She groaned at the first contact of his hand against her hot, wet center.
“You’re amazing,” he said. “So fucking gorgeous. So sweet and hot at the same time. God, I can’t wait to make you come over and over again.”
That was all he did, and she went careening over the edge of her orgasm. He hadn’t even slipped a finger inside before the waves of pleasure burst over her.
“Fletcher!” she cried out.
“Damn,” he muttered.
But he wasn’t done with her yet. Now he slipped one big, long finger into her. The ripples of her climax were still trembling through her pussy and her inner muscles clamped onto his finger immediately. She gasped as she seemed to bounce up toward the pinnacle again. He pumped his finger deep, then added a second, stroking rhythmically and quickly.
“Again,” he said, gruffly.
She rolled her head back and forth.
“Yes,” he said firmly. He curled his fingers against her G-spot and she whimpered at the delicious sensation. “Again,” he repeated.
Her finger went back to her clit and she started circling again. How could she argue with the man who was making her whole body sing?
She felt the climb toward another orgasm beginning.
Unbelievable.
“Tell me what else you want,” he ordered. “Anything.”
“I can barely think,” she told him, her words coming out in breathy pants.
“Feel,” he said. “What do you feel?”
“My nipples. Suck on my nipples.” The answer came quickly and easily.
He groaned and lowered his head, his mouth capturing one of the stiff points and sucking hard.
His fingers continued to thrust in and out and she circled her clit faster.
“Oh God, yes, Fletcher!”
She lifted her other hand to her opposite breast, pinching that nipple at the same time.
Sensations from all over her body, the scent of Fletcher, the rustle of the project papers she was lying on, and dozens of memories from this very room, including movie nights, game nights with their friends, and just sitting and laughing and talking, all crashed in on her at once.
She shot over the summit, her orgasm pounding through her,
She cried Fletcher’s name again and heard his answering, “Fuck yes.”
The second orgasm went on longer than the first and was definitely more intense.
Jordan’s body seemed to melt into the floor underneath her as it slowly began to fade. She felt Fletcher shift to lie beside her. His fingers slipped from her body, but he rested his hand on her lower belly as she sucked in lungfuls of oxygen.
It was several long seconds, possibly a couple of minutes, before he said, “A+, Miss Benoit.”
She chuckled, and rolled toward him. “It’s Mrs. Landry to you.”
His hand, now resting on her hip, gave her a squeeze. “Yes, it definitely is.”
She ran her hand up his arm to his neck and pulled him close. She kissed him, taking her time to really taste him. Then she pulled back and met his eyes, “I’m more on board with this slowing down thing than I was before.”
He chuckled and pinched her ass. “Let’s go upstairs and I’ll convince you that slowing down is your favorite thing ever.”
She shivered. “I’m also suddenly glad I didn’t bring a new puppy home tonight.”
He lifted a brow. “See? Slowing down can be a good thing.”
And it was. Twice more that night.
Four nights later, Jordan looked up from her laptop at the kitchen table as Fletcher came in through the back door. After dinner at Ellie’s, he’d gone with Zeke to look at the area they were thinking would be the best for the zebra pasture—she still couldn’t believe they were thinking about getting zebras—and she’d come home and immediately sat down at the kitchen table to go over more information about grant applications.
Charlie and everyone else involved with Boys of the Bayou were in favor of the program, but they needed funding to pay a psychologist to consult, for additional training for Jordan, and to develop further materials and buy supplies.
Thankfully, there was solid research around how animals helped people with a variety of issues from mild to severe. They felt good about their chances at getting a big grant from the Wallace-Hanson Foundation. But applying for a grant was a daunting task.
Jordan looked over to see what animal Fletcher had brought home with him, knowing he wouldn’t be empty handed. The idea of her and the animals getting used to one another had resulted in a new animal hanging out with them every night.
Last night, she’d found herself sitting on the lid of the toilet in their guest bathroom with her laptop balanced on her knees researching grant funding for programs like theirs while the four ducklings paddled in the bathtub.
The night after the hedgehog had come home, they’d had dinner at Ellie’s with everyone and then spent the evening with Baby Ruth and Skittles, two of the juvenile otters.
They’d also talked about Jordan’s conversation with a child psychologist in New Orleans who was interested in being a consultant to their program and helping them develop ways to reach out to kids with anxiety, depression, and grief issues.
Hermione the pig had spent the night with them the next night. Well, until about three a.m. when the thunder started. She’d woken them up freaking out about the storm and had needed to be taken back to her barn at the petting zoo and, more importantly, to Sylvester, her comfort cat.
Jordan had helped Fletcher with the poor thing, but she’d definitely been groggy and slept in the next morning since she’d gone to bed around one-thirty after reading through a stack of articles Fletcher had brought her about talking to kids about grief and anxiety and how different species of animals grieved.
Apparently, he was using his lunch breaks at school to research additional resources.
Jordan found that sexy as hell.
He was seducing her and making her fall deeper in love with him with research articles and pigs.
Well, and the nightly “lessons” in how she liked to be touched and kissed and talked to. Thankfully, two nights ago, he’d let her do a little learning on him as well. She’d gotten extra credit—an extra orgasm—for how well she’d retained the information last night.
Now she watched as he set the tortoise he carried down on the kitchen floor.
“This is Lentement,” he said with a grin.
Jordan nodded. “Lenny and I have met.” Lentement meant “slow moving” in Cajun French but everyone called him Lenny.
“And I forgot to tell you at dinner that Regan was at school today and she said to tell you she has two clients she thinks would be willing to do some public talks or even just act as consultants if we’d like them to. Matt has muscular dystrophy and Amy is a marathon runner who had her lower leg amputated after a car accident.”
“Wow, really? That would be amazing.”
He grinned and grabbed a beer from the fridge, then joined her at the table. “How are things going? You were up late last night.”
Their new routine was to have dinner with the family, then home for some heavy petting—they both loved the term too much not to use it—and then talking and brainstorming about the program. Sometimes they brainstormed first and got naked after. Sometimes they did it all kind of at the same time. But Fletcher, the one with a job that required him to show up at a certain time and deal with a roomful of eight-year-olds all day, had headed to bed before Jordan the past three nights. She’d developed night owl tendencies hanging out with a musician and it took her longer to wind down. And to get going in the morning.