Page 36 of Where the Blacktop Ends (Whitewood Creek Farm #1)

Troy helps me stand and then shifts me until I’m perched on the edge of the tub, my feet resting on the cool, bathroom floor.

“Sit,” he commands, “and hold on to the edge. Tightly.”

I obey, but it’s more than obedience—it’s surrender.

My breath stutters as the tension coils tighter, wrapping around me like a wire ready to snap.

Troy kneels before me, and his touch—gentle yet commanding—sends a shiver through my core.

When he spreads my knees apart, exposing me, it’s not just my body on display.

It’s everything. My trust. My craving for him to see me, to want me beyond the heat of this moment.

The air around us feels thick, the warmth of the bath mixing with the heat of my arousal, leaving my skin slick with a fine sheen of sweat.

When I glance down, I notice the soapy suds from the coconut body wash trailing from my chest, down the center of my breasts, and between my legs, slipping onto the floor beneath me.

I’m so slick, the risk of sliding off the edge of the tub is real, but I don’t care.

The way Troy watches me—his eyes dark and burning from between my legs—makes me want to stay like this forever.

I could come from the earlier teasing and that look alone.

“You’ve got a pretty pussy, Georgia.”

A nervous giggle bubbles out, but it dies when his hands move—upward first, fingers tracing over the coconut-slick curve of my breasts.

He circles one nipple, rolling it between his fingers with a lazy precision that has my toes curling against the cool tile.

Then lower. His touch drags down my sides, teasing the sensitive skin of my waist before his palms knead into my thighs.

He’s in no rush. His fingertips brush higher, closer, parting my opening with maddening patience—until one finger slides inside, finding that spot that sends a bolt of lightning through my core.

“You’re so warm and tight,” he growls, sliding another finger inside. “I’ve been thinking about being inside you since that night at the beach. Do you know how hard it is to feel this pussy and not want it?”

I bite my lip, shaking my head. “So, take it.”

Because I don’t have an ounce of self-control where he’s concerned.

I’ve wanted him from the moment I saw him in the steam room—wanted him with a hunger that scares me.

But this isn’t just about sex. It’s about the way he looks at me, like I’m worth more than the broken pieces I’ve been trying to hide.

So why has he held back for so long? And why am I so damn afraid of what happens when I finally give in?

He grins, slipping a second finger inside me. “Can’t do that until I stretch you out nice and good. Gotta prepare you for me because if you remember—I’m a lot to take.”

Oh boy, do I remember.

Hefty! Hefty! Hefty!

His fingers move again—slow, deliberate—twisting with a wicked precision that presses the heel of his hand against my clit.

The friction sends a wild pulse through me, my body arching, thighs trembling as the pressure builds.

I’m slipping, the cool porcelain of the tub biting into my palms as I cling tighter, my head falling back.

But there’s no escaping this. No escaping him.

“Tell me something, Georgia…” His voice drops lower, rough and full of need. “Have you been touching yourself, thinking about me?”

“I…yes,” I admit.

“Hm…” he hums softly as he watches between my legs, his fingers disappearing in and out, over and over making a wet, squishing noise. “When was that?”

I dig my palms into the hot, damp edge of the tub as I look up at the ceiling, trying to slow my breathing and stall the orgasm that’s barreling from deep within me.

“This morning. When I heard you wake up at five to leave for work. I imagined you in one of your suits and the scent of your cologne...” my voice trails off, caught up in the heat of the moment again.

“Hm…” he hums before removing his fingers completely.

When he doesn’t put them back, I open an eye to watch him slowing dragging them into his mouth and sucking inward.

My legs shake and my lips part as a smirk crosses his face.

And then he lowers his face, until his breath is right against my pussy, and I can feel his words.

“Tell me what you thought about while you were fucking yourself this morning.”

Before I can respond, his tongue drags upward against my clit before pressing firmly and holding.

A moan escapes my lips. He hums then moves lower, spiking his tongue so deep inside of me I swear it touches my womb. I’ve never had someone go so far into me before and the way he’s dragging his beard and mustache across me has me clawing at the tub.

