He looks genuinely puzzled. “Why you?”

  I nod. “Why me? I’m nothing special.”

  Coen’s lips press in a flat line as his hands move from my breasts to cup my cheeks again. He leans in and growls. “That’s the second time you’ve said that, and I don’t like it. Don’t ever let me hear you say that about yourself again.”

  Sighing, I shake my head. “I don’t mean it like I’m down on myself or lacking confidence. I’m just an ordinary girl. Men like you don’t look at ordinary girls.”

  Coen chuckles, clearly finding amusement in my proclamation. He kisses me and laughs into my mouth before pulling back to look at me. “The girl who turned my backyard into a zoo and refused to apologize, who ignores bullies because they’re beneath her, who jumps around to bad punk music without an ounce of shame.”

  He pauses, leans in closer. “The girl who let me lick her to an orgasm while pinned against a tree. You’re the least ordinary person I know, Tillie.” Coen steps back and sits on the edge of my bed. “Now take off the rest of your clothes for me.”

  He knows just how to embolden me because without an ounce of shame, I shrug off my bra and shimmy out of my shorts and panties. Thank God they come off together so he can’t see how singularly boring and unsexy my panties are.

  Doesn’t seem to matter, though, because Coen’s eyes glitter as his gaze rakes up and down my body.

  “Your turn,” I whisper.

  Coen flashes his teeth in a feral smile, pulling his T-shirt over his head as he stands from the bed. I watch hungrily as he strips down to nothing but bronzed, naked skin.

  My eyes drop to his cock, hard and thick, and my mouth waters. As much as he’s had his mouth on me, I want mine on him.

  I move toward him and drop to my knees, thankful for the soft area rug that cushions the blow. Taking Coen in my hand, I hold back a triumphant smile as he groans when I squeeze him.

  When I lick him, his hips buck, and when I take him into my mouth, he barks out a curse. His hands move to my head, weaving his fingers in my hair and holding on as I suck on his length.

  I’m not overly experienced, but I am adventurous. And I’ve read my fair share of erotic romance, so I have a good enough road map of what will turn a guy on. Never one to back away from a challenge—and because I’m eager to please Coen—I find myself enjoying this way more than I ever thought possible.

  It becomes my goal to make him come in my mouth, and the thought makes me take him in deeper.

  “Fuck… Tillie,” he groans, his hips now thrusting against my mouth. “I should tell you to stop, but I’m not going to.”

  I purr my approval as my hands cup his ass cheeks and pull him into me harder.

  Coen’s fingers tighten in my hair, his breathing ragged. He curses and grunts, each sound hitting me square between my legs. I could do this forever for him, just to produce these reactions. It’s powerful and liberating to reduce such a strong man to dependency.

  And he is dependent on me right now for the ultimate pleasure.

  “I’m going to come,” he whispers harshly and then uses his grip on my hair to try to pull me off.

  I make a sound of discontent, latch on harder, and shake my head.

  “Christ.” Coen’s fingers once again tighten on my head for just a brief moment before his body locks tight, and he unloads on my tongue. I swallow, appreciating the tang and salt only because it’s Coen.

  Relishing his long groan of satisfaction.

  Marveling at the tender way he strokes my cheek as I stare up at him with his cock still in my mouth.

  “I wasn’t expecting that,” he says softly.

  His hand goes to my hair, and he pulls upward, indicating he wants me to stand. He slips out of my mouth, and I rise.

  Coen’s eyes hold mine, and I wonder if he’s going to get dressed and walk out like he did before.

  To my surprise, he pulls me in for a deep kiss before murmuring against my mouth, “I like the taste of me on your tongue.”

  I groan at such a wicked claim, and then shriek as he picks me up and tosses me on the bed. The tenderness is gone, and his expression is hot as he crawls up my body.

  He hovers over me, hands pressed into the mattress by my head. “You messed up my plans,” he chides. “I wanted to wreck your pussy with my mouth, then fuck you from behind.”

  A cramp of lust hits me so hard between my legs, I physically ache for him. “You still can,” I point out breathlessly.

