Chapter 17 Ryker #2
I roll over to face him and scoot up on the pillow, so we’re eye to eye, and drag a finger along his jaw.
“Because I’ve never let anyone in like this before.
I don’t depend on people. I don’t trust people.
You already figured that out. I don’t let anyone in.
Ever.” I close my eyes as that admission settles in my chest. “I tried not letting you in. First at Dad’s bar and then this summer . . .”
“What happened to you at the bar?” His hand slides under my jersey and rests on my hip. Possessive and protective and so damn intoxicating. “One day you were there, and the next you were gone. I asked the other bartenders, and they just shrugged it off. It was like you’d vanished.”
“My dad saw you. The last shift I worked with you there. He saw you ask me out. Saw me shoot you down.” I remember the fury in his eyes after, and a tremor races down my back.
“He knew you were a Beneventi and saw all the ways he could exploit you. By the time I got home, he had a whole plan. And I refused to be part of it.”
“Delaney . . .”
I don’t tell him he beat the hell out of me after or that he used that as an excuse for months.
That I still had the bruises from the last beating the day I showed up at Jamie’s house to help my sister. Ryker doesn’t need that on his conscience. And I know him enough to know he’d carry that on his shoulders.
“I’m here now,” I whisper, taking a leap of faith. “I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.”
As if those were the words he needed from me, Ryker’s lips claim mine. Molding to mine. Our tongues tangle as his hands pull me closer. Hold me tighter. One slides to my thigh and drapes it around his hip. Opening me to him. And my God, there’s so much of him.
His mouth, his hands, his body. It’s too much and not enough. I’m in so far over my head, I should be drowning, and I don’t even care. Not as long as he keeps kissing me like this. Like I’m the air he needs to breathe.
“Fuck, Lane . . .” His words are a growl that sets my body on fire.
“Tell me what you want.” His tongue licks into my mouth, and I moan as his hand wraps around my throat.
Not squeezing. Not cutting off my air. Not scaring me.
“Do that again,” he whispers. And my God, those eyes.
They bleed with want in a way that feels like a hot caress along my skin. “Let me feel you moan.”
He licks a line up my throat, and I shift against him. My pussy rubbing over his cock.
“Oh God.” His very big, very pierced cock.
“That’s my good girl.”
He pulls the jersey down further and licks between my breasts, so close but not enough. “Tonight, I want you to tell me what you like. Tell me or I stop.”
“Ryker . . .” I stare at him, nervous, self-conscious, and so fucking turned on, I can’t see straight. “You don’t have your hearing aids in.”
The beautiful glimmer in his eyes is so sexy, I shift against him again, wantonly chasing the friction I want.
“I won’t need them.” The hand on my throat slides around, and his thumb presses against my pulse. “Be loud, Delaney.”
One hand slides to my stomach where he gathers my jersey and tugs it up before dropping warm, wet kisses along every soft curve.
The breath I’m holding leaves me in a woosh as he slides lower, and I arch up against him. My hands tug at his hair as he kisses just above the band of my panties.
“Fuck, Lane. I’ve been dreaming of this for fucking months. You. Your body. Your smell. Your taste,” he growls as he buries his face against the soft silk, and my back shoots off the bed.
“Ryker . . .”
“You’re soaked, wife. Is this for me?” He runs his finger along the edge of my panties, and I moan as his hold on my neck shifts. “So responsive, baby.”
“Please,” I cry, already shaking.
Ryker groans and pulls the silk tighter, then licks a long length up my pussy. The friction drives me absolutely wild before he pushes them aside and buries his face against me.
My thighs snap up against his head, and I moan, long and loud, already trembling on the edge. He licks me over and over before his lips wrap around my clit and suck, and I see fucking stars. My body shakes as I scream and, oh God.
Those dark eyes look up at me, and holy shit.
The sight of Ryker Beneventi between my legs, his stormy blue eyes locked on my face, sears my soul. He strokes me with his tongue and his fingers. Working me through my orgasm. Not stopping. Not letting up.
With both hands on my hips, he pulls me to him. Closer. Impossibly closer. Like he can’t get enough. Like every hypersensitive nerve sparking to life is just the beginning and he’s settling in for a fucking feast.
And I’m no longer sure I’m in control of the sounds I’m making. Control left the building. “It’s too much . . .” I pant and plant my feet on the bed, looking for purchase, and throw my head back. “I can’t,” I moan. “I want . . .”
“Eyes on me, Delaney. Eyes on me or this stops.”
My wild eyes snap back to his.
“Now tell me, Lane. Tell me what you want.”
With as much control as I can muster, I push up on my elbows and lick my lips. “I want you, Ryker.”
“Say it again, Lane.” His grip slides to my thigh and tightens.
“I. Want. You.”
“Say my name,” he growls, and sweet Jesus. This man.
Feeling bold and brave, I reach between us and fist his shirt, pulling him up and bringing my face to his. “I want you, Ryker.”
I lick his lower lip, and he crushes his mouth to mine.
“Good. Girl.”