Trouble (Orsen Brothers #1) (19 page)

“Are you absolutely sure about this?”

I sigh into him, resting my forehead against his chest.

“Macon…”

“Because if you aren’t, we don’t have to do it, you know. We have all the time in the world for th—”

I press a finger against his lips.

“I know that,” I whisper, “but I’m sure. I want this.”

He looks relieved. I moan softly as he palms my breasts. The heat of his hands feels incredible. His bulge pulsates against my inner thigh, begging for entrance inside of me, but I’ve never been the one to make the first move, and now isn’t any exception. Luckily, Macon is quick to pick up on this. He shucks down his briefs with a single move of his wrist and spreads my legs, pushing up the fabric of my skirt.

“God, you’re perfect.”

He rubs a finger over my stomach and adjusts himself above me. I think, fleetingly, of his brothers, and I wonder if they or anyone else would be able to see us from our spot in the brush if they came down the trail.

Macon seems to read my mind.

“Don’t worry,” he whispers, trailing his hands down my body, “no one can see us. My brothers never come this way. I kind of…I brought you this route for a reason.”

I arch an eyebrow at him. He smiles at me and holds my gaze for a moment. I brush his hair out of his face to get a better look at him. He’s the perfect one, with timelessly handsome features that give little way to his actual age.

He grips my waist and lowers himself so that his face is just above my mound. I moan, fully of aware of what’s to come. I’ve only ever experienced this once, and I had to ask for it. Stephen wasn’t exactly keen on oral unless he was on the receiving end.

“Oh god…”

I tense slightly at the shock of Macon’s tongue coming into contact with my wetness.

“This is…”

I grab a handful of his hair and lose hold of my words. Because he’s good at this, almost too good, and maybe I should have expected that. He looks up from between my legs. His full lips glisten with my moisture.

“Is it too much?”

No,
I think,
absolutely not.

I shake my head at him, unable to speak, easing his head back down between my thighs. I’m definitely not ready for this to be over yet. I feel him chuckle slightly against the warmth of my folds, then, his tongue darts skillfully back between them.

I moan. I want him, need him, even, and it becomes more and more obvious with every precise flick of his tongue. I shiver and grip him tighter as his lips finds their way to my clitoris. I’m unable to stay quiet. My moans are high-pitched and almost guttural in nature. I can feel my peak approaching, hard and fast, and it takes everything inside of me to hold it back.

I prop myself up on my elbows to get a better look at him and his eyes smile up at me. It’s clear that he’s enjoying this as much as I am. His tongue begins to lash against me even faster, pushing me closer and closer to the edge. He knows every trick in the book, and even more than that—exactly how to execute them.

My orgasm is the most intense one I’ve ever experienced; it pulses through me like a freight train, a feeling that vibrates in my head and works its way all the way down to the tips of my toes. I tense beneath him, then, after the rush has passed, I let go off his hair and collapse in a sweaty heap in the grass.

It takes a while for reality to sink back in.

Macon props onto his side beside me and tucks an elbow under his ear. I can feel him studying me, but my head is still pounding, and I don’t have the energy to return his gaze.

“That was…
amazing
.”

Before I can comprehend what I’m doing, I sit up and ease myself down between his legs. I’ve never been confident in my oral skills, but the rational part of me tells me that it’s only fair. Macon groans and lays flat on his back. I study his manhood and swallow hard.

He’s huge.

I shouldn’t be surprised, but I kind of am. His cock is the largest one I’ve ever seen up close—at least nine inches long with four in girth, and I find myself wondering how I’ll ever be able to handle it.

He looks down and frowns at me.

“Everything okay?”

I nod my head.

“Of course, It’s just…”

“Just?”

“You’re quite…big…”

He chuckles. I wrap my fingers around his base and he lets out a deep groan. I smile in satisfaction, watching as he clenches his teeth and closes his eyes. I use one hand to stroke his length, and I cup his balls with the other. Every twitch and groan that passes over his lips encourages me to pick up pace. He tilts his head back and grabs at a patch of grass.

“You’re so sexy,” he says, low and sultry. He reaches forward to grasp my arm. “But I had something else in mind.”

Shit,
I think, feeling my face flush of color.
I’ve fucked it all up.
I pull away from him in embarrassment but he’s quick to pull me back.

“No, I didn’t mean for it to come out like that.” He pushes a strand of my hair behind my ear and forces me to look at him. “You’re amazing. I just, I want you to let me make
you
feel good right now…”

“Because I get the feeling that no other man has…”

“Not even your fiancé.”

Goosebumps.

I can feel them again, crawling their way down my flesh.

“Ex-fiancé,” I correct, swallowing hard.

“Right…Ex-fiancé.”

Macon leans into me and steers things back in the right direction. I gasp as his mouth makes contact with one of my erect nipples. He licks away at me and pinches the other one between his fingers. I can feel his erection pressing against me. He grabs hold of it and eases me back down into the grass, lining the head of his cock up with my entrance. I wrap my legs around him and bite down on my bottom lip, gasping as he pushes himself inside of me.

I feel like I’m floating above myself, watching this whole thing unfold between two other people. Macon groans and begins to thrust his hips, forming a rhythm for each one of his strokes.

“God,” he growls, reaching up to run his hands through my hair. “You’re so tight. Do you know how tight you are?”

The meaty head of his cock brushes against the soft pad of my g-spot and I moan, flushing of color. “Please,” I gasp, clawing at his back.

Our bodies stick to each other from sweat. He leans forward and rocks his hips. I bring my hands to his buttocks and he clenches them.

“Please what, baby? Tell me what you want.”

“Fuck me!
Harder
!”

I dig into his biceps so intensely I’m surprised I don’t draw blood.

