She doesn’t realize she’s already won. But I’m not going to disappoint her; I’ll give her what she wants, then I’ll show her that she’s safe. Thinking about all the ways I’ll show her has a grin spreading over my mouth.

Her eyes go wide, tender lips parting.

Yeah, honey, it’s going to be like that.

And then I’m on her.

Brenna

 

I can’t breathe. Rye has taken all my air. I don’t know how he does it; all I have to do is think about him and my body goes haywire. Down is up and wrong is right. It’s unsettling to realize that the man I’ve spent my entire adult life trying to forget about has so much power over me. My body doesn’t give a damn. It’s humming with heat and need. I’m slick and hot between my legs, my breasts so sensitive, I feel the drag of silk over my bra with each panting breath I take in an attempt to draw in more air.

Rye looms over me, all hot, hard muscle and intensely focused gaze. He leans in, bracing his forearms on either side of my head—so close, but not close enough. I’m surrounded by his heat and strength, but not an inch of him is touching me.

Lines of strain creep out from the corners of his eyes and shadows lay in smudges beneath them, but a flush of exertion stains the crests of his cheeks. I want to trace that wash of dull red with my fingertips and find out if it feels as hot as it looks. He dips his head and fits his mouth over mine.

This kiss is unnervingly tender but so thorough and decadent, like he’s drinking me in, that my knees go weak. God, he feels so good, I just want to open my mouth wider and lick into him, eat up every delicious inch.

He pulls back with a little suck to my lower lip. “You all good now?” His voice is darkly carnal as he nuzzles my mouth again. “Got everything sorted out in Atlanta?”

A shiver races up my thighs, my mind threatening to blank. I know exactly what he’s really asking, and I give him the answer he deserves. “Yes.”

Rye hums as though he doesn’t quite believe me. He nips me again before kissing it better. “Good,” he says, voice rough and impatient. “No more randomly disappearing on me?”

My hands slide up to his wide shoulders, and I feel the tremor in those packed muscles. It makes me smile a little, because he’s clearly as affected as I am. “No more,” I promise.

He gives me a hard, seeking kiss, and then he draws away just enough to meet my gaze. His is hazy with lust. It’s a good look on him. He eyes my blouse, and my nipples tighten. The flush on his cheeks spreads to the bridge of his nose, and he bites his bottom lip.

“You attached to this shirt?” he asks almost idly, but I don’t miss the way his body tenses, all those glorious muscles drawing up tight. “Or can I buy you another one?”

For a second, I blank, and then it hits me what he wants to do. Bright heat flows over me. Oh, shit. I want that. I want that so badly I can barely form the words. “Do it.”

He holds my gaze, the intensity of his almost too much to bear as he reaches up and grasps the edges of my button-down blouse. I stare back at him as, with one efficient move, he rips the shirt wide open, little pearl buttons pinging around us like hail.

My breasts swell against the confinement of my bra, and I suck in a deep breath.

“Pink,” Rye murmurs, running the blunt tip of his finger along the scalloped edge of lace. “Pretty. But I know something prettier.”

A flick of his finger and the front clasp of my bra snaps open.

“There they are.” He eases the cups aside to reveal my bare breasts. “Such pretty little cupcakes.” Soft lips brush over my nipple, the tip of his tongue touching it. “So fucking sweet.”

He licks me like a cat seeking cream. Once. Twice.

Biting my lip, I arch into the touch.

“You like that, Berry?” His voice is a dark rumble. He licks me again then grins when I whimper. “Good girl.”

My stomach quivers, the bristles of his beard tickling my sensitive skin. He kisses the tip of my breast, just enough to make me want more.

“Rye,” I whine. Yes, whine. I’m dissolving into need, and it’s his fault.

“Be still,” he says in that deep, stern tone, affection mixing with something sharper, possessive. “It’s my turn now.”

Understanding hits with a breath that leaves in a whoosh, and hot prickles race over my skin.

I don’t want to be in charge. I want to be taken care of, let someone else take the lead.

You want me to take you in hand.

I’d asked for that. Wanted it in the quiet, needy corners of my soul.

At my silence, Rye looks up at me from under the thick fringe of his lashes. Slowly, while holding my gaze, his tongue slides over my hot nipple. I feel it between my legs, in the tight clench of my stomach. A whimper escapes, and he responds with a deep, sharp suck.

“Shit.”

Rye chuckles in pure male satisfaction, releasing my nipple with a decadent pop. His lips touch my wet flesh. “Unzip your skirt.”

Not a request.

I shouldn’t like it. I shouldn’t.

My hands tremble, fingers fumbling to comply.

He doesn’t watch to see if I do. He’s preoccupied with peppering light suckling kisses across my chest, seeking out my poor, neglected other nipple to torment. But the second the skirt slides to the floor to pool at my feet, he hums in satisfaction.

“Good, Bren. That’s a good girl.”

He kisses me soft and dirty, a lazy lick into my mouth, his thumbs gently rolling my stiff nipples. The combination has me mewling, arching my back to beg for more and harder. And he smiles against my lips, knowing exactly what he’s doing to me and loving it. His mouth slides away, and I tilt my head to the side, panting and so hot I am heavy with it.

Hands kneading my breasts, he sinks to his knees, mouth mapping its way down my belly, over the flimsy line of my panties. He pauses between my legs, lips pressed to the wet silk that clings to my aroused flesh, and, oh, God, he inhales, like he’s drawing me into his lungs.

A groan tears from him. “I needed this.”

Fingers hook into my undies to drag them down my hips. Big hands bracket my thighs, spreading them wide to expose me to his view. Rye’s lashes lower, a look of almost exquisite pain flashing across his face. “I needed this so much.”

Then his mouth is on me. And I’m the one groaning, my body a live wire. I writhe against the cool, hard wall, my fingers scrambling to clutch at his hair so I can pull him closer, hold him to me.

Oral sex is a skill. Rye has skills. But that isn’t what has me on fire, my body rushing toward an incandescent orgasm. It’s his unfettered devotion to devouring me, as if I’m his last meal, his first.

When he grunts, a greedy, wet, selfish sound—mouth hot and seeking, fingers biting into my ass—I fall apart, melt right there at the edge of his room. But Rye doesn’t let me go. He eases me through it, holds me steady. Hot blue eyes gaze up at me from between the pale columns of my trembling thighs. He nuzzles my swollen clit with the soft bristle of his beard, nibbles on the little aftershocks before all but purring against my sex.

Neither of us speaks for a long moment. Rye runs his hands up and down my legs, feeling their contours, trailing his fingers along the curves of my calves, the backs of my thighs. With a lingering squeeze, he rises.