Rugged

by Lila Monroe

  “There’s a lot about the country that I like,” I say, honestly. “The woods are beautiful. The air’s clean, the water’s clean, the people are friendly.” Some of them I hope to get very friendly with, thank you very much.

  “That we are,” he agrees, dropping his hand below the tablecloth to find my knee. Our eyes lock, and the temperature in the room seems to rise by at least ten degrees as his fingers slip underneath the hem of my dress, teasing the sensitive skin there in small, firm circles, stroking higher and higher up my thigh until I shiver under his touch. But I don’t look away. Instead I part my legs just enough for him to brush one finger against my bare, swollen clit.

  Luckily my wineglass is already empty, because I knock it over grabbing the table for support. Flint rights the glass and a smile plays at the corner of his mouth.

  “How fast do you think we can get out of here?” he asks, hand still under the table, between my thighs, his finger now tapping out a rhythm against the hot spot aching under his touch. He never takes his eyes from mine as he signals for the check. I worry I might come right here in the middle of this restaurant, but I don’t want him to stop.

  “Not fast enough,” I whisper breathlessly, hurriedly slapping Flint’s hand away and turning totally not-suspiciously toward the window to hide my fierce blush and lust-glazed eyes from our approaching waiter. Flint actually laughs at how flustered I am, but that’s fine by me. I’m looking forward to paying him back.

  This time, we’re not fumbling at each other’s clothes while we play tongue tug-of-war in an alleyway or stumble drunkenly into my apartment. The entire ride home is quiet, the air heavy and charged with the sexual tension between us. When Flint reaches for my thigh I bat him away with a smile, crossing my legs primly and informing him that he had more than enough playtime back at the restaurant. See? Payback’s a bitch.

  Truthfully I want his hands on me again just as badly as he does, but I think it would be lots more fun to slip my heels off instead and then stretch out on the seat so I can rub my feet against Flint’s crotch while he’s driving. So that’s exactly what I do.

  By the time we turn onto his street he’s groaning out loud, gripping my ankles with one hand and the steering wheel so tightly with the other that even in the dark I’m pretty sure I see his knuckles go white. Poor Flint. See above note re: payback.

  As soon as we’re inside the house, though, Flint’s back in control. I surrender to his mouth, tilting my head back as he trails burning kisses down my throat, my chest, stopping only long enough to pull my tight dress up over my head and toss it across the room. I stand there naked, exposed, nary a stitch of clothing or a shoe to keep me decent.

  “Can’t say I appreciated your performance in the truck,” Flint grins. His eyes travel slowly up and down my body, and my pulse quickens under the heat of his gaze. “Got me all riled up now.” Judging by the tent in his pants, I certainly did.

  “You want to spank me?” I tease.

  I barely catch the glint in his eyes before he grabs me, lifts me over his shoulder, and slaps his rough hand firmly against my ass with a resounding slap. I squeal at the tingle of pain, but it’s quickly replaced by a rush of warmth, and I relax in his arms.

  “Again,” I command, shocked at how much I like this. The second spanking hurts less, but the spreading heat that follows somehow feels better, lasts longer. I moan deeply, trailing my nails across Flint’s back.

  “Don’t ask again,” he says gruffly, caressing my ass in soothing circles as he carries me to the living room.

  “Ever?” I pout, writhing in his grasp, too turned on to lay still in his arms.

  “Just not right now.” Flint sets me down on the couch, whipping off his jacket and kneeling before me. “I haven’t tasted you since we were in LA.” I gasp as he spreads my legs wide apart, eyeing my ripe pussy with a hunger in his gaze. “Don’t move.”

  “Then don’t play with me,” I whisper, my voice strained and husky.

  “Never.” He dips his head between my thighs, licking me in long, slow strokes that linger on my clit. Oh, how I’ve missed that mouth. When I start to moan, he slips one, two fingers inside me and pumps them in and out, deep and hard, as he sucks my slick nub into his mouth. He bites down gently, and the pressure nearly drives me to the brink.

