Page 29 of Windlass (Seal Cove #3)

Stevie did not get home until well after midnight. Angie woke from her doze on the couch with James asleep on her chest to the sounds of Stevie trying to be quiet as she shucked off her coveralls in the mudroom and washed her hands in the laundry room sink.

She stroked James’ regal cheeks in apology. “Hey, big boy. I need to get up.”

His purr cut off as she sat, gently depositing him on the sofa.

He’d live. She might not—fitful sleep had not dulled the drumbeat in her blood, and she felt, in a way that was completely unfamiliar, like she might actually die if she could not touch Stevie soon.

Not from anything so crass as sexual frustration, but from a self-immolation so complete and devastating there would be no recovering.

She’d wanted things before—stability, friendship, belonging, sex.

She’d never wanted them all in the same person.

She’d never wanted someone she truly, hopelessly loved.

She was terrified, but the fear was so outmatched by the strength of the thing pulling her to the mudroom door that it might as well have been white noise. She’d wanted this for so long it had grown into her and through her like the bittersweet vines she periodically cut back from the barn.

Stevie’s back was to her when Angie reached the doorway.

Her coveralls lay in a pile on the ground near her boots, and she had tossed her shirt toward the open mouth of the washing machine.

Her shoulders were beautifully muscled, almost classically so, which was the inevitable result of working with large animals.

More importantly, they were the shoulders of a woman with stamina.

“Nice shot.”

Stevie turned, hands on the last button of her jeans, which she wore beneath her coveralls for some reason. “I thought you’d be asleep.”

“I was.” She waved at Stevie’s waist. “Don’t stop there.”

“Did I wake you? There was another emergency after the first one.”

Instead of answering, she crossed the laundry room floor and hopped up onto the dryer.

Stevie’s eyes roamed over her body. Angie had changed into the loose shirt she slept in, braless of course, and a pair of sleep shorts, which might have been appropriate on someone with smaller hips and less of an ass, but on her left little to the imagination.

They were also light, loose, and breathable, and since she preferred to lounge without pants entirely, the shorts were a compromise her roommates had learned to live with.

Stevie’s eyes spent a long time on her bare thighs.

There was a smear of dirt on Stevie’s cheek; Angie liked Stevie disheveled from work or their barn, smelling like hay and a little dirty. She especially liked her half naked.

Angie had taken her hair down out of its customary messy bun.

When Stevie’s eyes eventually left her legs, they traced its fall, then fixed on the wide hem of her shirt and all it failed to cover.

Angie gave her what she wanted and leaned back onto her hands, letting the silky cotton drape over her breasts.

Lingerie had its uses, but seducing one’s roommate required a subtler approach.

She’d be lying if she said she hadn’t put a significant amount of thought into this over the years.

Teasing Stevie was as much a part of her day as morning coffee, and far more invigorating.

That Stevie so obviously flagellated herself for looking only made Angie want her more.

She knew most of what Stevie liked—but the assertive side of her she’d glimpsed occasionally and had certainly hoped was there had flipped the tables on her expectations.

She wouldn’t mind flipping some literal tables with Stevie. The big, wooden farmhouse table was particularly heavy, but she was up for the challenge. In fact, appropriately angled, the cross beams on the bottom offered some interesting opportunities for bondage.

“Angie.” Stevie said her name lowly, her hands falling from her jeans to hang by her sides.

“Unless you’re too tired?” Angie asked coyly.

“I should shower—”

“We’ll get there.” Angie shivered at the prospect.

“Will we?” Stevie checked her ponytail, a nervous habit that revealed more than Angie suspected she would have liked. There was, in fact, something tenuous about the moment, something—

Actually, she amended as Stevie closed the distance between them and raked her nails down Angie’s thighs, there was nothing nervous at all in Stevie’s motions, but rather—

Stevie’s teeth closed on her neck, and she stopped trying to think.

Her body rose, legs hooking around Stevie’s waist, her hips remembering the way Stevie had made her come in the barn.

Stevie’s nails on her legs were a revelation.

Her head fell back, exposing her throat further as her elbows threatened to give out, and she stared up at the water-damaged ceiling without seeing it. Her throat tightened.

Stevie scratched her legs again. How had Stevie figured out that particular weakness so quickly?

Not that Angie had been particularly subtle.

