On His Knees

by Cathryn Fox

Still down on all fours, I swallow past a tight throat and say, “Yeah.”

  “What are you doing?”

  “I’m just arranging the pillows,” I say, but that’s not entirely true. I’m down here on purpose, enticing him because I want him to take me this way. Want to create something special, some lasting memory as I seduce him into marking me the way no other guy ever has.

  “Lay down,” he instructs, his voice a low, soft command. “On your back. Legs spread.”

  Relinquishing all control, I do as he says. Honestly, I love when he takes over during sex as much as when he takes care of me outside of the bedroom. He’s being as open about his needs as I’ve been about mine. He stands over me for a minute, his eyes drinking me in. He settles himself on his knees, glass of brandy still in his hand. He dips into it, and then runs his hands over my stomach, between my legs, painting my flesh with the alcohol. Silence ensues as he continues this for a long time, his eyes latched on me, the muscles along his jaw tight. I practically convulse beneath him and his eyes dart to mine. This pull between us is insane.

  “Are you on the Pill?” he asks.

  “I am.”

  He turns his attention back to my body, and his wet fingers widen my sex lips. His tongue snakes out, swipes over his bottom lip like he’s preparing his mouth for a feast.

  Yes.

  “I’m clean, Summer,” he says, his eyes still latched on my sex, as he lightly pets me. “And I always use a condom.”

  “Me, too,” I say. As a doctor, I have to worry about sexually transmitted diseases, so where is my intelligence now, and why do I trust this guy enough to believe every word coming out of his mouth? It’s not like me.

  “I want my cum inside you,” he says, and eases a finger into me. My breath catches and a sound squeaks out of my throat. “I want you to feel it dripping out of you when we’re done.” His eyes slowly move back to mine. “Tell me you want that, too?”

  “I want that, too,” I say honestly.

  He backs up, slides out from between my legs. “Roll over.” I do as he says. “Pillow beneath your stomach.” I adjust the pillow, and the next thing I know he’s on his back, pulling me down until my sex is hovering over his mouth. His tongue is murderous against my clit, swirling, striking, hitting its mark like a bull’s-eye. His hands slide around, grab hold of my ass and hold me to him. I widen my legs even more, and a little cry gurgles in my throat. He thrusts his tongue into me, and I pant like I’ve just run a marathon, three times. He groans and sucks and kisses me, dragging his teeth over my clit until I’m a trembling mess.

  Heat chases through my body as my climax builds, and I cry out, but for what I’m not sure. As he owns my sex, possesses it, I surrender to the pleasure. My lips part, but no sounds emerge as I come all over his mouth. Heated curses reach my ears, as he continues to lick me, his rough tongue prolonging the pleasure between my legs. After a long time, I stop spasming, and he climbs out from under me.

  My nails rake the blanket beneath me, and while I want to touch him, I’m not certain I can get my legs to move. He caresses my back, drags rough fingertips over my spine, and I shake all over. “I’m going to put my cock in you now,” he says, his voice low and even, like he’s about to order a cup of coffee. Such a strange mood we’re both in. The aftereffects of the polar bear plunge? Or something else entirely.

  He adjusts the pillow, moving it to my hips, so my ass is in the air. He leans into me, presses kisses to my flesh. I shake beneath him, my sex wet and ready for all he has to offer me. His cock slides between my legs, and he slowly inches into me, dropping his mouth to my shoulder, where he lightly grazes my flesh with his teeth.

  He moves in and out of me, and my body vibrates, clenches around his hard length. He falls heavily over me, pinning me beneath him as he continues to glide in and out of me. Moisture breaks out on my body as he moves, strong determined strokes that make me feel, in more ways than one. A moment later he shifts positions, like the previous one wasn’t letting him get deep enough.

  I glance over my shoulder, take in his tight face as he puts another pillow under me, lifting me higher. He goes up on his knees, and when he glides in, he reaches untouched parts of me, and awakens more than just my body.

