17. RIP Reasons and Rules
RIP REASONS AND RULES
Dean
Everything about Felicity was a problem I hadn’t planned for.
I’d told myself I was going to slow things down—be smart about this, be careful—but somewhere between her smiling at my terrible joke and currently trembling beneath me in the blue dark of my warehouse, that plan had quietly packed its bags and left without saying goodbye.
She dug her nails into my arms, and I nearly lost my mind entirely.
This is such a bad idea, some distant, responsible part of my brain offered helpfully.
I nipped at her shoulder, then licked the spot like an apology, and she whimpered like she couldn’t quite believe she was here, that she was letting this happen, that she actually wanted it.
The sound shot straight through me.
Here was the thing nobody knew about Felicity Foster, she looked like the kind of woman who followed the rules. Sensible shoes. Color-coded planner. The whole thing.
But underneath all that careful, organized composure was something that ran hot and electric, and now I’d touched it, tasted it, I already knew with absolute, gut-level certainty that I was in serious, catastrophic, completely unavoidable trouble.
I kissed her anyway.
I crawled up her body, charting a path with my mouth, the softest part of her hip, the dip of her belly, the bottom slope of each perfect breast. She shocked me every time she trembled, every time she gasped and dug her nails into my arms. I wanted to see how far I could push her, how much she would surrender.
I braced myself on my forearm, careful not to crush her, but she pulled me closer anyway, as if she was afraid I’d evaporate if she didn’t hold tight enough.
She looped her arms around my neck, tugged my hair, and when I finally claimed her mouth, she was insistent, her whole self poured into the kiss.
She was trying to tell me something, I realized, something that couldn’t be said in plain English, so I tried to listen with my hands, with my lips, with every shuddering inhale I stole from her.
The next thing I knew, her fingers were at my belt.
She fumbled at the buckle, cursing softly, and I reached down to help.
She let out a ragged exhale as I pushed down my jeans and boxer-briefs, kicking first my shoes off and then my pants.
They had barely cleared my feet, and she immediately reached for me.
Her hand was small and strong and sure, and the feel of her slender fingers wrapped around my cock nearly did me in.
I could see it in her eyes—triumph, challenge, and something raw and scared underneath.
She stroked me slowly while I kissed her neck, her collarbone, the delicate line of her jaw.
I wanted to take my time, commit every detail of her to memory, but the need pulsing in my core was hot and frantic.
She pressed her heels into the back of my thighs, urging me closer as she continued to stroke me, and I was completely lost, ready to give her anything she asked for.
I’d never felt this alive, this reckless, this clearheaded in my purpose.
She lined me up to her slick slit, and I almost lost it, but just as I pressed the blunt head of my cock against her, a cold, rational voice cut through the haze. I froze.
“Wait—” I rasped, my voice so rough it barely sounded like mine. “Protection. I don’t have—”
Felicity’s eyes flew open, wild with want and just a little horror, like she couldn’t believe she’d forgotten either.
“I’m on birth control,” she breathed, looking simultaneously embarrassed and grateful.
“And I’m clean. I haven’t been with anyone in two years and I’ve had several checkups since then. ”
“Me too. I mean, I’m clean.” I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt this nervous, but it was the good kind, the kind that made my chest ache for her. “But we don’t have to do anything, we can wait.”
She let out a shaky laugh, relief and desire tangled together. “I don’t want you to stop.”
I nodded, and she tried to line us up, but this time I caught her hand in mine and moved it up, pinning it gently above her head. I did the same with her other arm, trapping both wrists in my hand. She wriggled a little, testing the hold, and her smile grew feral.
“Is that okay?” I asked, wanting to make sure I wasn’t doing anything that made her feel uncomfortable.
“Yes, I want you in control. I just don’t want to think.” I could see the glimmer in her eyes. The same need I felt mirrored back at me.
My cock hardened at her admission. I’d never had any complaints about my control issues in bed, if anything, it was what kept the few relationships I’d had together.
I leaned down and pressed my mouth to her throat, her jaw, the hollow behind her ear.