  “You wore me out,” he replies solemnly. “Not sure I have the strength.”

  My eyebrows knit together in confusion and a tiny pang of regret. Did I mess up by taking the lead? By giving him pleasure?

  Before I can mull that over, his arms are around me and he’s rolling both of us until he’s on his back and I’m on top of him, straddling his lower stomach. He grins at me. “Still going to wreck that pussy, but I’m going to have you do most of the work.”

  “But… how—”

  I yelp as his hands go to my hips and he hauls me up his body. Coen’s hands are on my ass, pushing me to straddle his face.

  Heat flames through me as my hands brace on the headboard. Understanding blooms and I start to protest, but he holds me in place.

  My head drops, and it’s almost too erotic to look down between my spread legs to see his face just below. His eyes shine, and he licks his lips.

  I have no clue what to do.

  Coen must sense that because he smiles again. “I want you to fuck yourself on my mouth.”

  “Goddamn it, Coen.” I try to pull away from him, but he holds me still. “I can’t.”

  He lifts his head so he can reach my clit with his tongue. He gives me a lick, and I shudder.

  “I’m a kinky son of a bitch, Tillie. I’ve told you that before, but surely you figured that out the first time I had my mouth here.”

  “I’ve just never…”

  My words trail off, but he understands. It’s a first.

  Coen’s head drops to the pillow, and his hands loosen their grip. His thumbs skim over my hip bones in silent encouragement.

  I look down again, seeing I’m inches from having his beautiful mouth on me. His eyes sparkle with anticipation, and he nods.

  Encouragement.

  Taking a deep breath, I lower myself onto his mouth and fall into an oblivion so deliciously sinful, I don’t ever want to crawl out of it.

  I become a wanton woman, tilting my hips back and forth against his lips. He told me I was going to do all the work, but it’s not true. He’s right there with me, hands on my hips to guide me when I falter.

  He does things I’ve never considered letting a man do, and yet I never want him to stop.

  It’s when I make the mistake of looking down again, seeing his eyes closed and a rapturous look on his face as he sucks on my clit that I lose it.

  An orgasm tears through me fast and hot, causing me to cry out. Coen’s fingers grip into my hips, holding me tight as I ride the waves of pleasure, still licking and sucking at me until I can’t bear it any longer.

  “Enough, Coen… stop. I can’t take anymore.”

  My head spins from the power of my release and then spins again as somehow Coen is out from under me and I’m on my stomach. His body presses down, and I feel he’s hard against my backside.

  With his hand in my hair, he turns my head to the side and leans over to kiss me. I groan as he bites my lower lip before asking, “Do you like the taste of yourself on my tongue?”

  “Yes,” I whisper.

  He flashes me a smile and orders me not to move. His body disappears, and I roll my head the other way to see him digging through his shorts for his wallet. In a flash, he has a condom out and is ripping it open.

  Coen is a man on a mission, and I’m boneless to do anything but watch. When his cock is covered, he crawls back on the bed and pulls me up to my hands and knees. Settling in behind me, he squeezes my ass as I feel his tip prodding at me.

  I’m embarrassingly wet, making it easy for Coen to sink deep.

  He hisses in pleasure, and I twist my neck to look over my shoulder at him. His head is bowed, gaze pinned intently on where our bodies are joined.

  As if he senses my stare, his eyes slowly lift and lock with mine for a few seconds. He holds absolutely still within me, and we share a moment of feeling each other.

  Then he looks back down, pulling his hips back to start a rhythm. His teeth grab onto his lower lip as he watches his cock thrusting in and out of me.

  I feel insanely full, haunted with the nagging suspicion that when this is over, I will feel more than empty. I drop my head, staring at the pillow where my elbows rest, and I concentrate on Coen fucking me from behind as promised.

  He lifts my hips with his hands, repositioning the angle, and then he’s hitting a part of me I didn’t know existed.

  “Oooh,” I groan, and he thrusts harder in response.

  “You okay?” he grits out, slamming harder.

  “Yes. Don’t stop. Please.”