  He runs his finger along my back crevice, his cock moving steadily inside me. He parts me, and presses the tip of his finger into my hot core. I stop breathing, stop thinking as he does things to my body, delicious things that never seemed right before, but with him, they suddenly do.

  “I want all of you,” he whispers, his words, the way he wants me teasing all my senses.

  “Tate...” I cry out.

  “Summer,” he says, and seeing him like this, hearing my name on his tongue, pushes me over the precipice. I come hard and fast, a firestorm of need centered between my legs. My vision goes fuzzy around the edges, the room closing in on me. I try to breathe, see past the edges but I’m gone, lost in a haze of lust and Tate.

  “Holy fuck,” he murmurs as I keep coming and coming, my hot release dripping all over him. He pushes deep, this time the thrusts are for him as he chases his own orgasm, and my sated body quakes, eager for him to fill me when he comes.

  He grunts, pants, drives into me so hard and deep, I slide on the floor, my hard nipples chafing on the blanket below.

  “Summer,” he says again, and his fingers dig into my hips as he goes perfectly still. I hold my breath, turning my head to steal a glance at his face as he splashes high inside me. His muscles are tight, his face beautifully contorted. My eyes travel over him, memorize every sculpted inch of his body. I continue to watch him, lost in the moment.

  His eyes open, latch on mine, and the corners of his mouth turns up in a smile. I smile back and his deep rumble reverberates through me as he collapses on my back. He kisses my shoulder, my neck, my hair, but I get the sense he’s not done with me.

  A moment later he pulls his cock out of me, and I whimper at the loss. Strong arms scoop me up and carry me to the bed. He’s inside me again, our bodies tired and lazy, but that doesn’t stop us from taking more, everything, from each other. Eventually our eyes close, sleep pulling at us.

  I wake to a warm room, and when my eyes open it’s still light outside. I glance at the clock, shocked that I slept the afternoon away. Well, mostly. After making love in front of the fire, Tate carried me to this bed, and we spent the next hour or so messing up the sheets.

  I stretch like a lazy cat, my body sore but so damn satisfied. I turn to the window and examine the dark clouds. The storm will likely shut down the festivities, keep us all inside.

  “Hey,” I hear from the doorway, and turn to find Tate leaning against my doorjamb, dressed in nothing but his jeans. I let my gaze move over him, indiscreet about how much I like to look at him.

  “Hey yourself,” I say, and he walks to my side of the bed. The mattress dips as he sits. He touches my face. “How long have you been watching me?” I ask.

  “For a few minutes.”

  “Creeper much?” I tease.

  His soft chuckle curls around me like a warm blanket. “You’re beautiful when you sleep.”

  “Did you get any rest?”

  “I did.”

  “I had no idea how tired I was.” He glances at the clock, and his brow furrows. That’s when it occurs to me he has a life outside of having sex with me, and probably has to be somewhere. “Do you have to go to work?” I ask.

  “No, I’m good. I don’t need to go back.”

  “Oh, then do you have somewhere you have to be?”

  That troubled look appears for a brief second, and then his brow is smooth again. “There is only one place I have to be, Summer,” he says, and slides his hand under the blanket. He lightly touches my sex. I moan, and it mingles with a grumbling stomach.

  He grins. “Hungry?”

  I nod. “Starving.”


  “Do you want to go out to eat or order in?”

  “How about we stay in, unless you want—”

  He silences me with a soft kiss, even less hurried than earlier. His mouth lingers, our breaths merge. “Oh, I want,” he says, as he pulls back and produces his phone. He runs his fingers across it, then sets it on his nightstand. “Food will be here in about thirty minutes.”

  I race my fingers through his hair. How is it I want this man again? We’ve been having nonstop sex, and yet I still crave him.

  “Can you take me again, Summer?” he asks, his eyes the deepest shade of blue I’ve ever seen them. He slides a hand under the blankets again, and with the lightest caress, he strokes my clit. “Or are you too sore?”

  Never too sore for him, I open my legs. “I’m already wet for you.”