“Troy…” I hiss.

“What did you think about this morning?” he asks again as his fingers join his mouth, teasing every part of my core in a sloppy, orgasm inducing haze. My legs shake as I try to hold on and not lose balance.

“You I… I…oh god…”

“You what?” he asks again as he draws my clit back between his lips in a fluttering suction then laps at it with his tongue like it’s candy.

“You… going down on me… your cock inside of me…. Stretching me… Taking all of me,” I breathe out. I’m on the edge, just about to come when he pulls back slightly to look in my eyes.

“I thought about you this morning too. When I was in the shower, fucking my hand. I imagined you bent over this tub while I took this pretty pussy bare.”

Oh, fuck.

He dips between my thighs again, his tongue expertly outlining my vulva with kisses, nips, and sucks. It’s just enough to keep edging me and not enough to finish me the way I need.

“Troy, I need more,” I beg, grabbing the back of his face and taking over as I grind onto him harder.

“Show me what you like,” he says, the vibrations of his voice hum against me as he sucks me so hard, I see stars.

“Yes! Troy—oh, God, yes!” My orgasm doesn’t just find me—it claims me.

It hits like a tidal wave, dragging me under, my body convulsing as heat ripples through every nerve.

I’m lost in it, gasping for air, my thighs clamping around his head as I ride out the storm.

My hands claw at his shoulders, my nails digging in as I hold on for dear life while he anchors me in place, his mouth still moving, still taking everything

“Fuck, Georgia…” His voice is rough, almost reverent, as he lifts his head, his lips still glistening with me.

His eyes find mine, and for a second, I forget how to breathe.

There’s something in his gaze—something deeper than lust. “You come like a woman who’s been waiting her whole life for someone to touch her like that. ”

My heart stumbles. He sees me. And I’m not sure if that terrifies me or makes me fall even harder.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs in appreciation.

My legs are still shaking but I force myself to stand anyways and then drop to my knees next to him.

“Your turn.”

He shakes his head no. “I don’t expect that, Georgia.”

“I want it. I’m dying to taste you.” Because I am. I’ve been dying to taste him from the moment I first ran into him.

He stands tall, still in his suit pants, the fabric stretched tight over the obvious bulge.

My fingers tremble slightly as I reach for his belt, unfastening it, then working the zipper down, pushing the pants to the floor.

All that’s left are his boxer briefs, clinging to him like they’re struggling to contain him.

With a slow, deliberate motion, he starts undoing the buttons of his shirt, each one revealing more of his smooth, tan skin, the ink on his chest just another layer to the mystery of him.

I lean back, my hands gripping the waistband of his boxers, pulling them down. His cock springs free, slapping against his lower stomach with a sharp, electric thwap, and I can’t stop the gasp that escapes me.

He’s huge. Not just long, but thick too.

One vein runs across the top of him, like a line pointing to the wide swollen tip that I can’t wait to taste.

The sheer size of him makes me wonder if it will hurt sliding down my throat, but I’m eager to find out.

A sore throat tomorrow will be worth this because it’s my turn to take control. I

guide him to the edge of the tub where I was just sitting, and he obeys, watching me closely as I drop to my knees and settle between his legs, using his towel for support.

I pull my damp hair to the side, wetting my lips as I take him in.

The tip is swollen, a deep, angry purple color, and I swear I can see that vein on top pulsing.

I hold it in my hands, struggling to get my fingers around him and dip my tongue into his slit, tasting the saltiness of his precum before swirling my tongue around the head, teasing him.

When I look up to check in, his hazel eyes are lighter, honey-sweet, filled with a mixture of surprise and something else. Appreciation, I think.

“Show me what you like,” I whisper, taking his hands and guiding them to tangle in my hair. If he wants to fuck my face, I’d let him. Because right now I’m so turned on all I can see is him. All I want is him.

He shakes his head, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Georgia, everything you’ve done since you walked into my life is something I’ve liked.”

I grin at him and then wrap my lips around his crown and suck inward. Time to show him what I can do him.