The Lumberfox (Geekrotica) (5 page)

“You're not going to—” he started.

“We're not going to talk about the denizens of Kashyyyk,” she murmured, reaching out a hand for whatever part of him she could touch and finding hard abs and those delicious hip bones she'd been drawn to earlier.

“Goddamn, woman. You're so sexy when you talk geek.”

She could sense Ryon hovering over her, feel the warmth and tension in his body as he ducked down to kiss her, long and soft and hard, all at the same time. His mouth tasted of chocolate and wine, and the kiss was all too brief. Ever so gently, he stripped off her panties and put the vibrator in her hand.

“I want you to turn over on your belly and pleasure yourself with this while I try to make you come as many times as possible. Does that sound like a plan?”

She obligingly rolled over, face down on the soft bed.

“Punch it, Chewie,” she murmured, utterly lost and outside of herself and anxious to see if he could possibly live up to the expectations he'd set and that she'd been imagining ever since he slid into her Jeep in the snow and wouldn't quite release their introductory handshake.

Therefore it was not a surprise when his hand found her first, rubbing and testing her readiness, pressing in first one finger and then a second and spreading her, just a little. She was so ready and wanting that she pushed back into him.

“Turn it on,” he whispered, teeth on her ear.

And she did.

And hot damn.

Hot damn
.

If she'd been able to see, if the utter darkness didn't make it feel like she was wrapped up in another world, she would've felt embarrassed, holding a vibrator on her clit while a stranger slid tattooed fingers deep into her cleft. As it was, she let the fantasy take over, knowing she would be safe in his arms. Ryon's fingers withdrew, and he moved closer to her and prodded her opening with his cock, an approach she was more than desperate to meet. First just the tip, and she held Han over her clit and lips and pushed back against him, begging with her whimpers. He obligingly pressed in, slowly and inexorably, in and out, bit by bit, until she took all of him with a ragged groan.

She almost came, right then.

But he pulled out, hesitated for the most delicious moment, and pushed back in. And again. His pounding was as sure and measured as everything else he'd done, and she moved Han around until she found the perfect pressure point. When he plunged in the next time, she gasped, feeling him strike something soft and delicious deep inside her unlike anything she'd ever felt before. When he pulled out again, she rocked back, desperate to replicate the situation. With the third thrust, the sweetness overtook her, enveloped her, flooded her, and she cried out and shattered and quivered and bucked. It was the biggest orgasm of her life and put all other climaxes to shame, and she managed to kick the plate of strawberries to the ground.

And yet he didn't stop.

“What are you doing? Stop. Just... stop. Let me enjoy it.” She dropped the vibrator and tried to flop down on her belly, but his hands held her hips, pulled her to him.

Pound
, deep inside her.

“No,” he said, almost a growl.

Pound
, a question her body answered by pushing back.

“No?”

Pound
, and the first chime of possibility made her groan.

“Safe out if you want. Otherwise, you're going to come again.”

Pound
, like a lone plucked string, building in vibration.

“I can't.”

Pound
, another instrument joining as he hit that special place.

“Pick up your friend. You can. And you will. Trust me.”

Pound
, and she began to believe him.

She stopped trying to collapse in a puddle, picked up Han, held the buzzing tip to her swollen clit, and rocked back against Ryon. It was like she was waking up all over again, like she'd never come at all and suddenly needed it, again, more than anything. Like taking a dare. Like climbing a mountain, reaching a plateau, and finding another mountain with an even higher plateau that she just had to climb. Her teeth were gritted, her breath coming fast, her stomach tucked in tight and her toes arched into the bed. Each time his cock rammed into her, stroking that same secret spot, it was like lightning shot through her body and into her brain, like rock striking flint, about to start a blaring fire. With a feral growl, she rocked back, wanting to take him deeper.

He growled in return and tightened his grip on her hips, pulling her back to meet him with each savage, utterly perfect stroke. Head hanging low, focused on moving the vibrator in time with his thrusts, she became a being of complete sensation, nothing but darkness and hot and wet and soft and hard and the taste of chocolate still on her lips. God, she was so close already.

“Tell me if you don't like this.”

Before she could remember how to use words again, she felt a strange pressure on her asshole. Hard, warm, flat.

His thumb.

Her first reaction was to freak out, and her second reaction was to groan and writhe a little as he worked it inside with a slight wiggle. Soon she was lost in the three-way attack of the vibrator, his cock, and his thumb, each moving in a distinct rhythm that combined to send her into the greatest, sweetest heaven she'd ever known, an explosive orgasm that shook her entire body like an earthquake, unavoidable and uncontrollable and completely mind-blowing.

His relentless pounding continued, building in speed as she rode it out and prolonging her climax for longer than she thought possible. As she collapsed on her belly, unable to hold herself up for a single second more, he withdrew and groaned, splashing the small of her back with wet heat.

Normally, this would've grossed her out—some strange dude coming all over her back. But she was so drained and satisfied and floating that it seemed natural as natural could be, if a strange feeling. When he had finished, he leaned over her, moving her hair aside and brushing the nape of her neck with a kiss.

“That was beautiful,” he said, and she could only nod. “Let me get something to clean you up. Stay here, okay?” She nodded again. She could barely move, much less speak. Her arm was trapped under her, Han Solo still grasped in numb fingers like a spent light saber. Tara was too exhausted and boneless to care.

Moments later, a damp towel brushed over her back with gentle tenderness, followed by a dry towel. Her skin was still hot and sensitive, and the air was cooler than she expected over the wet places, almost crisp.

“You want to take a shower?” Ryon asked, and she nodded. With a low chuckle, he removed the tie over her eyes. It was pitch dark in his room except where the three candles burned. Not even the alarm clock shone any light.