  He stands, and makes quick work of his pants. Without a word he falls over me, his cock pushing into my body, as his lips find mine. He moans into my mouth and I murmur with him as he penetrates me. We move together, our bodies in sync, the dance of intimate lovers. Needing him closer, I wrap my arms around him, and hang on because what we’re doing here, what we did in front of the fire hours ago, has awakened something in me, something I fear there is no coming back from. Something that could destroy me when I leave here in a few days.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Tate

  I FLICK THE TV ON, turning to the news station tracking the storm, and then sit cross-legged in front of the fire with Summer. Outside the wind is howling, the festivities shut down for the night. I have nowhere to go, and neither does she. Her friends are at the restaurant bar downstairs, finding their own entertainment as Summer and I hang out in her suite. We’re eating the pasta and salads I had delivered, as the flames flicker in the hearth.

  My mind travels back to earlier today, when she went down on all fours, offering me her ass. I nearly lost my shit then and there. If I do take her like that, then I’ll have been inside her everywhere, claimed and marked every inch of her body. Only problem is, having sex without a condom really screwed me up. Taking all of her just might do me in. Guilt stirs in me. I want all of her, yet I’m lying to her. And I haven’t completely abandoned my plan to learn more about her and her situation with Granddad. I know I shouldn’t want her this badly, but I can’t help it.

  “It’s kind of cozy in here,” she says, her honeyed hair piled high on her head as she digs into her food like she’s starving. I suppose she is after all the exertion she’s been through. That brings a smile to my face, despite my inner turmoil. I like seeing her all soft and comfortable like this, dressed contentedly in her yoga pants and T-shirt, the marks on her body a sweet reminder of the things we did to each other over the last couple of days.

  Thunder rumbles overhead, and I think back to the dog I had as a child. He was terrified of storms. “You’re not afraid of thunder and lightning, are you?” I tease.

  “No, I actually love it.” She grins. “Especially here in the mountains. I’ve never seen the sky light up quite like this before.” Her smile falters and she crinkles her nose. “It’s too bad it shut down Winterfest for the night though. I’m sure a lot of people who came here for it will be disappointed.”

  I take in her frown, the sincerity in her eyes. Summer Love cares deeply about others, of that I’m certain. “Let’s hope they’re making the best of it, like we are,” I say.

  She twirls her pasta and puts it into her mouth. “This is delicious, Tate.” She glances at me, her brown eyes sated and sleepy. “How did you know pasta was my favorite?”

  “Carbs,” I say as I stab my fork into a big meatball. “You can’t go wrong, right?”

  She shakes the arm sporting her Fitbit. “Oh, you can go wrong,” she says with a grin. “I’m going to have to double my steps after this.”

  “I told you, you’re perfect. But if you want to work off the calories, I can think of better ways.” Thunder rumbles again and the lights dim for a moment. The TV flickers off and I leave it that way. “I had a dog growing up. He used to hide under the bed when it stormed,” I say, guiding the conversation to a more personal level.

  “Poor thing.” She breaks a meatball in half, and it hovers over her mouth when she asks, “What was his name?”

  “Arlo.”

  She laughs. “What a cute name for a dog.”

  “Dad named him after his grandfather. Did you have any pets growing up?” I slide a forkful of pasta into my mouth and lean back against the sofa to stretch my legs out.

  “No, we weren’t allowed pets where I lived. I would have loved to have one though.”

  I tap the floor, and she shimmies back to join me. Lightning zigzags across the sky, and with the floor-to-ceiling glass windows on two sides of the suite, we have perfect spot to enjoy the storm as we ride it out.

  “Let me guess, cat person,” I say.

  I reach out, wipe the sauce away from her chin. “Nope,” she says.

  I put my finger into my mouth. “You’re kind of a messy eater.”

  “I am not,” she says, and grabs a napkin.

  “You snore, too.”

  She whacks me and I laugh. “Dog person?”

  “Nope.”

  “Please don’t tell me a guinea pig or anything like that.” I feign a shiver. “Those things always freaked me out a little.”

