All night I've wanted to get my hand under that little skirt and slide my fingers into her panties. The only thing that's been keeping me from doing it is being so damn nervous about making sure the proposal went off without a hitch.
Now though?
Now all bets are off. We're back in our hotel room with all the privacy we need so I can finally find out what she's got on under that dress.
I get my shoes and socks off and start unbuttoning my own shirt while I watch Dorthy pull a couple of pins out of her hair. She doesn't even know how fucking sexy it is to watch her arms angle over her head, making her back arch and her breasts jut out proudly. Then a couple of pins and all those natural curls come cascading down over her back and shoulders like a waterfall.
It gets my dick so fucking hard I have to grit my teeth.
"That's fucking hot," I tell her as she turns back toward me and starts coming my way.
"What is?" Her smile is so sweet, but the way she's looking at me tells me sweet ain't what she's looking forward to.
"You takin' down your hair like that," I lower my voice and reach for the straps on her dress, eager to slide them off her shoulders so nothing's in the way of my mouth when I start kissing that soft, exposed skin.
Dorthy laughs lightly, like she's amused that something so simple as her taking her hair down would turn me on like it does. Truth is, about everything about her turns me on, and do my best to let her know that about every day.
Her dress is made of some sort of stretchy fabric, no zipper to slide down her back, all I have to do is slide the straps further down her arms and then the top down till her breasts are on display in front of me. Nesting in a skimpy little strapless black bra that holds them up to me as if they were a gift.
They absolutely are. I unsnap the little bra and fling it to the floor before dropping down to kiss each creamy globe and draw my tongue around her nipples while her flesh overflows my palms.
Her hands lace through my hair and in one swift move I tug her dress down her body till she's standing in front of me wearing nothing but a little lacy black thong and her shoes.
I like the way her stomach has a little bit of softness to it and the way her hips flare out, wide and strong till they give way to soft thighs that are made of smooth muscle that I can feel under her skin when I run my hands up them to her ass.
In a flash I've got her on the bed, spread out for me, breathing heavy while she waits for me to slip her shoes off her feet and make my way back up between her legs.
Those little black panties contrast with how pale her skin is and as much as I like looking at the image before me, I know what's waiting for me underneath them is a helluva lot hotter.
Before I hook my fingers under the elastic that runs over her hips, I drag my fingers across the narrow swatch of fabric that runs between her legs and the moist heat I feel against my skin makes me groan in anticipation.
If I were a better man I'd rub my fingers along the material, teasing her till she begged me to touch her with nothing between us. I'd make her moan and come on my hand and take my time with my mouth on her till she was so spun up she couldn't remember her own name.
Sometimes I am that man, but not tonight. Tonight I need her like I need air.
The panties hit the floor and I'm surprised they're still in one piece wit how roughly I pull them off her. I drop my mouth onto her and lick up the flavor of her juices. So sweet, it pulls a groan from my throat and the sound is lost in the folds of her pussy.
"Fuck me, Barrett," she moans above me, her hands pulling at me to bring me up her body.
That's all I need to hear. All I want is to be deep inside her body and feel her clenching on me when she's screaming out my name and then I want to tell her how much I love her while I fill her up with my seed.
Dorthy
I've never been with a better man than Barrett and I sure as hell haven't been with a better lover. He honestly loves my body and he makes me feel worshiped as he moves his hands and mouth over my skin.
He always takes time to lavish attention on the areas he knows make me crazy. Making me feel good is his first priority.
Tonight is different. For both of us.
I can feel the tension in his body, coiled tight and ready to break if it's not allowed to spring free. It's contagious. I want the same thing. I need our bodies to come together in order to feel whole, and I need it now.
With an impatient pull on his shoulder, I hear my own voice pleading with Barrett to fuck me.
Without argument he's face to face with me, sliding into me quickly and not hesitating before beginning to move in and out in long strokes that I feel from tip to root with each movement.
It's almost more than I can handle, the way he fills me up and stretches me around his hardness until I can barely breathe but it feels so damn good. So damn good that I can't help but move to meet his thrusts, rocking my hips to his rhythm and losing myself in the feel of his body covering mine and the sound of his breath harsh and rasping against the side of my face.
My legs wrap around his hips and his hand grasps my ass, pulling me closer and pinning me to him and we continue to rock into each other until I can't tell where he ends and I begin. I can feel that moment rushing toward me, threatening to wash me away and carry me over the edge.
Barrett is right there with me, his pace quickening and I know my own climax is the trigger that takes him with me.
Through the tumbling sensation of trying to regain my senses his voice grinds out a torrent of words against my ear that are nowhere near the delightfully filthy things he something tells me. I hear a desperate sort of confession of how much he loves me and how grateful he is to spend his life with me that is every bit as sexy.
When the sweat dries and we've caught our breath, I turn on my side to face him and draw my fingers over his brows and down the length of his nose till I reach his lips and he kisses my fingertips.
"The beard looks nice," I whisper as I run my fingers over the soft whiskers.
"Thought you deserved to marry a respectable looking man," he murmurs with a quirk to one corner of his mouth.
