Page 9 of Soft Flannel Hank

Hank’s hands gripped her hips and she let him lead, following his momentum, clumsily backing up the wooden steps and holding onto his jacket for balance. While he unlocked the door, she attempted to climb him like a tree. But then the door opened, and he steered her inside, still kissing her like the world was ending. One of his hands wrapped around her body, gripping her ass, and the other reached out straight behind her, protecting her from slamming to anything as they moved through the house.

She broke the kiss to look around her and saw that they were in a den of sorts. Wood paneling made the room dark, but the floodlight outside gave enough light that she saw the large recliner sitting in the corner. She took the lead and maneuvered him backwards, until he fairly fell back into the recliner.

She climbed into his lap and he grabbed her ass again with both hands, pulling her against his chest. Esther gasped and wrapped her arms around his neck.

“What do you want, Hank?” she asked, biting his earlobe. He groaned and gripped harder. She felt every single one of his fingers pressing against her. He buried his face in the crook of her neck and kissed his way up to her ear, wet, open-mouthed kisses that made her legs weak.

While she waited for his answer, she pushed the jacket over his shoulders. He leaned forward and shrugged it off, tossing it to the floor behind her. He moved his face back to her neck, but she pushed him away again.

“What do you want, Hank?” Esther asked again, her voice quiet but insistent.

His hands moved to her thighs, spread wide over top of his. He rubbed his palms up and down their length in the same way she had seen him rub his own. She heard the soft whisper of his callouses against her jeans. He looked down at his hands.

“You,” he murmured. “I want you.”

It seemed obvious, but maybe it shouldn’t have been. The people she usually found herself in these positions with would have answered that question with some very specific scenario involving mouths and tongues and orifices and promises that she’d forget her own name.

But Hank didn’t say any such thing.You. I want you.He didn’t care what they did together as long as he had her. Was it not the sweetest thing she’d ever heard?

“That was stupid,” he said, shutting down, and Esther’s heart lurched again in her chest. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

“You want me, Hank?” she whispered, gently pulling on his beard.

He licked his lips. Like a lion looked at a lamb between its paws.

“More than I can remember ever wanting anything.”

She felt the wicked smile cross her face. “You want to fuck me, Hank?”

He groaned, closed his eyes, and threw his head back, pressing it against the worn upholstery of the recliner.

“Or do you want me to fuck you?”

His eyes flew open, powerful restraint at war with desire.

“Yes or no, Hank,” she smirked, unbuttoning the four buttons at the top of his waffle-knit Henley, revealing the dark chest hair beneath it.

He gripped the armrests.

Esther leaned in, kissed the corner of his mouth, his cheek, the space just in front of his ear, before whispering, “Yes or no?”

She was almost blown back by the force with which he lunged at her from beneath her in the recliner. He clutched her to his chest, licking against the seam of her mouth, pleading for entrance before their tongues tangled together. She unbuttoned his pants, slid the zipper down, and reached into the flap of his underwear. He was heavy and thick in her hand, just like the rest of him.

She stroked him, letting her lightly clenched fist travel up his length to the head. Feeling the rush of power as he hissed a breath through his teeth.

“Please. Please. Please.” He begged her, and there was something so powerful, soempoweringabout a man like Hank—solid and strong and self-possessed andso, so big—begging a person like her for anything.

She smiled. “Well, since you said please.”

Esther slithered off his lap and stood between his knees. She turned around so her back was to him, unbuttoned her jeans, and hooked her thumbs in the waistband of both the jeans and her panties. She pushed them down her legs, bending forward as she did, only to be stopped by her Doc Martens.

She groaned and felt her cheeks heat. It would have been so sexy to bend down and give him that eyeful, that taste. But there was nothing sexy about bending over to untie your boots with your pants around your ankles.

“Here. Let me.”

Hank had scooted to the front of the recliner and gently turned her around to face him, barely touching her as he trailed his fingertips down her legs to her boots. He spread his legs wide to accommodate his torso as he bent forward and untied the double knots at the top of each boot.

Esther stood stock still as he worked with quiet efficiency. Her embarrassment dissipated as she braced her hands on his broad shoulders and lifted one foot and then the next so he could pull off her boots and socks, setting them carefully to the side of the chair. He skated his fingertips up the sides of her jeans to the waistband, holding them steady so she could step out of them.