Page 33 of Easy, Tiger

"Eager, Gallagher?" My voice turns gravelly, one hand combing back the curls falling into her face.

She answers by taking me deep, eyes locked on mine, throat working around me until a groan rips loose from my chest. Her teeth graze the crown, light enough to make my knees buckle, and she hums low in approval when I curse her name. One of her hands palms my balls while the other braces against my hip, anchoring me as her mouth works me slow and thoroughly, drawing every ounce of restraint I have left to the surface.

“Fuck, Halsey⁠—”

My fingers tangle in her curls, guiding unforcefully, as her mouth coaxes the last tremor from me. "Christ, Halsey—" I choke out as she draws back, wiping her lips with the back of her hand. Her chest heaves, eyes glinting with a mix of mischief and satisfaction.

"Is that all I get?" Her grin kicks one dimple into sharp relief. "Or are you done?"

"Sweetheart," I rasp, hauling her up until our noses bump. Sawdust falls like misplaced snowflakes from her hair. "My tongue isn't the only talent I've got." My hand slides down the curve of her spine, possessive and hungry. "We can keep going as long as you want."

Her laugh catches on a gasp when my teeth nip her earlobe. "Promises, promises, Maren."

"Bring it, Gallagher," I dare her, palms spanning her ribs.

"Let's do it."

In one fluid motion, I back her across the workspace, moonlight glinting off chisels hanging in their rack, until she hits the wall. The scent of her, wildflowers and warm skin, and pure want, drowns the woodsy air.

Pinning her against the tool-stippled wall, the hollow thump of wood against plaster rattles screwdrivers overhead. Curls tumble around her flushed face, tendrils catching on claw hammers. "Still doubting my stamina?" My thumb circles her clit through damp curls, drawing a broken inhale.

"Yes, prove me wrong." Her chin tips up, challenge warring with need in every line of her throat.

"Don't tempt me, artist." One palm cups her ass, shifting her higher against the wall. Fingers slick with her earlier wetness find her entrance, slow and patient as I curve against sensitive ridges inside. She groans my name like a curse, hips snapping forward to meet each thrust.

"Shhh, shhh—let me work." Tipping my forehead to hers, my breath fogs her flushed cheek. "You took your time with me. Least I can do is return the favor."

Her nails rake down my biceps, blunt tips leaving fever trails. "God— Nolan⁠—"

"That what you want? Deeper?" Curling my fingers, I search for that spot that makes her sob. When I find it, her eyes slam shut, back arching so sharply her shoulder blade knocks a mallet loose. It clatters to the floorboards.

Her laugh sounds wrecked, breathless as she grips my hips. "Carpenter… wrecking… his own shop?"

"Trade-off seems fair." Biting her collarbone to swallow her gasp, my fingers pump steadily now as she shudders around them. "Besides," my thumb brushes her clit again, feather-light. "Furniture isn't the finest thing I've ever made." My voice drops. "Your moans are."

She strokes the scar on my shoulder, the twin to the wound she stitched shut by the creek, and hooks her leg higher over my hip. My cock brushes her entrance in a slow, teasing slide that makes her choke on my name.

"One more time." My thumb sweeps her lower lip, gritty with sawdust from the bench. "Tell me you're still good."

Her laugh rasps, raw and impatient. "I've been good for the last twenty minutes, Maren. Stop asking and start doing."

"Simply making sure." I mean it, even through the haze the bond puts in my blood. "I need you to know you can say stop, any time, and I'll stop."

"I know." Her palm flattens on my chest, right over my heart. "I'm not going anywhere."

That's all the permission I need. Sinking into her slowly, I remain motionless once I'm fully seated, letting her breath stagger and level before I move at all. Her head falls back against the wall, curls snagging on unfinished dovetail joints.

"Halsey, you feel like nothing I've ever known."

"Then move." Her teeth graze my jaw, her hips already rocking against mine, impatient.

Retreating an inch—no further—I brace there long enough to feel her nails bite into my spine before driving back in. A moan punches from her chest. "That's it," she gasps. "Don't stop there."

And I listen as I set a pace that refuses to stay steady, three slow, grinding strokes and then a fourth that makes her cry out, never letting her body acclimate into anything she can predict. She urges me faster, but I catch her jaw instead and kiss her, swallowing the complaint before it fully forms. She kisses me back like she's starving, her tongue chasing mine, both of us breathing through the same ragged air.

"So impatient." Finally give her the pace she's begging for; each thrust snaps her pelvis against mine. My hand closes over her breast, thumb circling her nipple. "That craftsman's patience you like to tease me about? Doesn't apply here."

Her back arches, seeking more of my hand, more of everything. "Cheeky bastard."