  “Oh God,” I whimper. It’s too much, I’m too close, and I don’t want this to be over so soon. “Hit pause,” I plead, pulling him up onto the couch. He grins at my gamer joke, either because he’s a gentleman polite enough to at least pretend to appreciate my sense of humor, or because we’re both total nerds. Either way, he’s amazing.

  As he settles over me, I revel in the weight of his body, the feel of his cool silk shirt against my bare nipples, the rougher fabric of his pants and the hard bulge underneath pressing against my wet pussy. As he unbuttons his shirt I tug impatiently at his belt buckle—teamwork, for the win. While my fingers fumble I attack his mouth with mine, showing him with my thrusting tongue what I want him to do to me with his cock…if I can ever get these damn pants off of him.

  “Need some help?” he asks, unable to keep the amusement from his voice. He’s naked from the waist up now, and the view of him stops my hands, and nearly my heart.

  “Just hurry,” I gasp, giving up on the buckle and grabbing the couch cushions.

  He has to get up off the couch to slide those pants off, but the temporary absence of Flint’s body heat is well worth the strip show I get to watch from where I’m at.

  “Where do you want me?” he asks, his rock hard cock in his hand, looking all locked and loaded and ready to rumble. Mmmm.

  Oh, you know. Just anywhere. Here, there. All the places. How many rooms does this place have?

  Instead of cracking another joke, I drop to my knees on the floor, grateful the carpet’s so soft and plush as I turn to face the couch and rest my upper body on the cushions, readying myself for him.

  “Get behind me,” I say, leaning on my forearms, my ass in the air. I can’t see Flint, but I can feel the heat of his body as he comes up behind me, settling between my legs. He runs a hand slowly down the curve of my ass, the skin still sensitive there, and a shiver of anticipation races through me.

  “I’m gonna enjoy this,” he says, grabbing my hips tightly and pressing the tip of his cock against my wet opening.

  “Good. Because—” I never finish my sentence.

  Instead I let out a groan of pure pleasure as Flint slams into me from behind, ramming me into the couch, the tip of his dick going straight to my sweet spot. God, I love this position. I press my face into the cushions, murmuring breathlessly as Flint picks up speed, spearing into me deeper and harder, giving me exactly what I need.

  “Flint. Fuck. Yes,” I pant.

  Then he gathers my hair tightly in one fist and gives the ponytail a hard tug, using just enough force to make my scalp tingle. It’s so good. So right. Don’t stop, Flint.

  “Laurel,” he grounds out between clenched teeth.

  “Mmmm,” I reply.

  “Reach your hand down. I want you to touch yourself while I’m fucking you,” he says.

  I obey. The angle is a challenge with all the athletic hip movement and the way I’m being drilled against the cushions, but I manage. The touch brings a fresh rush of heat to my core, forcing another desperate moan out of me. I shudder and we both slow down, sharing the intense feeling of him gliding back and forth inside me, so hard, so deep.

  “Tell me how it feels,” Flint commands, his voice a low growl in my ear.

  “Good,” I whisper, practically purring. “So good. So fucking good.”

  He slides his cock almost all the way out of me and presses my thighs together to increase the friction between us. Then he pulses his head just barely in and out of my slick opening, teasing me. All I can do is dig my fingers into the couch, shut my eyes, and hold still as he keeps it up, driving me agonizingly close to the edge. “Flint, please,” I beg. He’s so hard, so strong. I ca
n’t handle another second of this. “I need more.”

  He pulls my hair again, tilting my head back toward his until our lips meet in a needy, bruising kiss, tongues lashing, breaths mingling. Then without warning he flips me up onto the couch, on my back, and climbs on top of me. I can feel the delicious weight of his cock pressing between my thighs, the heat of him radiating against me.

  “Tell me you want it,” he says. Under the dominance I see that hesitation again, and I pull his head down toward me and kiss him, long and deep, before releasing him.

  “I want it,” I repeat, wrapping my hand around his shaft to guide him back into me. Then I tighten my muscles, squeezing his cock inside me, making him gasp. “I want you.”

  My words are a starting gun, because after that he starts fucking me like he’s running a marathon—and as far as I can tell, he’s winning. I thrust upward in time with his strokes, moaning breathlessly as Flint sucks my tongue, my neck, my nipples, my climax building faster and faster as we find our rhythm.

