One Weekend in London

17. Sadie

Rhys Kensington’scock is a drug.

And I’m hopelessly addicted.

“Sodding hell, I can’t get enough of your pussy. Of my pussy. Feels”—thrust—“so”—thrust—“damn”—thrust—“good.” The way he slams into me with repeated, bone-jarring thrusts while my legs are draped over his strong shoulders and his fingers dig roughly into my sweat-slicked flesh, makes me delirious with want, as if the pleasure he gives me will never be enough.

Is it any wonder I’m hooked?

“Rhys, oh God... I’m so close!” I scream, fisting the sheets at my side as the metal headboard slams against the penthouse’s dove-colored wall, seemingly close to busting through the plaster. “Please don’t stop!”

Lost in the pleasure he’s ripping from me, I’m not even sure he hears my plea as he circles my clit with his thumb in time with each punishing pump of his hips, catapulting me toward bliss.

Sweat beads on his broad chest as he speeds up, his pace now punishing, and the dirtiest of words spill from his bite-worthy lips, his filthy monologue shoving me closer to the edge.

“I want you to come for me. Want you to milk my cock like the greedy girl you are, soaking me with your sweetness.” The mouth on him... “You want me to come inside you?” Heaven help me, I want it more than anything. “Then bloody well make me.”

His final words are my undoing.

An animalistic cry rips from my throat as I shatter. My entire body tenses, the pleasure tears through me enough to steal my breath, sending me into a pleasure-driven tailspin. I clamp down on him like a vise, his thrusts becoming jerky, uncoordinated.

“Fuck!”

The lone curse is all Rhys lets out before following with a guttural shout, his cock pulsing, filling me with everything he has to give.

And I’ve come to crave.

His eyes dazed, he drops my legs from his shoulders and collapses on top of me, pinning me with his weight as we both gasp for breath, gulping in air.

“Christ.” He nuzzles his face against my throat, gently kissing my skin. I arch my neck, giving him better access, needing, and wanting him to never stop. “Every time it gets better.”

I would respond but I can’t.

Not with the last tendrils of my release still rippling through me even as he eases out, the loss of him making me whimper. He soothes the ache he’s left behind by taking my lips in a soft kiss before wordlessly climbing off the bed and padding to the bathroom.

I’ve only begun to catch my breath when he emerges with a damp cloth, the sight of him naked and gleaming with sweat enough to make a girl’s knees go weak.

Brows furrowed in concentration, he stands by the bed, his eyes fixed on my open thighs, and possessing a gentleness that squeezes my fluttering heart, wipes me clean, the cool rag helping to ease the soreness setting in.

I dang near tear up at the gesture.

Experiencing something sweet is another first for me.

I swallow, my throat suddenly tight, as he tosses the soiled rag into a hamper which lid opens and shuts with the wave of his hand. His attention quickly returning to me, he leans down, cupping my face. “I need to shower. Care to join me?”

“In a minute. I just need to catch my breath.”

He nods and drops a kiss to my nose. “One minute, love. Not a second more.” With a wink followed by a grin, he vanishes into the ensuite, the glorious sight of his bare ass as he walks away an image I’ll never forget.

Not even when I’m old and gray.

And if I follow in Papaw’s steps, half crazy.

As the hiss of the shower fills the room, I burrow deeper into the luxurious bedding, where I spent all night—morning too since it’s now past lunchtime—immersing myself in Rhys’s scent.

Against my heated skin, the who-knows-how-many-thread-count sheets act as a cocoon, both cooling and comforting me.

My eyes flutter closed and blindly, I reach for my phone on the nightstand. Might as well check in with the crazies back home in Garrison while I’m lying here, shrouded in bliss, and wrapped in pure happiness.

Lord knows I don’t need Knox’s brooding, hot-tempered self jumping on a plane and interrupting my good time, something he’d have no hesitation in doing.

Talk about what would be a disaster of epic proportions.

After reopening my eyes, I snap a quick selfie, artfully concealing my still-trembling body with the top sheet and making it look as though I’m not totally naked underneath.

Thank goodness for portrait mode.

Exhaling, I open the family group chat.

Me: [photo] Miss you guys! Just checking in. London is AMAZING. And so is Rhys. I think I may have found my Prince Charming after all.

Notifications instantly flood my screen.

And here we go...

Tasha: HOLY CRAP @SADIE. I was just about to call you! You and Rhys are brEAKING THE INTERNET. Literally. Like, I’m talking you guys are front page news EVERYWHERE!

Confused, I scroll as images start to appear.

And just like that, my heart stops.

Tasha’s sent a barrage of screenshots—tabloid covers and live-feed shots plastered with photos of Rhys and me. Our charged, almost-kiss at the hotel elevator. Arriving hand in hand at the theater. His fingers on my chin, his forehead intimately pressed to mine.

An anxiety-constructed boulder settles in my belly.

Headline after headline screams: “Mystery Woman Snags London’s Most Eligible Bachelor,” followed by “Rhys Kensington Off the Market?” I nearly drop my phone. I seriously can’t believe this is happening.

I almost begin to panic.

But then, oddly enough, I don’t.

Because you know what? Who even cares.

