Page 68 of The Matchmaker's Cottage

It didn’t manifest as a surprise to her, the crashing, shattering orgasm that followed his ministrations. She had already been halfway there from the moment she’d removed her bra, so the actual climax was inevitable.

The wrenching, fitful, quavering, all-encompassing nature of itdidshock her, though. White-hot lightning zapped through her, electric and intense, causing her to cry out and sob and jerk her body upward in ways she had almost no control over. Movement that caused him to place a steadying hand on her chestbetween her breasts, even as he worked her down from what was one of the more profound experiences of her life.

She shook and sweated, her body cooling dramatically and rising in goose bumps all over as she came down, chest still heaving with gasping whimpers from the aftermath.

“Ethan,” she whispered finally, hoarsely, running shaky fingers through his hair from where it rested on her thigh. “Ethan, please.”

He grunted in response, not moving, as though trying to get himself under control.

“I need you,” she said eventually, swallowing her pride against the words, speaking her truth. “I need you inside me.”

His body stilled, and she worried it had been the wrong thing to say for a fraction of a second, when suddenly he surged forward, capturing her mouth with his and kissing her. Kissing her so thoroughly, she could taste herself on his tongue, his passion evident in every stroke.

Realizing he was still fully dressed, she began to tug at his T-shirt while he undid his pants, pushing them down as she pulled his shirt off.

In short order, he was nude before her, and she took him in, impressed by how the body of an athletic teenager had become that of an extremely fit man—no paunch to speak of, just cut sinew, rounded shoulders and pecs, broad and mouthwatering, somehow tanned underneath all his clothes as though he sunbathed in the nude, which would be wild but not completely uncharacteristic if that were the case.

Most prominently displayed was, of course, his massive erection, which he palmed, flustered and clearly aroused, the color high in his cheeks under dilated pupils.

“Thank you,” she murmured stupidly as he stood there…waiting? For her to make the first move? To give him some sort of green light?

Or maybe he was just taking it all in, the way she was, or at least was trying to, this absurd rightness, a welcome insanity.

“Condom?” she asked, her voice coming out in a croak, and it felt weird, this question, as though she were interrupting the flow or the passion of the moment.

The haze of lust lifted from his gaze, and he looked bemused, anxious.

“No,” he said, his voice raspy. “I mean—yes, I think, but it would be in my room—”

“Can we not?” she whispered, and he looked taken aback. “Use them, I mean? I—” She swallowed. “I haven’t—” Taking a deep breath, she continued. “It’s been a while.”

“I mean, I—” Had it been a while for him? His face seemed to indicate perhaps it hadn’t. Could she trust him? “I’m okay with…not using one. You don’t have to worry about anything from me, I’ve been checked out recently and, uh…” He laughed hoarsely, uncomfortably. “This is awkward.”

“Yeah,” she agreed softly, though she could feel affection seeping through as he blushed and fumbled his way through this uncomfortable but necessary part of their moment. “It is.”

“But are you—can you—?”

Pregnancy. She understood implicitly what he was asking. But she had been on the pill since she was eighteen to regulate her periods and had never gone off it, even when she figured she probably should have, especially during the most recent dry spell she’d been having for the last…however long she’d owned Donwell. But he didn’t need all that extra information, that was for sure.

“I’m on the pill,” she said simply. “We’re good. Come.” Asshe reached for him, he met her halfway, and they kissed, and all the awkwardness of the moment dissipated when they joined up again, his mouth on hers, something so familiar about his scent, the shape of his mouth, the feel of his body underneath her roaming hands.

He felt between her legs, testing, and the evidence of her arousal must still have been there, because he groaned into her mouth, and she felt his hand shift, taking himself in it, rolling the head against her.

She was lying back on the hard, uncomfortable wooden bench, legs on either side. He had one knee up and one foot down, one hand beneath her lower back while the other was between her legs. It was the most awkward positioning she had ever been in, even in her—albeit limited—experience.

And she wouldn’t change a thing about it.

He skimmed himself through her wetness, and she bit her lip on a whimper, feeling the electric whir of it coursing through her body as he hit all the right spots. Then she felt him find her entrance, placing himself there and shaping his hands over her hips, pulling her toward him gently in a back-and-forth rocking motion, taking his time as he felt her getting used to him.

It took a moment for her to adjust, but once she did, she felt him settle further, and she drew him even closer, with her heels in the backs of his thighs. Once he was fully seated, they breathed together deeply, inhaled and exhaled, relishing the feel of it.

He stayed still for a beat too long, and she was about to tell him to move, when he suddenly reached under her with both hands and lifted her up, standing with her and carrying her to another area in the shed. She could feel herself settling fartheronto him, feel him going deeper than she’d ever felt before, until he had her propped up between the tool cabinet and his chest, held securely to his body.

She wriggled, and they both gasped, and then he started to move in earnest, holding her with ease as he maneuvered her into a steady rhythm. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and her legs around his hips, allowing him to take the lead.

“God, Gem, I don’t—you have no idea,” he groaned in her ear. “I shouldn’t be doing this.”

Her heart stopped at his words, the admission of his regret, before he continued.