My Alpha Shamed Me at His Victory Feast, So I Took His Coast novel · Chapter 2 of 24

Chapter 2: The Camp

A nor'easter closes the road and Armand's river camp is the only warm room; she sets her terms and he puts his mouth on her at the plank table, and for the first time since the funeral she cries; at dawn the Bay's Counter calls him to put her on.

He had me against the cabin door before the lamp was lit.

It had taken three hours to get there.

Route 9 was shut at Aurora with a tree down across both lanes.

He had said "I know a way," and nothing else, and drove the last forty minutes on a logging road in the sleet.

I had not said anything either, all that way, with my father's buoy in my lap.

Now the buoy was on the floor somewhere, and his beard was against my jaw.

I was kissing him hard enough to taste blood.

"Mercy," he said into my mouth.

"Don't talk."

He didn't.

He lifted me by the backs of my thighs, and I wrapped my legs around his waist.

The door shook in its frame.

His mouth was warm and slow, and then it wasn't slow.

He kissed me hard and did not hurry, and I felt how long he had wanted to.

I pulled at his canvas coat until it hit the floor.

I dragged his shirt up over his head and put both hands flat on his chest.

He had thick dark hair there, and a long white scar under the left collarbone.

"What's that?" I said.

"A saw."

"Does it hurt?" I asked.

"Not when you do that."

I raked my nails down the scar, and he made a sound low in his throat.

He set me on my feet and crossed the dark cabin to the woodstove.

He knelt, and there was a match, and then kindling, and then red light.

I stood by the door and watched his back.

It was wide and ridged with muscle, and he was careful with the fire.

His hands did not shake.

I took off my coat.

I took off the green dress the Hall had chosen for me, and my boots, and my stockings.

By the time the fire caught, I stood in the middle of the floor in my underwear.

The cold sat on my skin.

He turned around on his knees and looked at me.

Nobody had looked at me like that in a year.

I thought nobody ever had.

"Say what you want," he said.

"First, my terms."

"Go on," he said.

"One week. Nothing claimed, nothing promised."

"All right," he said.

"No marks. Not mine on you, not yours on me."

"All right," he said again.

"And in front of other people you never speak for me. Not once."

"Done," he said.

"You didn't even think about it."

"I've had a long time to think about it, Mercy."

He said it plainly, and he did not smile.

"Done."

I didn't ask what he meant.

I had told him not to ask, and I wanted the room to stay that simple.

I walked to the plank table where he ate his suppers and sat on the edge of it.

I put my bare foot against his chest.

"Get on your knees," I said.

He was already on them.

"All the way down."

He lowered his weight onto the floorboards in front of me.

He laid his big hands flat on my thighs and waited.

I had never ordered a man to do anything he wasn't going to do anyway.

This one obeyed, and he looked glad to, and my whole body went hot at that.

"Take them off," I said, and I hooked my thumb under my waistband.

He drew my underwear down my legs, slowly, and set it aside.

He opened my knees with both hands.

"Look at you," he said, low. "Look at you, Mercy."

"Stop looking and use your mouth."

He laughed, a short, surprised breath of a laugh.

Then he put his mouth on me.

I grabbed the edge of the table.

He licked up the whole length of me, slow, with his beard rough on my inner thighs.

His tongue was flat and hot.

He found my clit and circled it, and I said his name out loud.

I did not care who heard.

"Harder," I said.

He gave me harder.

He closed his lips around my clit and sucked, and I put my fist in his hair.

I held his head where I wanted it.

"There. Right there. Don't you move."

He didn't move.

He groaned against me, and I felt the sound all the way up my spine.

He pushed two fingers inside me, thick and slow, and curled them forward.

I came apart on that table.

It hit me in long waves, with my thighs shaking on either side of his shoulders.

My heels dug into his back.

He kept going through all of it, working his tongue until I could hardly bear it.

Then he kept going a little longer.

"Good," I told him, when I could talk. "Good. Again."

"Tell me how you want it," he said against my thigh.

"Slower. Deeper. And don't you dare stop."

He did it again.

The second one was slower, with his fingers dragging inside me in a steady curl and his mouth soft on my clit.

I came with my head thrown back against the cabin wall.

His name was in my throat, and my legs gave out.

He caught me before I slid off the table.

He held me against his bare chest, and I felt how hard he was against my stomach through his jeans.

"Your turn," I said.

"You don't have to."

"I know I don't."