I’ve never been someone who yearned for the spotlight. In fact, I’ve always followed the crowd, doing my best to blend in. But if being at Rhys’s side means I star center stage here and there on some trashy tabloid magazine or a celebrity gossip website, then I’ll deal with it.

I’ll work through my anxiety and the most-of-the-time unnecessary panic that accompanies it. Because being with Rhys? It’s more than worth it.

And hey, at least photogs got my good side.

Knox: @Sadie you’re not thinking straight. You’ve been through a lot and the last thing you need is to fall for some stranger’s sweet-talk. Get on the plane tomorrow morning, or else I’m coming to get you.

Me: No, actually I don’t think I will.

Knox: @Emmett, come pick me up. We’re flying to London ’cause, apparently, I’m gonna have to drag @Sadie back, kicking and screaming before she ends up hitched to some guy we’ve never met and pregnant with his baby.

Pregnant? I don’t think so.

Someday, but not anytime soon.

Sutton: I’m coming too! @Tasha, watch after Devney for me while I’m gone. You know I don’t like leaving my girl but this is #familybusiness.

Sutton is absolutely full of it.

I adore him to pieces but he’s crazier than Papaw if he thinks he’ll be able to leave Devney for a single day. Those two are so attached at the hip, they might as well be conjoined twins.

I love that for them though.

Papaw: All right now, y’all hotheads simmer down. Sadie Lou can handle herself. She’s got more sense than you two knuckleheads combined. And just ’cause she picked the wrong guy once, don’t mean she’s gonna do it again. We can worry but we gotta trust her. Ya hear?

A boatload of surprise, followed by relief washes through me. Thank heavens for Papaw. I wouldn’t trade my crazy cousins for the world, but sometimes—okay, a lot of the time—they’re certified pains in my backside. Papaw is too, but at least he sometimes maintains a modicum of common sense.

Keyword being sometimes.

Tasha: @Knox stop being such a horse’s ass. Ain’t nobody asked you for your input! And @Sutton, hush up. We all know you aren’t leaving Devney. Besides, the only question we should be asking is, can @Sadie even handle HIM? I mean have you SEEN Rhys? Dude’s a walking, talking orgasm. That level of hotness is just intimidating.

Although she’s one-hundred-percent correct, I laugh, knowing Tasha’s only saying that to get a rise out of her big brother, something she’s always seeking to do.

Weston falls for her game too.

Hook, line, and sinker.

Weston: brB, bleaching my eyeballs. And then I’m finding a convent to put you in until you’re at least thirty @Tasha!

Told you.

Poor Weston’s going to end up with high blood pressure like Papaw if Tasha keeps it up.

Which, let’s face it, she totally will.

Tasha: @Weston go ahead. I’ll just take over the place, teach the nuns to pole dance, then lead a rebellion that would make Boudicca proud.

Weston: @Tasha and what would you know about pole dancing? This is all Zane’s doing, isn’t it? I’m gonna murder that kid!

I need to start tapping the screen, typing away as fast as I can and deescalate the situation before this spirals further. Tasha giving Weston a hard time is one thing. But him dousing gasoline all over her temper and striking a match by mentioning Zane is another.

She’s probably about to explode.

Thankfully, Lillian changes the subject.

Lillian: Soooo @Sadie, just put us out of our misery. Are you coming home tomorrow? Or are you going to stay a little longer?

Before I can reply, she continues.

Lillian: FYI, I fully support you staying and exploring your feelings, and I’m sure your boss at the distillery won’t mind at all, given that it’s Papaw, but if you don’t get your butt back to Garrison before I have this baby, I will have a meltdown of epic proportions b/c I need you.

I start to reply, assuring her I’d never miss out on her giving birth, but then I pause, my breath catching.

Because through the half-open bathroom door, I glimpse a naked Rhys in the steamy glass, rivulets of hot water coursing over his tawny skin and cut muscles, following the dips and valleys I’d like to trace with my tongue.

Sweet baby Jesus.

The sight of him, all sleek power and raw masculinity, has a new wave of heat blooming in my lower belly, my tired body suddenly coming back to life.

Lillian’s questions forgotten, I toss my phone aside, leaving my family hanging, something I’m becoming accustomed to doing. They’re probably all having a conniption fit and will give me grief over it later, but I’ll deal, because someone else needs my full attention.

Rhys.

Biting my lower lip, I slip from the sheets, my every nerve ending standing at attention as I enter the bathroom. Without giving myself the time to second-guess what I’m doing, I open the glass door and step into the intoxicating heat. My nipples harden beneath the spray as I wrap my arms around him, resting my chin on his chest and look up, meeting his molten gaze.

“Care for some company?”

I lean back and his eyes rake over me with blatant appreciation, his hardening cock sending shivers racing down my spine. A wicked grin curves his lips, promising all sorts of delicious depravity.

“Care for it? I demand it, love.”

His hands find the back of my thighs and he lifts me, my legs wrapping around his hips. Greedy for more of what he spent all night giving me, I wind my arms around his neck, our wet bodies pressed together.

As close as we are, it still isn’t enough.

I moan when he slants his mouth over mine, my world becoming nothing but the sweet slide of his tongue against mine, the reverent glide of his palms on my sensitized skin. Cemented in my very own heaven, all that exists in this lust-drunk moment is him and me.

Complete and absolute perfection.