  “So hot,” he groans, not letting up for a second. “So tight. You’re perfect.”

  Nothing is better than watching him come undone in my arms. I’m losing it.

  “Flint, I’m—”

  “I know,” he cuts me off. “I am too.”

  Still he pounds into me, relentless, punishing me with his cock. And I love it. Every molecule in my body feels like it’s bursting with light. I wrap my legs around him as tight as I can, tilting my hips up even further until he’s so deep inside me I can barely breathe. I come crying his name, and I hear him say mine as he releases into me. We ride out the shockwaves together, my orgasm pulsing so hot and heavy through my entire body that I literally see stars.

  The last thing I remember is Flint carrying me into his room and tucking me under the cool sheets before sliding in next to me and pulling me tight against him. Fucked to exhaustion and completely blissed out, I fall asleep safe in his arms.

  22

  “You’ve been doing what?” Callie says, an incredulous look on her face as she butters a bagel. At least, she tries. She’s so focused on staring at me that she ends up buttering her hand. “I mean, don’t go into too much detail. Oh God, I can’t know that much,” she says, grabbing some paper napkins and cleaning herself up. She’s laughing, though. That means she’s happy about Flint and me. At least, I think she is.

  “He’s been squiring me all around the northeast,” I say, glad to trot out one of my favorite antiquated terms for courting. “And don’t worry. We only drink coffee and hold hands while Disney animated birds twitter around us.”

  “Okay, that’s actually a worse visual than you two having sex,” Callie says.

  I’m glad we’re finally getting this all out in the open, at least with the family. Flint and I decided to come clean about our involvement—casually, of course—to Callie after our first ‘date’ ended with such a bang. Ha. Bang, get it? It’s just taken a few extra days for me to get around to spilling the beans, because ‘I’m boning your brother, here’s that umbrella you loaned me’ doesn’t trip easily off the tongue.

  Even with that slight awkwardness, this past week has been a slam dunk. Every day I come to work floating on a pink cloud of good sex and endorphins. I do my job and I do it well, and between Flint’s more relaxed vibe on camera and the festive air of a production nearing its completion date, the show’s running more smoothly than ever. After the director calls wrap, Flint loads me up in his truck and we get dinner, or shoot some pool, or just go back to his place to disrobe and unwind. It’s the final week of filming; we’ve got almost all the house footage we need, and now we’re adding some of the local color and town life. I can’t stop grinning. Nothing can go wrong.

  Jessa comes over with fresh coffee. She’s piled her blond hair in a messy braid on top of her head. “I’m so thrilled to see you settled in your sexual energy,” she smiles. Then she fills my cup and leaves. Callie looks like she might throw up a little.

  “Are you okay with this?” I ask her. Now I’m feeling a tiny bit nervous, and wrap my hands around the coffee mug for some extra warmth.

  “Are you kidding?” Callie says. She shakes her head and picks up Lily out of her stroller when she starts to fuss. “That boy needed to start dating again. I’m just glad he started dating someone I like.” She grins at me, and I instantly relax. “Honestly, I’m really thrilled.” I can see how serious she is. “Flint’s been in a funk for a long time.”

  Speak of the glorious, muscular, Old Spice-d devil. The door swings open, and Flint comes in. His hair’s still damp from the shower—shame I couldn’t join him—and he’s wearing a clean white button down shirt underneath his brown leather jacket. It’s a delicious combination.

  I sigh, and stare into my coffee cup. I’d love to get up and leap into his arms while dramatic old time romance music crescendos, but we’ve been keeping it pretty quiet. Callie’s the first to be told, as she should have been. Jessa, too.

  “So.” Callie quirks her eyebrow when Flint comes to our table. “You and Laurel, huh?”

  Flint shrugs and raises an amused brow at me. “I assume Jessa knows too, now?”

  “The McKays are officially informed.” I could stare at the gorgeous view of him all morning long. Much better to touch than to look, but we are in public.

  Until he says, “Then you better come over here.”

  What? In public? Right here in the diner? I should probably think about this, consider the problems with revealing our—oh, fuck it.