I pushed him back by the shoulders, onto the rag rug in front of the stove.

"Lie down."

He lay down.

The fire lit him from the side, and I could see the white scar and the dark beard.

It lit the heavy line of him straining against the denim.

I knelt between his knees and undid his belt.

He watched my hands.

His jaw was tight.

I got the buttons open and took him out.

He was thick and hot and heavier in my palm than I had expected.

"God," I said.

"Mercy."

"Hush."

I wrapped my fingers around him and stroked him once, base to tip.

I watched his stomach hollow.

Then I bent down and took him into my mouth.

He swore in a long, low string of French I did not follow.

His hands closed on the rug on either side of him.

He tasted of salt and wood smoke.

I took him as far as I could and used my hand for the rest.

I found the rhythm that lifted his hips off the floor.

"Slow," he said hoarsely. "Mercy, slow, or I'll..."

I did not go slow.

I looked up at him from where I knelt, with his cock in my mouth, and held his eyes.

He stared back at me, open and wrecked, his chest heaving.

"You're the best thing I've ever seen," he said.

I took him deeper for that.

He came with a broken sound, deep and long.

His whole body drew tight under my hands.

I stayed with him through it and swallowed every drop.

I sat back on my heels and wiped my mouth with my wrist.

He lay on the rug with his arm over his eyes, his chest going up and down.

"Not tonight," I said, before he could speak. "The rest of it. I'm not doing that tonight."

"I wasn't going to ask."

"I want to do it in daylight. I want it to be mine."

I pushed my wet hair off my face.

"Not something I did to prove a point to a lodge full of people."

He took his arm off his eyes.

"Whatever time you want," he said. "Whatever day."

"Everything else tonight."

"Everything else, then."

He was already getting hard again.

I felt it when I moved, and so did he.

"That fast?" I said.

"You're naked on top of me, and you just came on my mouth twice. What did you think would happen?"

I laughed, my first real laugh in a year.

It surprised both of us.

I pushed him flat on the rug and climbed over him on my knees.

My thighs were on either side of his hips.

I did not take him inside me.

I settled my wet pussy down along the length of him, so that he lay hard and hot between my lips.

Then I rocked.

He hissed through his teeth.

"Mercy."

"Hold my hips."

His hands closed on them, big enough to span me nearly to the spine.

I slid forward and back, slow at first.

Every pass dragged the head of his cock over my clit.

I was so wet I left a shine on him.

He lifted his head off the rug and took my nipple into his mouth.

He sucked it hard, and I felt the pull of it low in my belly, right where his cock was sliding.

"Don't stop that," I said, and held the back of his head against me.

He didn't stop.

He licked the nipple and moved to the other one, and my rhythm broke and came back rougher.

"That's it," he said, hoarse. "Look at you. Use me."

I used him.

I put both palms on his chest, over the scar, and ground down harder.

My braid had come loose, and my hair fell around us.

He watched me, and his eyes went dark.

He pulled my hips into every stroke and fed me praise in a low steady voice.

"Beautiful. Take what you want. Faster, if you want it. Come on me."

The pressure built low in my belly, tight and bright.

I leaned down and bit his lower lip, hard.

He groaned into my mouth.

I rode him faster, my clit sliding against the whole hot length of him.

I came a third time in a long shudder that left me gasping against his jaw.

He held on through it.

Then his own control went.

He groaned and arched under me, and he spilled hot across his belly and mine.

I lay on top of him, slick and boneless, with my face in his neck.

Neither of us said anything for a while.

Then he sat up and pulled me into his lap.

He tugged the wool blanket off the bunk and wrapped it around the both of us.

I was naked, and he was half-dressed.

The stove ticked, and snow came down past the window.

I put my head on his shoulder.

Then, with no warning at all, I was crying.

I had not cried at my father's grave.

I had not cried when they told me Eben was gone.

I had not cried at my wedding, or in a whole year of dinners at the foot of that table.

I cried now into the side of his neck, hard, with my mouth open, until my throat hurt.

He didn't say a single word.

He held me and rocked a little, with one big hand spread across my back.

Once he turned his head and set his lips against my hair.

He left them there.

When it was over I was empty and warm.

I fell asleep before I knew I was going to.

He carried me to the bunk.

At first light, his phone began to buzz on the plank table.

He answered it quietly and listened, and then he looked at me.

He held the phone out across the blanket.

"Mercy Beal," said an old voice I knew better than my own. "The Bay heard your colors came down last night. Come home."

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