Chapter 27 – pippa #2
He grabs the elastic edge of my panties and yanks them roughly down over my hips.
Once he’s pulled them off, he pulls one of my legs up along the back of the couch and guides it up so it’s bent.
The other he shoves up to hang over his shoulder.
My muscles protest at the sudden stretch even as my blood sings at the thought of him manipulating my body like I’m a doll—a plaything.
His heated breath plays against my wet core, making my clit pulse.
He hasn’t even touched me yet, and I’m already pathetically desperate for him.
“This pussy is mine, Pippa,” he declares. “Because nobody can treat it better than I do. Nobody—” He kisses my inner thigh. “No other man can make this pretty, wet little pussy feel as good as I can. Tell me you know that.”
I whimper pathetically. I’m not thinking about anybody else—Ryan’s hands and mouth and cock are the only things on my mind. But Ryan nips my thigh, and I know he’ll need an answer before he gives me anything else.
“Say it,” he orders, voice low and wrecked. “Tell me who this pussy belongs to.”
I press my lips closed, but when he presses his lips hot against my inner thigh again, I can’t deny it. Not even to myself. For tonight, at least, I’m his.
“You,” I choke out, my hips jerking helplessly. “I’m yours, Ryan.”
I always have been.
His eyes shine. “Good girl.”
Then his tongue darts out, flicking against me, and my body sings at how fucking good it feels.
The flat of his tongue moves over my clit with determined focus.
He grabs my thighs and pulls my body hard against his mouth, putting even more pressure on my core.
Fuck, he’s relentless, like he’s trying to prove how fast he can make me come.
Like eating me out is a competition, and he has no choice but to be the winner.
Maybe if I wasn’t so turned on, I’d have a problem with that. I might tell him sex isn’t a prize, and it’s not how he wins me.
But right now, my head is full of snowflakes and glitter and fireworks—everything sparkly and beautiful. Ryan devours me, his mouth sinfully hot and wet. He consumes me until I’m writhing against his face, both of us chasing the inevitable drop.
His hands shove harder against my thighs, forcing my legs even further back so I’m even more spread open.
He hums against the slick flesh, sending vibrations rippling up my spine.
I dig my fingers into the couch cushions, grasping for purchase as the sparks flowing through my blood get brighter and brighter.
Somewhere beneath me, he groans like I’ve just handed him the winning hand in the biggest game of his life.
His words are muffled against my skin, nothing but broken fragments of praise— “that’s it, good girl…
ride my fucking face…give it all to me”—but they’re almost drowned out by the roaring in my ears.
Then my vision goes black, and I’m gone. Tumbling down a fucking mountain of an orgasm while my legs clench around Ryan’s head, holding on for dear fucking life. It’s like he threw me out of my head and into my body, changing me into some animal who only craves his mouth, his hands, his cock.
I tremble as I come down and Ryan presses a hot, wet kiss to my mound and then my thigh as I try to see through the dark spots still crowding in my eyes.
When I can finally see him, I find he’s grinning up at me from between my thighs, licking his glistening lips.
“Nobody makes you come like I do,” he says fiercely. “Nobody else knows what you need.”
This time, he doesn’t demand an answer. He already knows it’s true, and he knows that I know it, too.
His hands travel up my sides and knead my breasts. He holds me down like I’m bucking against him, when really I’m boneless and panting.
“Can you handle another one, baby?” he asks.
I whimper. Flickers of residual pleasure keep flashing through my body, like the stars in your eyes after you look at something impossibly bright. The skin on my thighs is so sensitized, even the brush of his hair makes me flinch.
“I can wait.” Ryan kisses my lower belly, right above my sex. “I know how high I just got you. Don’t worry, I’ll let you come down before I drag you right back up.”
It should be infuriating how cocky he is, but how can I blame him? I don’t know if I’ve ever had better sex than this.
Ryan grabs my wrist, prying my hand off the couch cushion. He kisses the tips of each of my fingers, then the sensitive skin on the inside of my wrist.
“After this next one,” he promises, “I’ll fuck you. I’ll make you forget your fucking name.”
I bite my lower lip. “Okay. Prove it.”
He grins wolfishly, then ducks his head again and licks me everywhere.
My eyes squeeze shut, reveling in the sensation.
It’s like he’s mapping my pussy with his tongue, finding every part of it with his mouth.
I must be flooding his tongue with how turned on he has me, but he swallows every drop patiently.
