Page 8 of Wooded Bliss (Mated to the Monster: Season 3)

BIRDIE

This can’t be real life, can it? I didn’t actually open my door to find Thatcher Bosch on my porch wanting to talk to me, did I? It certainly feels real, but that doesn’t make it any easier to believe.

The last thing I expected to happen today is this. Absolute last thing.

I can’t explain why I invited him in for dinner, but there was just something about the way he looked at me—with hope and longing—and I couldn’t ignore it. How could I let a man who had sought me out to apologize just walk away?

We’ve been sitting at my small table with empty plates in front of us for a while. It doesn’t feel like it’s been that long, but the sun has set now, and the moon is tracking its way through the sky. When the company is good, time has no real meaning.

At first, I wasn’t sure what to talk about with Thatcher. It wasn’t just not knowing what to say, but it’s not easy being around a man I find so damn attractive. It’s like I’m constantly fighting with myself to not jump him.

It’s so easy to picture myself straddling his lap, burying my fingers in his hair and kissing him. Everything in me desperately wants the fantasies I came up with last night to come true.

Having these feelings is strange since I’ve never had them before. For a while I thought something was wrong with me since I simply didn’t respond to men. No, it was more than that. I would recoil from men.

But now, sitting with Thatcher, all I can think about are his large hands roaming all over my body. Then there’s how difficult it is not to stare at his mouth.

I wonder what he tastes like. It’s clear his body is criminally fit. Maybe he would let me map the planes of his chest with my hands. And then my mouth.

“Little one,” Thatcher’s voice holds a hint of warning in the growled words and my gaze snaps up to meet his.

I bet I’m drooling. That would be embarrassing. When I try and wipe at my mouth covertly, the way Thatcher smirks at me tells me I wasn’t slick at all.

“You can’t look at me like that,” his voice is a sexy as fuck rasp.

“Like what?” Is that my voice? All breathy and needy?

I’ve never sounded like that in my life, but after a few hours in this man’s presence and I’m falling apart. Or maybe I’m just melting into a swoony mess.

If there were ever a man to swoon over it would be him. And having him in my house, sitting at my table, and eating my food, has me all twisted up inside.

“Like you want me to grip your hips and haul you into my lap,” he grits out, his jaw clenched and making the sharp line of his jaw even more pronounced.

My face heats with his words. I’ve never had anyone speak to me so blatantly. If it were anyone else, I’d be putting them in their place. But since it’s Thatcher all I can think about is how it would feel to be pressed against him.

It’s impossible to stop myself from looking him over. He’s a lot of man and having him sitting at my small table is almost comical. He doesn’t fit, but he hasn’t complained.

His large hand cups my cheek and his thumb runs back and forth over my skin. “The color you turn when you blush is beautiful.” His eyes drop as he looks me over. “It makes me curious about how far down it goes.”

“What am I going to do with you, Thatcher?”

He flashes me a wide smile which is far too sexy. I don’t know what was going on with him yesterday, but it feels like I’ve seen a completely different side of him tonight. Not only did he come over to apologize, but he’s been witty and charming while also being attentive.

He has obviously listened to every word I’ve said. He didn’t just let me ramble either, he asked questions, and his eyes sparkled as he took in my excitement like it was his own. There aren’t a lot of men out there like that.

“I have some ideas,” his voice is husky and sends a shiver down my spine.

I press my hands to my cheeks, knowing they have to be bright red right now, and look away from him. “I’ve never done this before,” I admit quietly.

He’s quiet for a little too long. When I force myself to look at him, I’m met with dark, intense brown eyes. He’s staring at me with so many emotions on his face. There’s heated desire, but there’s something else softer underneath it.

“What do you mean?”

Fuck. This is embarrassing.

Thatcher’s fingers wrapping around my wrists and pulling my hands away from where I’ve covered my face in embarrassment sends tingles over my skin and throughout my entire body. What the hell is that? It can’t be normal.

“What do you mean?” He asks the question again and the hard edge in his voice makes me want to squirm.

“For a long time, I thought I was broken,” the words tumble from my lips. Even though I’m embarrassed, I can’t seem to pull my gaze away from his. “I could see a guy and know he was attractive, but they didn’t do anything for me. Well,” I admit and wince slightly, “there was one guy I was attracted to.”

