Chapter 56
CHAPTER
FIFTY-SIX
JULIE
I wake to the sound of rain against the window and the warm weight of Ryan's arm across my waist. Gray morning light filters through the curtains.
I smile as I think back to last night and remember how incredible it was.
For a moment I just lie there, cataloguing the pleasant ache in my body.
Thinking about it makes me wet, and I wonder if it would be wrong to wake him up and ask for more.
Then he stirs. His lips find the back of my neck, and I feel him already hard against me. "Morning," he murmurs, and his voice is rough with sleep, low in a way that sends heat pooling straight between my thighs.
"Morning."
His hand slides down my stomach, slow and deliberate, and I press back into him instinctively. His fingers find me wet and ready, and I gasp at the contact, at how immediate it is, how my body just opens for him without hesitation.
"Already?" he breathes against my neck, and I can hear the smile in it.
"Shut up," I manage, but it comes out as barely a whisper because his fingers are moving in slow, devastating circles and I can't think straight.
He takes his time. He seems to enjoy making me lose control, making me chase his hand, making me say please before he gives me what I want. By the time I come apart against him, shaking, his name on my lips, I'm so boneless I can hardly move.
"Shower," he says against my skin about two minutes later. Not a question.
I barely get a word out before he's pulling me up, walking me toward the bathroom, his hands moving over me like he's memorizing every inch.
The water comes on hot, steam rising fast, and then he's pushing me against the tile and I stop thinking entirely.
Ryan stands behind me under the spray, working shampoo through my hair with both hands, his fingers slow and firm against my scalp, and I let my head fall back against his chest.
He rinses me, then hands me the soap and turns so I can run my hands across his shoulders, his back, the hard lines of his stomach. It's almost innocent. Almost. Until he turns back around and I feel how hard he is and the whole thing tilts.
I drop to my knees right there on the tile. I take him in my mouth and feel him shudder, his hand fisting in my wet hair. He's so big, his cock so beautiful, I want to taste all of him. Me. The girl who used to give head because it felt necessary, not because I was so turned on I craved it.
With Ryan, I'm desperate for it. I work him in and out, popping off with a moan whenever he groans, licking his tip, flicking my tongue over it, loving the way he's so clearly losing control. And I'm wet, so wet, and not because of the shower.
I can see it in his jaw, the way it tightens.
His breath goes ragged. He wants to hold back.
He's fighting it. I take him as deep as I can, breathing through my nose when he touches the back of my throat.
He growls and pulls free, surprising me as he hauls me up off the floor by my arms, water streaming off both of us, and carries me straight to the bedroom.
He drops me onto the bed and I'm on my hands and knees before I can think, water dripping from my hair onto the sheets, my skin still soaked from the shower.
He doesn't wait. He doesn't ask. He's behind me in a second, his hands rough on my hips, and then he's pushing inside me, deep and hard, and I cry out because he's so big and I'm so ready and it feels like everything I need.
"Fuck," he growls, and his voice is wrecked. "Julie, you feel-fuck-"
"Don't stop," I gasp, and I'm already pushing back against him, already desperate for more. "Ryan, please-"
He doesn't stop. He pulls back and thrusts in again, harder, and the bed frame hits the wall with a loud bang.
I don't care. I can't care. His hands slide up my body, rough and demanding, and he finds my breasts, pinching my nipples between his fingers, rolling them until I'm moaning, until I'm clawing at the sheets, water from my hair dripping onto the fabric beneath me.
"Touch yourself," he orders, his voice low and filthy against my ear. He's leaning over me, his chest pressed to my back, his cock still buried deep inside me. "I want to feel you come on my cock. Touch your clit, baby. Now."
I reach down with one hand, my fingers finding where we're joined, finding my clit, and I gasp at how sensitive I am, how close I already am.
What is he doing to me? Who am I? I rub myself in tight circles and he starts moving again, fucking me in earnest, his hips slamming against mine, the bed banging against the wall in a steady rhythm that matches his thrusts.
"That's it," he groans, his hand still working my nipple, his other hand gripping my hip hard enough to bruise. "Fuck, that's it. You feel so good. So tight. So fucking wet."
"Harder," I manage, my voice breaking, my face pressed into the mattress. "Ryan, please, fuck me harder-"
He does. He straightens up, both hands on my hips now, and he pounds into me, deep and relentless, hitting something inside me that makes stars burst behind my eyes.
I'm making sounds I don't recognize, desperate animal noises, and I'm so close, so fucking close, my fingers working myself frantically while he fucks me like he can't get deep enough.
"Come for me," he demands. "I want to feel you. I want to feel you squeeze my cock. Come on, Julie. Let go."
I scream again when I come. I can't help it.
The orgasm crashes through me, violent and overwhelming, my whole body convulsing, my back arching, my hand trapped between my legs as I pulse around him.
He keeps fucking me through it, his thrusts getting erratic, losing rhythm, and then he's groaning, long and low, his fingers digging into my hips as he cums inside me, his body going rigid, his forehead dropping to my shoulder.
We collapse together, him still inside me, both of us shaking, our breath coming in ragged gasps. The water from our bodies has soaked into the sheets beneath me, and I can feel it, cool and wet against my overheated skin.
For a long moment, neither of us moves. His hand is splayed across my stomach, holding me close, and I can feel the steady thrum of his heartbeat where his chest presses against my back.
Then he stills. Lifts his head. "Fuck," he says, his voice rough. "The shower."
I laugh, breathless, my face still half-buried in the pillow. "You never turned it off."
"Guess not."
"Good." I turn my head, look back at him. His hair is plastered to his forehead, water still dripping from his jaw. He looks wrecked. He looks perfect. "We should probably finish showering. And then strip the bed. These sheets are soaked."
He smiles, slow and satisfied, and presses a kiss to my shoulder. "Yeah. We should."
He pulls out slowly and I whimper at the loss, at the sudden emptiness. He rolls onto his side, pulling me with him, and we lie there for a moment, tangled together, our hearts pounding in sync, water still dripping from our bodies onto the ruined sheets.
"Insatiable," he murmurs against my hair.
"You're one to talk," I say, but I'm smiling, my whole body humming with satisfaction.
He laughs, the sound warm and rumbling against my back. "Guilty."
We stay like that for one more minute, just breathing, just being. Then he slaps my ass, sharp and sudden, and I yelp and twist to look at him.
"Shower," he says, his eyes dark with promise. "Round two."
I follow him back to the bathroom, my legs shaky, my body already wanting more.