"Not too respectable," I tell him, "I like my wild mountain man."
"Don't worry, I've had a beard since I was 16. I wouldn't recognize myself without it."
His eyes are gently closed, his voice thick with satisfaction and sleep.
"I love you too Barrett," I whisper softly.
The words are something we've been sharing for a couple of weeks already, but right now they aren't adequate to express how I feel about this man.
His lips twitch and curve into a smile, "I mean it every time, you know," he whispers back. "I love you, Dorthy. I'm so fucking glad I didn't let you leave."
His eyes flutter open and he gazes into mine, "You're the best thing that ever happened to me and I'm a damn lucky fool to get to spend my life with you."
Then his eyes close again and I lean forward to kiss him tenderly before curling into his arms.
"You got that right," I say softly, not expecting him to still be awake. "You're my damn lucky fool and I plan to keep you forever."
His arms squeeze around me and a kiss lands off target next to my face before we both give in to sleep.
Thank you for reading A Wise Investment
Another Raven Swann Arranged Marriage Story
Read Rogue and Melissa's story in BUSH (excerpt follows)
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Also by Rocklyn Ryder:
Arranged Marriage Romance (Raven Swann's client files:)
A Perfect Gentleman (excerpt included)
A Nice Boy
A Smart Choice
A Great Catch
A Real Keeper
A Good Move
A Wise Investment
An Elegant Solution (coming soon)
> Full Length Stand Alone Romances:
BUSH (Excerpt included)
WOOD
ROUGH
There are more great stories to be told from the files of Raven's match making portfolio, and plenty of other stories in the works so keep in touch so you don't miss a new release.
Rocklyn's Newsletter
Read Rogue and Melissa's story!
A Sample of:
BUSH: A Wild Romance
Full Length Stand Alone Romance
by Rocklyn Ryder
Melissa
Look, we all know there's a huge difference between fantasy and reality. Especially when it comes to sex. So girls like me, we read cheesy books and burn through batteries in the privacy of our own beds but out in the real world? We date guys that ask permission every step of the way.
Is it OK if I get your number?
Is it OK if we hang out sometime?
Is it OK if I call you?
Is it OK if I kiss you?
Is it OK if I put my hand on your ass?
Is it OK if...
You get the point.
Most guys are so terrified of making the wrong move, they won't even make eye contact. By the time you get to second base you've lost interest.
I'm not saying I want to go back to caveman days. I don't want to be scared to wear a mini skirt for fear of getting dragged into an alley but...
...shit....
I gotta wonder what it'd be like to have a man who's so fucking turned on by me that he can't help but push his luck. Not worried about going too far too fast, you know?
A man who doesn't need my permission in writing and notarized with witnesses.
What would it be like to have a real man? Getting all up in my personal space, getting me hot and bothered because he knows he gets me hot and bothered? Leaning in with a quirk on his sexy lips and growling the filthy things he wants to do to me in my ear while his unshaven jaw brushes against my cheek.
A man who doesn't need to ask my permission because he can read my body well enough to know that he can take what he wants.
And he knows exactly what he wants.
I shift uncomfortably on the bench and watch the men working around me. Ever since I landed in Alaska, I can't seem to get comfortable. There are a lot of men here.
Jeans and flannel and boots and hats. Not as many beards as I'd expected but even the clean shaven faces are masculine as fuck. The entire state reeks of testosterone. It's not doing me and my fantasy life any favors.
But it's Rogue that finally put me over the top. My pilot. The guy that I've been stuck in a tiny little cockpit with since this morning and the guy that I'm going to be stuck in a tiny cock pit with for the rest of the day.
The man exudes masculinity, he is the epitome of rugged, the poster child for wild Alaskan man.
And his name is Rogue for crying out loud! Who names their kid "Rogue?!" I saw his pilot's license. It says "ROGUE!" Rogue Masters. I couldn't make up a name like that.
He basically makes me want to rip my panties off and climb on his lap while he flies.
Did I mention the pilot part?
We are not talking major commercial airline pilot in a perfectly dry cleaned and pressed uniform. We are not talking about Top Gun fighter pilot jumpsuit-- although, gotta admit, I grew up near an Air Force base-- fighter pilots can be pretty hot.
No, we are talking about one hundred percent Alaskan bush pilot smexiness. Six foot, three inches of broad shouldered, corded muscle, wrapped in blue jeans, hunting boots, and thick flannel shirt. topped off with hair so dark it's almost black, scattered on top of his head like he basically doesn't give a fuck that he needed a haircut a month ago and a chin covered in thick stubble somewhere between "I'll shave tomorrow" and "fuck it I'm gonna let it grow." Eyes that match the glaciers I saw on our way into Anchorage and a voice so low and rough that every time he talks to me I get worried that I'm going to leave a wet spot on the seat of his plane.
Have you ever met a man that makes your entire body come alive? A man who turns you on so much that your body knows when he's standing behind you even when you didn't hear him walk up?
I know we all fantasize about a guy like that. We all want to believe that kind of animal attraction really does exist.
