Chapter 39
Rhett
I only need to hear those words come out of Bailey’s mouth one time.
The feeling she’s grappling with, the heavy dose of adrenaline she’s fighting. Itchy and hot beneath her skin, like a heavy kick of morphine seething inside of her, begging for another shot of it or a bump of something else to release her from the high.
I’ve felt it dozens of times.
And I’d be lying if I said I didn’t need it just as much.
“I’ll make you see stars, Bay. But I’ve had enough of waterfalls for tonight,” I tell her, closing a hand over the shower knob to turn it off now that we’ve warmed up. “I want you in that bed.”
Hoisting her up on my hips, cupping her ass in my hands, I burst into the tiny bedroom before tossing her onto the bed. Her bare breasts bounce with fullness when she lands, and the pink peaks of her nipples match the heated bow of her lips.
Climbing onto the bed, I push her knees apart and dip between them, cupping the apex of her thighs before slipping a finger inside her walls.
Her body is hot and damp from the shower, and she groans, tightening her body around my finger, just like she had the rest of me earlier tonight, clenching in when I pinch the tiny mountain of nerves between my fingers and flick my tongue against the tip of that sweet tasting bud of skin.
Then I bend down to draw my tongue along her opening, still rolling her clit between my fingers, flicking my tongue across it each time her hips rise off the mattress in response.
I can already feel her body throbbing against my hand and mouth, and I slip another finger in, keeping my tongue still, but pressed against her clit, moving my fingers across the rim until her body tells me she isn’t going to last much longer.
“I need you,” she pants, reaching down to grab my face in her hands. When I rise, she pulls my hips up next, yanking them against her before falling back to the mattress, holding her arms up for me to fill them with my chest.
So many ways I could spin her, flip her, take her right now, but chest to chest, face to face feels exactly as it should.
I need to see her after everything we’ve been through.
She shifts herself back, copper hair spread across the row of pillows, before I cradle her head beneath my hands.
I feel less calm than I did an hour ago.
I was trained for that. But this? The sight of her like this nearly does me in.
Her knees spread wider, and I kiss her neck as she dips a hand to guide me in.
I thrust into her slowly, both of us gasping with every micro movement, sucking the air from between our lips, before she leans to cover my mouth again with hers.
Moaning into me, filling my lungs with her breath, her desperate need made known, for me to begin moving inside her.
Make me see stars. Her request echoes through my mind as I slide my hips back, then forth, harder, faster than we had before.
Just like behind the falls in the grotto, it feels like coming home while electrifying me back to life.
Like no one else has ever felt as perfectly made, a sanctuary, a safe haven from everything else in the world.
Her kiss hardens, but instead of her screaming for more, or bucking back against me, she slows, lips parted, eyes softening and vulnerable in mine.
She bites her lip, and I can tell she’s seeing those stars shoot out across the room.
Holding my head in her hands, brows tight, panting for more as we rock over the sharp edge of the peak.
Slowing time.
Speaking our own language.
All without a single word.
As if the song blasting through the speakers in the room has suddenly changed.
From something hard and fast, something you’d play in the car on the way home from a long, stressful day, into something tender and meaningful.
With a melody like thick honey and lyrics that tell a different story — one you know that you’re going to need to play on repeat when it’s done.
One you can’t imagine ending, or ever getting tired of, no matter how many times you play it over and over. It’ll never be enough.
Time is just an illusion now, with her body entangled in mine.
And Bailey Jones is the only song I ever want to sing again.