He snarls, “Who?”

I fidget slightly and then Thatcher follows through with his earlier words. His large hands grip my waist and then I’m being lifted into his lap until I’m straddling him. The position we’re in should make me want to hide or move away from him, but I lean into him instinctively.

Whatever is happening between us is so strange, but at the same time I don’t want it to stop. The warmth from him seeps into my body. I have to fight myself to not burrow against his chest.

“It was just a guy. He was older than me, but I had the biggest crush,” I whisper, unable to meet his eyes. “Then, suddenly, he all but disappeared. I knew he was okay because I would overhear little things from his two younger brothers. Still, I didn’t see him for ten years.”

Thatcher’s breathing deepens as he grips my chin between his thumb and forefinger. His touch is gentle as he lifts my face until I’m looking at him. “Are you talking about me, little one?”

“Yes,” I whisper, the single word barely audible, but there all the same.

“Fuck,” he rasps.

Before I know what is happening, his lips are taking mine in a kiss. It is gentle, possessive, and so damn good that my toes curl. His tongue slides along the seam of my lips and I eagerly part for him. As if he’s making up for lost time, he plunges his tongue into my mouth.

The kiss is hot, scorching really, and I feel it everywhere. My pussy clenches around nothing and I know I’m dripping wet. For him; all for him.

My hips start to move against him, his hard length there for the taking and right now I really want to take. He feels so good. I’ve never felt anything like it.

It’s not like I haven’t gotten myself off. I have, many times, and I’m good at it. But this is something completely different. I want all of him and I want it buried inside of my pussy.

Now.

Thatcher’s lips trail along my jawline and then down my neck. The little growls he lets out against my skin and the way his touch incites tingles wherever he touches me is almost too much. I move my hips faster against him, desperately needing friction.

“Little one,” he growls, the sound more animalistic than human and it turns me on even more, “are you saying no one has ever touched you before? You’re a virgin and all mine?”

The thought of being his and only his, the way it feels for him to claim me with his words, along with the feeling of his lips kissing along my collarbone, has me tipping my head back. “Yes,” I hiss.

Suddenly, Thatcher is standing with me still in his arms before stalking through my house, each step reverberating through the space and filled with purpose. I don’t have it in me to protest. Why would I when the way he touches me feels like fucking magic?

“I’ve waited for you,” he rasps against my skin.

His words are surprising, and I rear back from him. The movement causes his lips to lose contact with my skin and I swear the man pouts slightly. I can’t tear my eyes away from him as he lowers me to my bed slowly, not once looking away from me. Sincerity shines back at me, but what he said can’t be true, can it?

“You’re a virgin?” I sound incredulous as fuck, but I don’t have it in me to sound anything other than shocked. “There’s no way. No way are you a virgin and now you’re choosing to be with me.”

A wickedly sexy grin stretches his lips as he begins to slowly peel my clothes off my body. His voice is hypnotic, “I was waiting for the right person, a very special person.” I’m sure I have a shocked as hell look on my face, but it’s inevitable considering what he’s saying to me. “Then a certain florist showed up at my door and I knew that I was waiting for you,” there’s so much truth in his voice.

When I’m naked, he gently pushes me back and I sprawl out on my bed, my hair a halo around my head, as he stands to his full, glorious height. I watch, unable to look away, as he removes his tight t-shirt and then shucks his shoes, socks, and jeans. The boxer briefs he’s wearing hide nothing and my eyes widen at the sight.

It’s not like I expected Thatcher to be a small man, but the man’s obviously hard length is borderline obscene. And totally too big for me. I clench my thighs together, but this time it’s not in desire, it’s in pure self-preservation.

He drops to his knees with a smirk on his face as his large hands glide from my knees up to my thighs. When he pushes them apart, I don’t resist because the feeling of him touching me is just too good.

“I might not have been with anyone, Birdie, but I’ve thought a lot about what it would be like to meet the woman destined to be mine,” there’s a husky growl in his voice which has me relaxing into my bed. “I’m going to get you ready by stretching out your tight little pussy. When you’re dripping for me, I’ll slide inside of you and make you mine.”

“Oh, fuck,” I moan, my back arching with the way his words wash over me like a caress.

