night air is cool, raising goosebumps over my damp skin, but I don’t care. Let them watch. Let them see.

My gaze drifts downward, locking onto where he kneels between my legs, his cock straining against the thin, striped fabric of his swimsuit—so damn thick, barely contained.

He palms himself, rolling his hips, dragging the hard length of him over my slit, pressing the rough material against my clit.

The friction sends a sharp, liquid heat curling through me, and I let out a soft, shameless plea for more.

“More. I want you. Please.”

Without a word, he pulls his hips back, his face moving lower until he grabs both ankles and spreads my legs as far apart as they can go.

Then his fingers are there again, trailing up my thighs and then dipping inside of me, spreading my arousal up and over my clit then on either side of my opening, massaging, caressing, and squeezing until I’m swollen just from his touch.

“I need more,” I groan.

“I’ll give you more.” He smiles before lowering his head, his tongue spiking into my opening before pulling back and drawing my clit into his lips. He dips two fingers back inside my pussy and works me while his lips stay latched on my clit.

“Oh, fuck.”

“Play with those gorgeous tits, Georgia,” he commands as my fingers find their way to my chest, squeezing and teasing my hard nipples.

It doesn’t take much—just a few strokes of his fingers—for me to turn into a dripping, desperate mess in his hold.

The slick, obscene sounds of his three fingers pumping deep into my pussy mix with his low groans, the vibrations of his satisfied hum against my clit sending sharp jolts through me.

My toes curl into the sand, the contrast of the cold night air against the heat of his mouth pushing me into overdrive.

I throw a leg over his shoulder, the stretch pulling deep in my pelvis, that telltale tension coiling tight. I want to hold off, to savor it, but it’s too much—too intense—and Troy is latched onto my clit like a starved man.

A broken sound rips from my throat as I fold forward, gripping his dark hair, holding his face exactly where I need it. I grind against his mouth, his mustache scraping deliciously over my sensitive skin, and let the pleasure take me under.

“Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck.”

It’s been a while since I’ve had an orgasm that isn’t at my own hands but whatever Troy is doing down there isn’t like anything I’ve ever experienced before, even with other guys.

When I finally catch my breath, I see him using the edge of the rough towel to clean me up which only makes my already sensitive pussy tingle with pleasure. He doesn’t wipe his face, just rubs his beard like he wants the scent of me to stay with him.

And fuck , that’s sexy.

I’m exhausted, my body still tingling and relaxed when a soft breeze blows across the sand. I reach my limp hands up to touch his firm cock that’s tenting his shorts, but he pulls back, the action making my heart lurch.

“Not tonight, Georgia,” he warns. “You’re exhausted and you’ve had a long day.”

If I had a little more fight in me, I might push back, but I’m satiated, exhausted from a full day of running around town with Liam and thoroughly fucked and he knows it.

I love that he doesn’t push me but a part of me wonders if he is simply holding himself back.

Holding himself back from crossing one more line with me.

Always in control while I feel like I’m falling apart.

He chuckles as my eyes drift closed and I feel my body moving.

He’s wrapped me in the towel and is carrying me easily across the sand and up the wooden steps into his beach house.

And somewhere along the trip, I doze off, only to awake tucked under my covers, still naked three hours later, completely alone.