Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 123058 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 615(@200wpm)___ 492(@250wpm)___ 410(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 123058 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 615(@200wpm)___ 492(@250wpm)___ 410(@300wpm)
The stubble of his beard is surprisingly soft and springy. It tickles the edges of my mouth with the smallest of counterstrokes, sensitizing my skin. I feel that tickle at the base of my neck, the undersides of my breasts, dancing up my thighs. It’s as if every nerve in my body is tied to my mouth and the way his makes me feel. A whimper escapes because I want more. I want it for hours.
But he’s easing away. I haven’t even discovered his taste. Just that small sample of his lips on mine.
I find myself chasing that clever mouth. But he holds firm, watching me, eyes bright with desire. Then he huffs out a half laugh, half groan and kisses me again. Deeper, slower, so intense I flare fever-hot. He…handles me. Moving me where he wants, coming at me from different angles as if he needs to try all of them. And then try them again.
And I love it.
God, I’m slipping into a daze, my body throbbing. If I weren’t sitting down, I’d have fallen.
I grip the collar of his shirt. My other hand is still pressed against his nape. His pulse strums a frantic rhythm. When I run the tip of my finger along the line of his neck, he grunts and breaks the kiss.
His lips are swollen, the bottom one glossy with our kiss. “That was…” He clears his throat. “It was…”
“Yeah, it was.”
Rye thumbs the corner of my mouth. “I knew it would be like that.”
I want to say something snarky about his confidence. But given the fact that he’s reduced me to this hot and melty creature of need, I can only lick my tender lips and stare back at him.
As if he can’t help himself, he ducks his head and skims a kiss along the sensitive curve of my jaw. “Tell me we’re doing this.”
It’s all I can do not to jump on his lap and ride him like a bike. My head feels like it’s floating. I’m so damn hot, I can barely form words.
“Rules.” I tilt my head back, let him nuzzle the crook of my shoulder. “We need rules.”
Rye stops, his nose burrowed in the hollow where my jaw meets my neck. He breathes in deep as though he’s scenting me. His breath gusts out in a warm rush that sends a shiver down my spine. “Give them to me.”
What were we talking about? Easing away, I sit back far enough that no part of me is touching any part of him. My head clears a little, but when I meet his eyes, a tremor runs through my belly. The very thing I’ve been trying for a decade to avoid, to not even think about, has happened.
I kissed him. He kissed me.
And it was so damn good, I’m aching to do it again. This is bad. Really bad.
But I can’t find it in myself to pull the brakes. Because he’s sitting there looking like a fever dream, that big, tight body laid out like a buffet on my couch, a massive bulge straining the soft contours of his worn jeans. I haven’t even let myself touch him. And there’s so much to explore.
“No one can know,” I blurt out.
His nod is sharp and quick. “At first, sure.”
“No, the whole time.”
A small frown wrinkles his brow. “Is the idea of being with me so embarrassing?”
My insides soften, and I shake my head. “No. It’s not that exactly. It’s just…We’ve become this…sideshow in our friends’ lives. I can hear them now, ‘Oh, look, they’re doing it. Let’s take bets on which one kills the other first.’”
Rye snorts eloquently. “They’d be smug as fuck.”
“Frankly, I think we’ve provided them with enough entertainment over the years. They don’t get ringside seats for this.”
“Not that I object to voyeurism in theory, but it takes on a whole other twist when your best friends are watching you have sex.”
“Go ahead, make jokes.”
“Who says I’m joking? You think I want Killian judging my technique? Or Scottie? That bossy motherfucker would probably make me repeat my dismount. Thanks, but no.”
A soft laugh escapes me, both at his exaggerated expression of distaste and the very idea of our friends sitting around a bed to watch us. Unfortunately, that only conjures up an image of being in bed with Rye, and I start to flush under my top.
Rye notices. His nostrils flare on an indrawn breath. When he meets my gaze, his is slightly hazy. He swallows hard. “You’re right. I don’t want or need their commentary. This is ours.”
Ours.
Flutters run riot in my belly. I push past the feeling and focus. “You don’t have to tell me everything you’re thinking. And I certainly won’t be telling you. But, when we do talk, there should be total honesty between us. No lies, no evasions.”