I kissed her everywhere I could reach, learning the taste of her skin.
She trembled beneath me, her legs tightening around my hips.
When I shifted, my cock nestled against her sex.
I could feel how wet she was. Her heat slick against my shaft.
She tilted her hips, trying to pull me inside, but I held back, just barely. I wanted her to need it as much as I did. She was whimpering now, tiny desperate sounds coming from the back of her throat that made it impossible to think straight.
Her greedy insistence shattered my need to take things slow.
I couldn’t handle the tension another second.
I lined myself up and pushed just the tip in.
She gasped, eyes rolling back, then bit her lower lip to keep from crying out.
Her body clenched around me like a vise, hot and pulsing.
I let her adjust, every muscle in my body locked down, before I pressed in further.
I sank into her gently, inch by inch, stretching her, filling her.
She was so tight I wondered if I’d ever be able to pull out again.
When I was finally buried, I forced myself to stop.
I rested my weight on one elbow, my forehead against hers as I tried to regain the control that was slipping away like trying to hold water in my hands.
Slowly, at first, I drew out and then drove forward, savoring the friction, the impossible tightness.
She met every thrust, matching my rhythm, her body arching off the blankets to meet mine.
We found a pace that felt like dancing, all give and take, push and pull.
I lost track of time, lost track of everything except the feeling of her wrapped around me, the sound of her voice in my ear, the way she clung to me as if I was the only thing anchoring her to this world.
I set an unhurried pace, each stroke long and deep, feeling everything—every flutter, every pulse, every slick, impossible squeeze.
She kept up, moving with me, matching every motion until we found a rhythm that felt as old as time itself, a perfect, wild fit.
My fingers tightened around her wrists, pinned above her head, not out of control or dominance but because it was the only way I could keep from falling apart.
Whatever the reason, she loved it. Her eyes went glassy, her chest rising and falling fast, her lips parted around my name.
Hearing that, I lowered my head and kissed her hard, desperate, trying to tell her everything I was feeling with my mouth because words had abandoned me.
I kissed her until it hurt, until my teeth grazed her lip and she moaned, grinding herself against me.
It felt like we were melting together, her body sucking at me, every clench and release pulling me deeper, making me forget where she ended and I began.
It didn’t just feel like sex. It felt like something breaking open inside me, something I’d sealed away for so long I’d stopped believing it existed.
The world narrowed to the shape of her body, the hot squeeze around my cock, the little choked noises she made every time I bottomed out.
I was so close I could barely breathe, but I wanted her there with me.
I reached down between us, fingers finding the swollen spot that made her eyes roll back, and I rubbed her, gently at first, then more insistent, faster as she started to shake and tense beneath me.
She let out a wild, helpless sound, her head thrown back, her hair spread out like a halo.
She bucked against my hand, hips jerking, her velvet tunnel clenching so tight around me I saw actual stars behind my eyes.
I lost it then. Her orgasm hit, her walls fluttering and milking my cock, and it pushed me over the edge.
I slammed into her, three more hard, deliberate thrusts, and then I was coming, white-hot explosions of ecstasy as my muscles locked up as everything inside me poured out.
I groaned her name as my release ricocheted through me.
I felt her hands on my back then, her legs wrapping me up, holding me there as if she could keep me from floating away.
When I finally came back to myself, I was still inside her, still shuddering, my whole body trembled with aftershocks.
Her arms were around my neck, pulling me down, her mouth pressed to my hair, my cheek, kissing me anywhere she could reach.
I realized I was lying with my full weight on her, but before I could move, she increased her grip on me, legs locking around my hips like she never wanted to let go.
I tried to roll off, so I didn’t crush her, but she made a noise—a little whimper in the back of her throat—and held on tighter. “No, not yet,” she whispered, her breath warm against my ear. “I just want to feel you, all of you, for a little longer, if that’s okay?”
I nodded into her neck, unable to trust my voice, and just held her. I knew right then and there that if she wanted the moon, I’d find a way to give it to her. There wasn’t a thing I wouldn’t do for this woman, not anymore.