  “That’s my girl,” he praises, sliding a palm gently over one ass cheek even as he pounds away inside my body.

  Coen’s breaths become ragged, and he grunts with the exertion of chasing an orgasm. My fingers grip the pillow as pleasure pulls in tight between my legs, another orgasm teasing me.

  I want it badly, so I chase it by rocking back into Coen.

  “Yes,” he says in a hoarse voice. “Fuck yourself on me, Tillie.”

  Just that command almost wrenches my orgasm loose as I throw myself back and forth onto Coen while he holds me lightly by the hips. He groans every time our bodies slap together, and then his hand is between my legs.

  Fingers at my clit, he bends over my body and resumes control. Thrusting into me, he snarls, “Come on, Tillie. Give it up. I know you can come for me one more time.”

  I can’t keep track of what feels good. It’s his cock, ramming in deep. It’s his skillful fingers, pressing against my clit. It’s the dirty words he’s growling in my ear.

  My body explodes, and I’m so dazzled by its ferocity, my elbows give way. Coen doesn’t let me fall, instead wrapping his arm around my stomach as he jackhammers into my body.

  “Christ… Tillie…” He plants deep, letting us both fall to the mattress, and grinds into me as he trembles with release. “Fuck that’s good.”

  Gasping for breath, Coen rolls us to the side so he doesn’t crush me. I wait for him to keep right on rolling off the bed to leave like he did the last time, but instead he draws me into him.

  I’m utterly wrecked and far too depleted to muster any energy. I close my eyes and listen to how his breathing shallows and stutters before it’s deeply relaxed.

  “I should probably go,” he says, and my eyes snap open.

  But he doesn’t move, and his arm stays wrapped around my waist.

  Hesitant.

  Perhaps needing direction?

  “You should stay,” I say.

  More silence, and I feel within the tight lines of his body that he’s still unsure, maybe warring with himself.

  I think he’d love to keep himself in reserve, but damn it, if he’s got the ability to be open, generous with his time and attention, and easygoing while we’re having sex, he can do it when we’re not.

  I give him a push. “Stay the night, and you can fuck me in the morning. If you do a good job, I’ll cook you breakfast.”

  There. The promise of sex and food.

  Coen’s arm tightens around me. “Okay.” He lets out a sigh, not of frustration, but of what sounds like relief. “I’ll stay.”

  That’s the last thing I remember before falling asleep.

  CHAPTER 17

  Coen

  “Come on, Tillie. Gotta get there.”

  My fingers work between her legs as I slowly fuck her from behind. We’re on our sides, same spooned position we went to sleep in last night. I woke up with a hard-on and her ass wiggled up against me as I stroked her hip.

  One thing led to another.

  My hand between her legs to wake her up fully, a quick roll away to the bedside table to grab another condom, and some creative positioning to push myself into her heat while spooning her.

  As far as ways to wake up in the morning, I could get used to this. I’ve never had a serious relationship before. I’m young, so banging chicks and leaving before daylight has always been the way I roll.

  But having immediate access to Tillie’s body, hearing her breathy moans as my hips drive against her backside… well, I’m thinking the love-’em-and-leave-’em attitude might not have been the wisest way to be.

  Except… as I get lost in the sensations, my face pressed against her nape and smelling her fruity shampoo, I can’t name one other woman in my history who I could even imagine staying all night with. I like my space. In recent months, I’ve eschewed any affection, physical or emotional, and Tillie is still very much my enemy when we boil it down.

  Still… at this moment, on the verge of an orgasm that I know will rip me apart in the best ways, I can only be grateful she pushed me to stay the night.

  “I’m close,” she gasps as I roll her clit with my finger.

  God, me too, but I’m not willing to let go until she falls first.

  I drive deep as I pinch her clit, and she goes off like a fucking rocket. She bucks so hard as she cries out that I almost get dislodged. I press my palm against her pussy to hold her still, and it only takes two more thrusts before I acquiesce to the free fall. Pleasure ravages down my spine and up from my balls, all shooting straight out my dick in an orgasm so powerful, I see stars.