“Please, I’m so close…”

We meet eyes, briefly, and he flashes me a mischievous smile. I inhale sharply as he kisses my neck and picks up speed. I spread my thighs further apart to welcome him and he pulls out of me before plunging even deeper inside. We fit together like a puzzle.

“Oh my god, Macon, I might…”

He continues rocking, steady and fast, not breaking his rhythm. I can tell by the expression etched across his chiseled face that he’s close too. His breaking point is swiftly approaching.

“You feel so good,” he says, watching me wither beneath him. I feel him tense, then, he lets out a loud, guttural groan. “Oh, fuck, I think I’m going to…”

It’s too late. Before he can finish his sentence, his eyelids flutter shut and his grip on my flesh tightens. His breathing becomes more ragged, laced with noises I’ve never heard any man make. I dig my nails deeper into his back and ride a wave of my own, urging him to cum.

I want to tell him so many things—that this is amazing. That I’ve never felt anything like it before. But now isn’t the time for words—only actions. His chest rises and falls against my own. I’m aware of every pulse in his body as he reaches his peak and empties himself inside of me. He groans louder with every drop of cum that leaves his body. I gasp, feeling his muscles contract against mine. It’s all it takes to catapult me into a mind numbing orgasm of my own.

“That’s it, baby…”

Macon wipes my hair out of my face.

“Come on…”

His sultry encouragement only adds to the effect, and before I can process what is happening, Macon rolls over onto his back and takes me with him. The sudden change in altitude catches me off guard, but I adjust. He grips my waist as I straddle him, and I ride him for all it’s worth, gasping as he reaches up to pinch my nipples.

When the ripples slowly start to die away, I collapse with him still inside of me, resting my head in the crook of his neck; this all feels so unreal.

“Jesus,” he whispers, clenching his teeth. He pulls out of me and reaches down to remove the condom, tossing it aside. He kisses the top of my forehead and shifts his weight so that we are nestled on our sides. Then, he wraps his arms around me and holds me against his dampened chest.

My eyes drift shut as our heartbeats become one.

Chapter 11

M
acon’s brothers are already at the house when we get there. We’re gathered around the kitchen table eating the breakfast Macon’s mother prepared—eggs, bacon, toast. The works. It’s like something out of little house in prairie, except a lot more tense.

“Adam, honey, will you pass the butter.” It’s the first thing anyone has said in awhile. Lucy holds out her hands to her youngest son and he passes her the plate of melting butter. Alma is beside him with her eyes glued to her lap. She’s freshly showered, with the help of her mother, and her flaxen hair is pulled into a neat ponytail at the top of her head. There’s a plate full of uneaten food in front of her. Every now and then, Nolan looks up from his morning paper and grunts in her direction.

No one talks about Macon’s busted nose, or the broken glass cabinet in the corner of the room, even though they both are eyesores. Macon reaches for my hand beneath the table and gives it a squeeze. I smile up at him, small and tight. I don’t want to look too happy, but inside, my heart is swelling. I’ve never been this close to any man before, and even though the events that brought us together are somber, I can’t help but feel lightheaded as he laces his fingers through mine.

“Trent,” Nolan says, flipping the page in his paper. He finished eating a long time ago and is now chewing on the end of a toothpick. “I’m going to need you to head into town with me today; we have some equipment to pick up.”

“Sure pops,” Trent says through mouthfuls. He nudges Macon in the side. “I’m bringin’ Macon, though.”

Macon shrugs and gives his brother a sour look. “Sure,” he says flatly, avoiding eye contact with his father.

Nola grumbles something inaudible in response and takes a sip of his coffee.

“Cassandra.”

It takes me a second to realize I’m being spoken to. I sit up straighter and look at Lucy. She smiles at me.

“Sorry, what was the question?”

“No question, dear, I said you can stay behind with me and Alma if you’d like.”

She reaches across the table and gives her daughters limp hand a squeeze.

“Sure,” I say, nodding, “I’d like that.”

After breakfast, I help the girls clean up.

Macon brushes past me as I gather plates and silverware up from the table to be washed. He touches my arm and pulls me into a walk-in pantry, out of earshot from the rest of his family. My heartbeat quickens when his hand brushes against my face.

“You alright?”

His breath is warm against my face, and for a moment, I forget where we are. I nod, swallowing down the lump in my throat. “I am,” I say, reaching up to wrap my arms around his neck, “are you?”

He nods, but there’s a fleeting look of hesitation in his eyes. I smile at him and press an encouraging kiss against his face, being careful not to brush against his nose. It looks worse in the daylight.

Macon leans down and kisses me. When his father calls his name, we both jump like guilty teenagers and pull away from each other. “This shouldn’t take too long,” he whispers, rolling his eyes, “if you need anything, just call me. I put my number into your phone when you fell asleep on the plane.”

“You did?”

He nods and steps out of the pantry. I do shortly after, watching out the window as he makes his way across the yard, towards the barn with his brothers. Macon, Trent, and Nolan take off into town shortly after while the Griff and Adam start their morning chores—which from what I can see, consists of feeding the cows and chickens, cleaning up manure, laying hay, and plowing.

I spend the rest of the morning inside the house with Lucy and Alma. They are spitting images of each other—with soft hair that curls near the ends, doe eyes accentuated by long dark eyelashes, and full lips that have a sort of natural curve to them. 

“I really like your blouse,” I say to Alma when her mother leaves the room. “I have one just like it back in Los Angeles.”

Small talk, that’s all it is, but I figure it’s worth a shot. To my surprise, Alma looks up from her hands—which she has been wringing together from the moment I first laid eyes on her—and smiles at me. She almost looks like she might say something, but when her mother reappears in the living room with a fresh load of laundry, she seems to change her mind.