Let me tell you-- it exists. Because right now? I know Rogue's standing behind me. Even though I haven't heard his voice.
I can feel him. It makes my nerves light up in anticipation, like my skin is just waiting for him to touch it. My nipples get rock hard and my pussy gets wet. Embarrassingly wet. And this is how I've been feeling for hours now. It's getting uncomfortable and I swear if he doesn't get me to the cabin soon, I'm going to snap.
I keep my head down, eyes glued to the reading app on my phone, acting like I don't know he's there. I rest the hand that's holding my phone against my leg, hoping I can steady it enough that he doesn't see how bad it's shaking-- or sweating.
His breath hits my neck and at least I don't have to pretend I don't know he's there anymore. His arms drape over the back of the bench I'm sitting on, caging me between them as he casually dominates my personal space in a way that feels far too intimate. Like he just assumes it's totes cool for him to be hanging over my shoulder, breathing down the neck of my t-shirt while he...
Oh shit. I close my eyes, utterly mortified as he begins reading aloud, "licking her pussy till I wring out every drop of her orgasm, lapping at her wetness and coating my beard with her juices while her pussy clenches on my fingers..." I feel his face turn toward mine and I don't have to open my eyes to see the wry grin on his perfect lips, "shit, woman, no wonder you're all fidgety if this is what you been reading this whole time."
My face burns with embarrassment as I feel him watch me blush and then turn back to the book in my hands, "she moans as my thick rod spears her, separating her walls and stretching her tight little cunt over my huge cock-- you're seriously reading this shit?"
Rogue phrases the question sarcastically, like he's making fun of me, but I swear his mouth just crept an inch closer to my ear and his voice turned down a notch in both volume and tone, going soft and dark as his breath tickles my skin.
"Well come on, we've got another stop to make before we get you up to Wolf Ridge and I still have to turn around and make it back in time for the game, so hop up and let's get."
His hand pats my shoulder twice and then stills on my body just long enough to burn its outline into my memory before he stands and turns.
I pick up my bag, close the reader app, and slip my phone back into my my pocket. I turn and follow him back to his plane in time to watch his denim-clad ass make a brief appearance as his flannel rides up when he reaches for a grip on the strut under the wing and steps up into his seat.
We've done this enough times now that I don't need his help anymore. Which is good, because when he picked me up this morning he had to hold my hand and show me how to get into my seat and I thought I was going to orgasm on the spot from just touching his damn hand.
Where ever we are now was our fourth stop on the way to the cabin I'll be staying in this summer.
Rogue's a bush pilot. Oh God, even his job is sexy. I've never been so grateful to be stuck in a ridiculously loud prop plane in my life. At least there's no way he can hear me moan when I watch his powerful thigh muscles work to push his perfectly toned ass into the seat in front of mine.
His plane is itty bitty. Just two seats and barely enough space for my duffle bag and all the stuff he has to deliver to a string of places he calls "towns" along the way.
I haven't seen a town since we flew out of Anchorage. The two airports before this one were nothing but long fields with a shed at one end. This one, at least, had a real building. With real bathrooms, real coffee, and a staff of a few guys that seem to mostly stand around talking shit and gawking at my boobs.
"Ready?" he's asks from the seat in front of mine as I buckle myself in, then he looks back at me over his shoulder and his eyes
gesture meaningfully at my phone, "don't get too into that 'book' you're reading," he waggles his eyebrows at me, "I'll feel it in the plane if you move around too much."
I feel my face go beet read again as he adds, "And this baby doesn't have a rear view mirror so I can't watch if you start touching yourself."
He's joking, dimples appearing in his cheeks and sexy lines crinkling the corners of his eyes with his grin, but he has no idea how glad I am he doesn't have a rear view mirror.
Rogue begins our taxi down the thin strip of gravel that passes for a runway at this particular outpost of civilization and I squeeze my thighs together, hoping to avoid any telltale squirming.
Before I know it, we're in the air again. I'm getting used to the way the plane bounces on the air currents and the unbalanced feel of the wings tipping from side to side as Rogue pulls us up and finds "that sweet spot" as he calls it; the place where the plane and the air get along best.
This is my first time coming to Alaska. It's the end of May now, not too cold and the nights are still long enough to be called night but Rogue is dropping me off at a place called "Wolf Ridge" and when he saw me this morning, he double checked 3 times to to make sure he understand me right when I said I was staying all summer alone.
From up here, it's beautiful. We soar over forests and rivers, and lakes and mountains-- well, we don't really soar over all the mountains. More like we fly between them. Which is truly stunning but also more than a little scary.
After another hour in the air, the plane starts to lose altitude and I see another clear field yawning out beneath us through the windows.
"Last chance to bail," Rogue says with a grin as he waits for me to climb out, "this is the last town before I abandon you in the wilderness, you sure you wouldn't rather spend the summer in a nice hotel?"
I follow him toward the hut that serves as an airport and look around, "I'm not saying yes, but where would I find a nice hotel around here?" I ask.
A Wise Investment: Arranged Marriage Romance Page 8