  A gust of air whooshes from me as I shallowly thrust against her, drawing out the pleasure. My heart thunders, and I wonder if she can feel it with my chest pressed against her back.

  Tillie sighs, and I feel her entire body go lax.

  “You okay?” I ask as I pet the curls between her legs.

  “If by okay, you mean totally destroyed, then yeah… I’m really okay.”

  Chuckling, I pull my hand away and Tillie moves out of my embrace. I lie against the pillow and watch her nab my T-shirt off the floor, pulling it over her head. I mourn the loss of seeing her body, which I’ve become very enamored of. I add to my mental to-do list to cover every inch of it with my mouth at some point, which I realize implies I’ve committed to doing this again with her.

  “Where are you going?” I ask.

  She glances over her shoulder as she walks around the bed, a smile tugging at her lips. “I did promise you breakfast if you fucked me good this morning.”

  I give her a playful frown. “Such language, Ms. Marshall.”

  Yes, I just did something that was playful, and it wasn’t a fucking chore. Things with Tillie don’t seem hard at all.

  She laughs as she walks out of the room. I hear her enter the bathroom and exit a few minutes later. Then I hear the fridge open and a pan being set on the stove.

  Rolling out of bed, I grab my boxer briefs and head into the bathroom. When I exit, the smell of bacon cooking makes my stomach rumble.

  When I walk into the kitchen and see Tillie at the stove, my dick twitches.

  My shirt swallows her so I can’t see her curves, her hair is a wild mass of curls and tangles, and she’s doing nothing more than standing there, quietly making breakfast.

  That’s it.

  She said last night she was nothing special, and the vision before me right now shouldn’t be anything special enough to make my dick take notice, especially so soon after depleting it.

  Yet here you have it.

  “Need any help?” I ask so I don’t just stand there and ogle.

  She jolts—clearly having been in her own little world—and glances over her shoulder.

  And… her jaw drops, her eyes rake slowly down my body, and back up again.

  I don’t need to look down at myself to see what she sees. I take excellent care of myself. It’s honed in places, ripped in others. I know the boxer briefs fit like a second skin, and I’m packing.

  Fuck if her stare doesn’t make me a little flushed, and I resist the urge to contract my ab muscles, which at this point would just be preening for her benefit.

  “Get a good eyeful?” I ask.

  She blinks, blushes, and turns back around. “Nothing I haven’t seen before. And no, I don’t need any help. There’s a Keurig over there if you want coffee.”

  I walk to the machine and pull a mug off one of the little hooks attached to the side of the cabinet. I brew a cup and take a sip. I like it black.

  Through an open doorway into a room off the kitchen, I see an easel set up with a painting. Other paintings have been propped against walls, and there’s a long countertop stacked with tubes of paint, jars of other liquids, brushes, paper, and sponges.

  I glance at Tillie as she flips bacon.

  Nodding toward the door, I ask, “May I?”

  “Sure,” she says easily.

  It’s her own personal art studio, and each wall is covered with her work. I assume it’s her work. It’s all stunning—mostly landscapes—done in watercolors. Though I’m not a connoisseur, I do know the difference between oil and watercolor as my parents were big into the arts and our house was a veritable museum.

  I move to the painting on the easel—thick, textured paper taped to a thin board propped up. A sparkling lake, rolling hills with spring flowers, and a forest off in the distance. The sun is just rising, and a mist hangs in the air. It has a dreamlike quality to it.

  Tillie’s signature is at the bottom in pencil. Next to it, written in swirly cursive, it says “Allegheny Reservoir.”

  Jesus, she’s good. Like, she should be showing in galleries and not selling prints of her work online.

  Tearing my eyes from the painting, I move around the room and look at the others propped against walls, on spare easels, and along the counter. Framed landscapes hang on the wall, and although they’re watercolors, I can tell they’re not her work. I can’t quite tell what the difference is, but I can tell she didn’t paint them.

  Leaning in, I see the artist’s name is Steven Marshall. Most likely her father… she told me he was a painter.