  I give him my hand, and he pulls me out of the booth and into his arms. Then he kisses me in front of the whole place, melting me utterly. And holy shit. A public diner kiss! In a small town, that means you’re about as official as you can get. I break it off and look around. Everyone, from the waitresses to the regulars in trucker hats, are doing a great impression of not watching us, no, no interest whatsoever. But I can feel them sneaking glances whenever my back is turned.

  “Well, brother,” Callie says, her voice falsely serious. “Now that we’ve got that out of the way, what brings you to the land of the living?”

  “Just grabbing some coffee to go. Call time’s in an hour,” he says, looking at me. “Want to hitch a ride?” he asks. The fact that we’ve got a full hour, and the low pitch of his voice, tells me we might have a little workout in the truck before we head to the set. And if it wouldn’t be rude to run out on Callie to go bang her sibling, I would happily take him up on the offer. But no dice.

  “You go ahead. I’ll be right behind you,” I say, then hold up a hand as he gets a wild light in his eyes. “Don’t be cute about it.”

  “God, I’m going to hurl,” Callie groans, waving Flint away. “Get out of my sight, little brother. Just remember, I know all your embarrassing junior high stories.”

  “And I’ve got yours,” he tells Callie. He grabs his coffee, gives Jessa a quick hug, and heads out. Everyone in the diner turns to eyeball me, and I feel myself blushing.

  “Okay. I’m sold on you,” Callie says to me, grinning. “Anyone who makes my brother that happy gets my unconditional blessing. So. What’s the next step?” She leans in, looking excited.

  “Next step?” Inwardly, I sigh. I know where this is going. I’d just hoped Callie wouldn’t harp on it quite this soon.

  “You know. Are you going to move here? Like, how serious do you think it is right now?” Callie’s tone is light, but the question is more serious than she knows. Before I can answer, she says, “Because I think Flint is really into this.”

  “And I’m into him,” I answer automatically, which is true. “It’s just…well, it’s way too early to think about any of, you know, that stuff.” I made that promise to myself on our first date, that I wouldn’t worry about it until it was time. And despite the uneasiness in my gut at Callie’s words, I know it isn’t time yet. Not quite.

  Callie nods. “Sure. It’s way too soon,” she says, and takes a sip of coffee.

  “I mean, it is
too soon. Isn’t it?” I ask her. She only shrugs and smiles; no help in the Callie corner.

  I leave pretty soon after that, but I’m lost in thought as I drive to the set. So lost that I almost blow through a stop sign. Once I get out at the construction site, I’m mostly relegated to standing in the background, watching everyone rush around. We’ve got a couple more interiors this morning before we head into town. I stand there, a little awkward as people bustle around me. This is the point when the producer doesn’t have much to do other than sit back and hope she’s got a hit on her hands.

  I catch Jerri and Flint walking around the building a couple of times. Probably discussing bringing the camera crew in to focus on the finishing touches. Raj is walking with them—fancy that, he’s being helpful for once—and happens to look over at me. He waves. Shit. I forgot about Raj. Why do I always forget about Raj? Things have been so crazy-hectic all week that I haven’t had any one-on-one time with my assistant producer, but the realization hits me now like a punch in the gut: Raj could End me.

  “Laurel, come here.” He returns his gaze to his beloved iPad as I jog up, my heart hammering in my chest.

  “What’s up?” I squeak out, completely failing at a casual tone.

  He shrugs, eyes on still his screen. “They’ve got a question. Inside.”

  Raj doesn’t say anything else, but there’s no doubt in my mind that he knows exactly what’s up with me and Flint by now. The real question is, will he tell anyone else at the network? Or can we keep this on the down low? Or is this going to end up as some kind of hideous entertainment industry blackmail situation? Fuck. Be one of the good ones, Raj. Please.

  Inside the house, Flint and Jerri are kneeling by the corner near the fireplace. Flint’s showing off the carved sunflower. “What do we think?” he asks, looking from Jerri to me. “Think the twin sunflowers would be a good shot to end the show on? Something about finishing, personal touches?”

  Man, why didn’t I think of that? Flint’s eyes are glowing; he’s a better idea man than I ever could’ve predicted.