“Is... is the power out?”

“Yep. Went out somewhere in the middle, I guess. I didn't even notice until I tried to turn on the bathroom light.”

She smiled shyly. “My eyes were closed, anyway.”

Ryon had on a pair of well-fit boxer briefs, still a study of planes and curves and ink by candlelight. He gave her the dry towel and picked up the tray of candles, carrying them into the bathroom. By the time she could stand again, he had enough hot water going to fill the room with steam.

“No power?”

“This complex is now Zombieland. Whoever uses the last of the hot water wins. They'll have the generator up in a few hours, anyway. Might as well enjoy it.” He held out his arm toward the glass door of the tile shower, and she went to strip off her clothes before remembering she wasn't wearing any and just stepped right in.

The water felt amazing, coursing all down her chilled skin and over the swollen, peach-soft wetness below, making her tingle all over again. She let the stream run through her hair and tipped back her head. When she opened her eyes again, Ryon was leaning against the counter, watching her by candlelight with a thoughtful sort of smile.

“Your back's beautiful,” he said. “I'd never have guessed. Can I see the whole thing?”

She turned her back to him with a Cheshire cat smile and lifted her wet hair so he could see the bright bouquet of flowers and feathers inked over her back.

“Gorgeous.”

“Thanks. I... don't show it to a lot of people.”

“Mine's still blank. Not sure what to put there.”

“I like your arms, though. It suits you.” He was only a few feet away, but it felt so far. She missed his arms already. “Want to join me? Be the king of Zombieland hot water for a few minutes?”

He laughed and stepped out of his boxers, utterly unshy, to join her. At first, she expected to feel hands gliding soap over her curves, a question posed by roving fingers and a reprise of the reason they were in the shower in the first place. But no—he simply showered beside her with an awkward dance of elbows and knees and unfortunate sprays of water into wide open eyes. What did surprise her was to feel his hands in her hair with the fresh smell of his shampoo, massaging her scalp and that tender place behind her ears.

“Oh my God. Where did you learn how to do that?”

His fingers clenched for a heartbeat. Quietly, he said, “When my mom was in hospice.”

Then he went back to his work silently, and Tara's heart clutched. “I'm so sorry.”

“It was a few years ago. But I tried to keep her hair nice, at least.” Tipping her head back, he blocked the water from her eyes and rinsed out the suds. A rush of warmth went through her. Being taken care of was a damn fine feeling.

“Why are you doing this?”

He smoothed the hair off her face and turned her around to face him.

“Because I'm the one who got you dirty.”

She ran her fingers through his beard, fascinated by the texture of it and the water droplets caught within, reflecting the candlelight in the dark room. “Not that. This. Everything.”

“What, taking advantage
of
my immense good fortune in finding a hot, geeky, intelligent, witty, beautiful, curvy, passionate woman by making her come as many times as possible while trapped with her during a snowstorm?”

She buried her face in his shower-slick chest and laughed. “That, but less flowery.”

The water dropped off in temperature, and he turned it off and stepped out, handing her a towel before getting one himself. They both dried off, and Tara wrapped her towel around her body, feeling shyer than she had since walking through his door even though the darkness and warm orange light rendered everything in curves and hidden shadows.

“Why am I doing this? I mean, why the hell not?” He looked thoughtful as he stepped back into his boxer briefs. “I'm very passionate about my work and don't have a lot of luck dating. Seems like every woman is insecure, wants to be something she's not, and wants me to put on a suit and go work behind a computer, which I'm not going to do. When you opened your door and said
Hothlanta
, it was the most attracted I've been to a woman in years. Why not wring every bit of joy out of the situation as is possible? Worst that happens is it doesn't work out, and I've still helped someone who needed help, kept you from freezing to death in the storm or spending the night eating Ho-Hos on the floor of a gas station. Either way, I win. Best case scenario...” He kissed the top of her head. “We both have a fantastic time. It just seems...”

“Like an amazing coincidence?”

“Exactly. The kind of shit that only happens in Jane Austen books.”

“Then thanks for saving me, Mr. Darcy.”

“You're just lucky you're tolerable, is all I'm sayin'.”

Her poor geeky heart could barely take it; Star Wars and Pride and Prejudice, all in one man who could roast a flawless chicken while bringing her to climax in front of a roaring fire.

Poking him in the chest gently, she said, “Real or not real?”

With a chuckle, he pulled her into a warm and unexpected hug, and she could feel his response stir, down below. “Very real.”

“Wookiee,” she mumbled into his neck.

He held her away and dropped his hands, looking not so much hurt as confused and sad.

“Fair enough. Let me get some extra blankets for the spare room.”

Tara laughed. “No, you scruffy nerfherder. I'm just sleepy. Can I borrow some pajamas? And your bed? And body warmth?”

Ryon's smile returned. “As long as you keep your tentacles on your side of the bed.”

* * *

When they woke up, the room was filled with sunlight and Tara was deliciously warm. Ryon was snuggled up to her back, spooning her, and the blinking alarm clock told her the electricity was back on. A wonderful silence gave her the same thrill she'd had as a kid, waking up to snow so deep and thick and sparkly that school was canceled and hot cocoa would be waiting for breakfast.

Slipping carefully out from under his arm, she padded to the window and pulled back the shade to reveal a world cast in glittering white. Far below, a long line of cars stretched down both sides of the highway, just humps in the blanket of white. It looked like nothing so much as a zombiepocalypse frosted with buttercream. She could even see her Jeep just off the side of the road, a solid square of snow on the roof. Behind it, Ryon's van waited, barely touching her car, just like he'd nudged behind her while she slept in his bed. A few lone figures struggled through the snow, and her throat tightened when she considered what her night might've been like had Ryon not hit her and brought her home.