I did not do this man justice in my fantasies. Tingles zing over my skin, making it hard to comprehend anything other than the way he’s touching me and the pleasure I know he’s going to deliver. His fingers move slowly, rubbing nonsensical patterns across my skin until he slides a fingertip between my pussy lips. The groan he lets out when he finds me soaked for him is guttural, animalistic, and makes me even wetter for him.

How does this man turn me on so much? As he presses one of his thick fingers inside of me, I gasp and wiggle my hips, begging for more and adjusting to the feeling. If I feel this full with a finger, how the hell am I going to handle all of him.

As if he can read my mind, he murmurs, “I’m going to stretch you out before I take you.” He presses open mouth kisses to my thighs, moving up toward my pussy with each one. “Trust me,” he pleads.

Something in me shatters as he plunges a second finger inside of me, moving them slowly, but with purpose. “I trust you,” I keen, my voice high and thready as I arch my back, presenting my tits to him.

I can feel his eyes on them and my nipples harden further. How is it that he doesn’t even need to touch me to make it feel like he’s touching me? It’s wild.

Every pump of his fingers inside of me, every breath against the sensitive skin on the inside of my thighs, every part of me he takes in with his eyes, feels like too much and not enough. When he buries his face between my thighs, his beard is soft and scratchy against my skin. His mouth hovers above my pussy and I move my hips, grinding down against his hand while hoping he takes pity on me.

When he doesn’t, I plead, “Please, Thatcher.”

He growls and I explode the moment he sucks my clit into his mouth. Everything around me brightens as the tingles he makes dance across my skin feel like they explode in little fireworks all around me. It’s intense, and the best damn orgasm of my life.

I barely register Thatcher crawling up my body until he rests some of his body weight against me. It grounds me in the moment and my eyes snap open. When did I even close them?

As I stare up into his dark brown eyes, it feels like something is peering out of them and taking me in. But then it’s gone. I shake my head, ridding myself of the thought because it makes no sense.

“Are you sure you want this, Birdie?” Thatcher’s voice is deep, a few octaves lower than his normal voice, and it has me wrapping my legs around his waist.

His thick cock slides between my pussy lips. Not only can I feel the glide of his hard length, but I can hear just how wet I am. So fucking wet.

Once the idea of being stretched by his big cock takes root inside my mind, I can’t get rid of it. And I don’t want to.

My fingers dive into his hair, and I pull him down toward me until our lips are almost touching. “I need you inside me, Thatcher,” I implore him, my voice needy as hell, “please.”

He grunts, the sound barely on this side of feral. When he reaches between us and lines himself up against my entrance, I panic for a second. He won’t fit. I’m too small and he’s way too fucking big. But I can’t look away from his dark gaze and it helps me find a sense of peace, an anchor amongst the tempest swirling around us. Can he feel it too?

As the head of his cock sinks into me, I take a deep breath and my entire body relaxes. The tingles I’ve only ever felt with him engulf me and I’m lost to the feeling of being stretched as he slowly pushes inside of me. I might be a virgin, but I haven’t been a stranger to my own pleasure, even though it was never anything like this, and he meets no real resistance other than the tightness of my channel.

“That’s it,” he praises me, the gritty words making me sink further into pleasure. “You’re mine,” he snarls.

And then he starts to move. Everything else fades away. The time he spent hiding far away from Whispering Pines. The crush I used to have on him I thought had disappeared. His gruff words from yesterday.

The only thing that matters is this. I give myself over to him, every thrust, every rotation of his hips, every kiss, and every labored breath. His movements claim me, and I think, maybe, I claim him right back.

“Thatcher,” I wail, my body hovering right on the edge, unable to process or tell him what I need to fly over.

His mouth latches on to where my neck and shoulder meet and his teeth scrape against my sensitive skin. That does it.

I scream out his name as my pussy clamps down around his cock and I feel him grow thicker inside of me. Every pulse of my orgasm is my body begging for his cum and he doesn’t disappoint.

With a roar, he plunges as deep inside of my stretched pussy as he can. The warmth of his release, of his cum filling me, makes a feeling of bliss spread throughout my body along with the tingles on my skin as he presses kisses everywhere he can reach.

There’s such a reverence in the action, and for the first time in my life I feel truly cherished. I can only hope that this is the start of forever.