  “You don’t strike me as the kind of guy who freaks over anything.” She shakes her head, and a few strands of hair fall to her neckline. “And no, not a guinea pig person.”

  A smile plays on her lips. She’s being coy with me. “What then?”

  “I’m partial to donkeys,” she says, and bursts out laughing.

  “I’m going to have to pay you back for making me wear that.”

  “Come on, the kids loved it. You were adorable,” she says, and leans into me to place a soft kiss on my mouth. She pulls back and reaches for her wine. She takes a small sip and hands the glass to me. I drain the sweet wine, then grab the bottle to refill it.

  “So you weren’t allowed to have pets in your Brooklyn apartment,” I say, curious to know more, for many reasons.

  She angles her head, worry lingering behind those astute eyes as they move over my face. “How do you know where I grew up?”

  “You told me.” I tap my head. “I don’t forget anything.”

  She nods. “As a bartender I supposed that’s a good trait to have. You can remember people’s problems when they come back in.”

  “Do you want to tell me your problems, Summer?”

  She smiles softly. “Vacations aren’t for talking about problems. Vacations are for fun and relaxation.”

  “And sex. Don’t forget sex,” I say.

  Her cheeks turn a pretty shade of pink. “Lots and lots of sex.”

  I laugh. “Any brothers or sisters?” I ask.

  “No, it was just my dad and me growing up. How about you?”

  Acid punches into my throat as I think back to the day Mom walked away from me. So we were both raised by our dads. “Only child, too.”

  “What?” she asks, and puts her hand on mine, obviously picking up on my tension.

  “I...uh...always wanted siblings though.” That’s not a lie. It was a lonely existence in the big mansion with no other kids. I get that I had it good, and I hate to lament on that when others had it way worse.

  “Me, too.”

  “You didn’t have a mom?” I ask.

  Her chest expands as she draws in a fast breath, and there is a new kind of sadness about her. “Mom died due to complications after my birth.”

  Shit, I hadn’t expected that. “I’m so sorry.”

  She toys with her noodles, running her fork through them, almost absentmindedly, like her thoughts are a million miles away. “I don’t usually talk about this, Tate.”

  “Bartender,” I say,
and lean in to give her a little nudge. “Good listener, remember. We have a confidentiality oath.”

  She rolls her eyes, goes quiet for a moment, then begins, “It’s just... I’m sorry I never got to know her.” Her shoulders touch her ears, and then she relaxes again. “According to Dad she was an amazing woman.”

  “If you’re anything like her, I can believe that.” She forces a smile and puts her plate down beside her. I hand her the wine. She takes a sip, and leans into me, using my body for support. “It was just your dad raising you, and he was a construction worker?”

  “You’re right, you don’t forget anything, and yes, it was just Dad and me. He never remarried. He said he couldn’t. Mom was the love of his life.” She smiles up at me. “It’s sad, but it’s so sweet, too.” I go quiet as she opens up to me, telling me something painful and private. “People aren’t like that anymore. Marriages are way more disposable today.”

  “You’re right. After Mom left us, my father had dozens of women come and go. He’s off in Bali on his honeymoon with his fourth wife. She’s not much older than you.” Why am I telling her this? I must be losing my fucking mind. I never open up, to anyone. Not even my college buddies that I still keep in touch with. But the truth is, her opening up to me makes me want to be honest with her. Out of guilt, or something deeper? Either way, it feels good to get that off my chest.

  “Oh, Tate. I’m sorry. That can’t be easy.”

  “I’m fine with it, I guess. I want him to be happy, you know.” And protected from gold diggers, too. Though, I was too far away to intervene when he started dating wife number four. I set my plate aside and put my arm around her. We go quiet for a moment, lost in thought. I curl her hair around my finger, and she snuggles in closer. Who knew that outside of our compatibility in the bedroom, we’d have something else in common.

  “Neither of us had a mom growing up,” she says quietly, her thoughts obviously on the same track as mine. “Tate.”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’m sorry your mom left you.” She puts a comforting hand on my thigh and gives a squeeze.