The feeling of Stevie’s hand on her back, palm hot, fingers spread across spine and ribs, was somehow the most sensual thing she’d experienced in her life.

She didn’t bother trying to muffle the sounds spilling from her lips.

Stevie swore softly as her tongue claimed the hollow of Angie’s collarbones, then the bones of her shoulder, which should not have made her shake the way her legs shook.

The scrape of teeth over her clavicle had never driven her over the edge before, but if Stevie kept it up—

Stevie’s nails burned a trail from Angie’s ankle up her thigh, sliding under her shorts as Stevie grasped Angie’s hip, thumb dangerously close to where Angie needed her to be.

“Do you want me to fuck you here?” Stevie asked, the words slightly muffled as she worked her way up Angie’s neck, drawing more sounds from her, until she reached her ear. Fuck, if Stevie had figured out what nails to her legs did to her this quickly, would she—

Stevie drew her tongue across Angie’s ear in a promise so unmistakable that the moan she made was more like a bitten-off scream.

Her body shuddered, legs gripping Stevie’s hips for support as well as release, and she didn’t bother answering.

Yes, she wanted Stevie to fuck her, and it didn’t matter where.

Stevie’s teeth traced the shell of her ear, completely undoing her self control.

“I need you in me,” she managed to gasp out, tangling her fingers in Stevie’s hair as her other arm struggled to hold herself up even with support. “Right now. Holy shit.” She pulled at the hair tie in Stevie’s hair, managing to tug it free with considerable effort.

“That’s what she said.” Stevie whispered the words into the ear she’d just thoroughly fucked.

Angie turned her head, bringing their lips close enough to brush as she spoke in a high, frustrated voice she barely recognized.

“Stevie, that is literally what I am saying.”

Stevie bit Angie’s lower lip. Technically, it wasn’t a kiss.

Technically, she didn’t fucking care. The spill of heat from between her thighs consumed her attention completely.

Stevie’s thumb paused, and Angie faintly registered the hiss of surprise as Stevie realized she was not wearing underwear.

The hiss turned into a groan as her thumb stroked the crease of Angie’s thigh and dipped between her legs.

“Fuck, you’re wet,” said Stevie, the longing in her voice feral.

“So do something about it.”

Stevie slid two fingers inside her with a practiced ease that parted her thighs and stroked upward, drawing a moan from Angie’s lips that was frankly obscene.

Holy shit . Her body trembled, hips bucking, and Stevie said her name as she withdrew, hand no doubt dripping, and then entered her again in another long, curling stroke.

This time Angie did almost scream. No one else was here.

She didn’t need to be quiet, which was good, because she was absolutely incapable of any kind of control just then.

Stevie’s fingers slid in and out of her with liquid precision, and she wanted, needed , Stevie to fuck her harder.

She pulled Stevie’s head down to her breast. Stevie tore the shirt aside with her teeth, and the brief shock of the cooler air hit her chest before Stevie took her nipple into her mouth and sucked.

Angie would come immediately if Stevie kept that up.

The tip of Stevie’s tongue teased the tip of her nipple, flicking it as she sucked, and screaming was the only thing Angie could do.

Habit made her bite down on her lip to muffle the sound.

It felt too good to be real. Stevie slid a third finger inside her easily, without Angie needing to ask.

“Harder,” she begged, “Oh god—Jesus Christ, Stevie—fuck me.”

“Will you come?” Stevie asked. Her voice vibrated unbearably against Angie’s nipple.

She managed a nod.

“Don’t.”

“What?”

“I said,” Stevie drove into her, drawing long shudders from her as she took her so hard she couldn’t stand it, “don’t come.”

“I can’t— Stevie— I’m so close already.”

“Then I’ll stop.”

“Oh god.” Her body arched as Stevie pushed deeper. “I won’t. I won’t. I promise. I won’t. Don’t stop, please.”

Stevie bit her nipple. The hand that had been on her back took her other breast, leaving Angie to cling to Stevie for support, and lifted her shirt free. Stevie released the nipple she’d been teasing at the end of a long pull with a wet, lewd pop that jerked her hips.

“Holy hell.” Stevie’s hand stilled criminally as she stared at Angie’s bared chest, eyes softening with longing. “Holy hell.”

“I don’t think hell is supposed to be holy.”

“Shut up. I’m busy.”

Angie moved her hips. “Multitask?”

“No. Be good and wait.”