I don’t know how he manages to keep eating me out without taking a break or coming up for breath.
All I know is that he keeps going until I’m wrung out and exhausted, a messy heap of sated pleasure lying back helplessly on the couch.
Finally, he raises his head and licks his lips.
He looks so roguish and sexy that my heart skips another beat.
“Are you ready for my cock, Pips?”
I have to laugh then, because I’m beyond ready. I just came so hard that I don’t need a second more of warming up. I need Ryan to inside me so badly.
“That’s right, baby,” he says proudly.
He crawls on top of me and kisses me. This time, it isn’t desperate. It’s sweet, almost, the way we share a breath. Then, the fat head of his cock nudging against my over-sensitized opening, and I whimper.
“Too much?” Ryan murmurs against my lips. The muscles of his shoulders strain as he holds himself perfectly still, his eyes fixed on mine.
“No.” I shake my head. “Don’t stop, please.”
He pushes inside me, and as warmed up as I am, the first inch stretches me just to the point of pain. I whimper, and he presses his forehead against mine.
“I’ll go slow,” he promises. “You’ve been so good coming for me, you’ve earned it.”
He takes his time filling me, kissing me through it and running his thumb coaxingly over my cheek. Once he’s fully inside me, he groans.
“Fuck, you were made for this,” he moans. “Made for my cock.”
I don’t miss the emphasis on my. I’d roll my eyes at the possessiveness if it didn’t fill my chest with pride. I love knowing I’m the one making him feel so good—I’m the one earning his praise.
Ryan is shockingly, unbelievably careful as he fucks me.
He cradles my face in his hands, holding himself up on his elbows as he rolls his hips.
His strokes are slow and shallow, but every one of them hits a spot inside me that lights up every nerve.
I grab onto his biceps as my vision goes hazy.
It’s like Ryan is the only real thing, while the rest of the world blurs around him.
I stare up at myself, letting those dark eyes draw me in. It feels like I could crawl right inside him and hear his heart beating like it’s mine. Our breaths mingle together, the seconds stretching into long, intimate minutes.
“I’m going to fill you up now, baby,” he says. “I want you to let it drip down your thighs all day, so you remember who you belong to.”
As if I could forget. As if Ryan isn’t permanently burned into my consciousness, his name repeating itself in the background of every conversation. He was in too deep, long before this.
His mouth crashes down on mine one last time, swallowing my cries as I come around his cock a second before he follows me. We cling to each other through the comedown of our orgasms, my sweaty skin slick against his. I can feel it against my own chest when his heartbeats finally start to slow.
After a moment, he shifts us awkwardly so he’s on his back and I’m curled into his chest. I run my fingers idly across his chest muscles, letting my body take its time coming down.
“What are you doing for the next few days?” he asks sleepily.
Ryan’s fingers trace idle patterns along my spine, his touch gentler now, almost reverent. He presses a lazy kiss to the top of my head and sighs into me.
“Working,” I groan. I have so much writing to do, I don’t even want to think about it, especially not while my mind is hazy with post-orgasm bliss.
Ryan hums. “Could you do that remotely?”
“I guess so. Why?”
He props himself up on his elbow and gazes down at me. A strand of hair falls down over his forehead, and the need to brush it back swells in my chest.
“I’ve got a tournament in Puerto Rico. I’m leaving late tonight, and I’ll be there for a few days. You should come be my good luck charm.”
I gape at him. “You’re crazy. We hate each other, remember? How the hell would I explain a romantic getaway to anyone?”
“You won’t have to. Cat and Nate are traveling again, so she’ll have no idea, and you can just tell Ingrid you have a cold or something.
” He lowers his head so his forehead brushes lightly against mine.
His eyes are bright, full of giddy excitement.
“No one would have to know, Pips. We’d just be two gorgeous strangers lying on the beach in San Juan. Nobody watching us but the perverts.”
My heart thuds so loudly, it feels impossible that Ryan can’t hear it. It all sounds too tempting—a romantic vacation by the beach with no strings attached.
I should stay home so I can sneak in another date with Jacob.
I’m getting dangerously close to the 12th day of Christmas, and I’m falling well short of twelve dates.
But I guess tropical heat, an excuse to unpack my bikini, and the promise of endless orgasms, courtesy of Ryan, is a cocktail I can’t turn down.
“When do we leave?” I ask, grinning.