34. June
THIRTY-FOUR
June
I can’t sit here any longer, pretending I don’t want this. Him.
With my free hand, I grab his chin, turn his face toward me, and press my lips to his. I need this. I need to show him what he means to me, that I’m ready for there to be an us. He waited four years for me. Four freaking years and he wasn’t with anyone else.
I never stopped thinking about you. I felt things for you I never felt with her, and that scared me. Still scares me.
My heart aches for him, for his loss, for every bit of pain he went through alone. And yeah, whatever this thing is between us scares me too. It’s big, powerful, and if we’re not careful, it will have the power to consume us both.
He groans, taking over the kiss, his tongue licking along the seam of my lips, and I open to him. This isn’t frenzied like it was last night. This is slow, passionate.
This is a reckoning. A homecoming.
It’s like the past four years, the longing, the searching for him, the desperation I felt when the sun went down ... it was all leading me to this, this moment.
His hands frame my face, and he breaks the kiss, pulling back just enough to meet my gaze. “What do you need from me, Princess?”
“You,” I whisper, letting the word hang between us for several seconds. “I need you.”
Instead of surging forward, pinning me to the bed, and having his way with me, he pulls back. His eyes are like blue flames, and the intensity of the look he gives me sets me on fire. He pushes up from the bed, breaking eye contact with me long enough to pull the long-sleeved shirt over his head.
He’s beautiful. His shoulders and chest are broad and muscular, his abs defined, and when he pops the top button on his jeans, my mouth waters.
I want to lick him from head to toe. I want to know what drives him wild, what makes him lose control. And more than anything, I want to brand him. His body, his soul. It’s not something I’ve wanted before, and I sure as hell don’t understand it, but I want everyone, including him, to know he’s mine.
“Have you been taking care of my pussy?” His teeth rake across his lower lip, a move that shouldn’t have me rubbing my legs together, desperate to be touched, but it does.
“Wha . . . what?”
He leans down, his hands on either side of my hips, forcing me to lie back on the bed. “I asked if you’ve been taking care of my pussy.”
His lips ghost across mine, trailing down my neck, and I’m squirming. This isn’t nearly enough. I need more.
“What do you mean?” My voice comes out soft, breathy. I barely recognize it .
He supports himself on one hand, the other running up my thigh, pushing my legs open. I’m expecting him to touch me, to claim me, to do something, but he simply taps my clit. Once. Twice.
“Do you touch yourself?”
“I ...” My face is on fire, and I want to look away, but his bright-blue eyes hold me captive, and I whisper, “Yes.”
And just like that he’s gone, standing up and backing away a few feet. His chest rumbles with a growl, and he points to a spot higher on the bed. “Lose those clothes and show me. I want to see how you finger that pretty cunt of yours.”
Oh God, his mouth. I forgot how dirty and commanding he could be. I forgot how much I liked it. How much it turns me on.
I scramble backward, working my way up his bed. His gaze is glued to me, watching every single move I make, darkening as I pull off my blouse and unbutton my jeans. My shoes are the next to go, landing with a thunk as I kick them off.
I’m in my bra and panties, and already I feel naked. He hasn’t seen me since before Oliver. What if he doesn’t like my body? What if he’s turned off by the stretch marks across my belly?
He groans, his hand swiping down his face. “You’re wearing white.” Another groan and he sheds the rest of his clothes, standing at the foot of the bed in his boxer briefs, a pained look on his face. “As much as I love seeing you in white lingerie, I need you to take it off.”
My thumbs go to the waistband of my panties, and I pause. “My body isn’t the same.”
“It’s better. Trust me, Princess, you’re not going to show me anything I’m not going to like. Now, take them off. Show me what belongs to me.”
My heart lodges in my throat, beating out of control, and I do as he asks, taking off the white lace panties and matching bra. My fingers tremble, coming to rest on my stomach.
Ryan’s briefs are gone in a matter of seconds, his fingers wrapping around his hard cock. His head falls back on a groan, and I can’t help but look at him. He’s large, veiny, and the head is already purple, throbbing with the need to come. “Open your legs. Show me how you get yourself off.”
I take a shaky breath, widening my legs, opening them as far as I can.
The look on his face turns positively feral.
I’ve never felt so exposed, so on display, but seeing him like this, seeing how he’s affected by me, is empowering.
At a measured pace, I bring a hand between my thighs, drawing light circles around my clit. I whimper, pinching my nipples with the other hand, rolling them between my fingers, imagining how it felt when Ryan touched me. That night was always on replay every time I touched myself, and his name was either a silent cry or a whispered promise.
He groans again, taking a step closer, moving his hand up and down his shaft. Watching him jack himself off is a thing of beauty, and I can’t look away. “So wet already. So needy. You want this dick, Princess?”
“Yes.”
“Then be a good girl and come for me. Get that pussy ready for my cock.”
His hand works faster, pumping up and down his dick, and I can’t help the whimper that falls from my lips. I can’t wait to have him inside me, moving against me, claiming me. I want him to fill me up, stretch me around him, and more than anything I want to fall apart in his arms.
I move my fingers faster, working my clit at the same pace he’s fucking his fist. I dip down to my pussy, gathering some of the moisture, before going up to my clit. My hips lift off the bed as I move against my hand, grinding myself into my fingers.
“That’s it, Princess. I can’t wait to fuck you so hard the only name you remember is mine.”
His words push me over the edge and I fall apart. My thighs shake and my mouth opens on a silent plea. His eyes harden, his jaw clenches, and he takes another step forward, fucking his hand so hard, so fast. He grunts, curses, and then leans forward, painting my abdomen with ropes of his cum.
“Fuck yes.” His words are a tortured groan as he drags his fingers through the mess on my body. He trails a lazy finger around my nipple, painting me with him before gathering some of it on two of his fingers.
He keeps his eyes on mine, a savage smile working its way across his face as he slips those fingers inside me.
Fuck.
That shouldn’t be hot, but it is. I want him to fill me with his cum. I want to drip with it for days. Something is wrong with me.
“No, baby. There’s nothing wrong with wanting to drip with my cum.” His smirk is positively devious and holy shit—shoot—did I really say that out loud? “I hope you’re on the pill, because I intend to fill you up.” He trails his fingers through it again, this time bringing it to my mouth. “Taste what you do to me.”