Chapter Eighteen Sadie
Rhys’s hands feel like fire along my cold, bare skin, every bit of my icy exterior melting as he sweeps his fingers over all the shattered pieces of me.
I don’t let the guys I hook up with eat me out. Mostly because for what I want, it’s a waste of time. And it usually doesn’t feel good—not enough to make the intimacy worth it. Not that many even offer.
My heart is racing.
Rhys’s fingers reach the thin strip of my seamless thong. He curls them around the fabric and pulls it tight so a burst of pressure ignites against my clit. It surprises me so much I cry out before he yanks them down over my hips, pulling them slower as he reaches my ankles.
His eyes are searing, staring directly into mine as he prompts my feet out from each leg hole, his grasp warm on each ankle. Every ounce of confidence that I usually feel in this situation has simmered into nothing but vulnerability.
He might be the one on his knees, but he is the one in control.
I want to touch him, but I’m not sure where I want to start.
Rhys lifts his hands. One grabs ahold of my hip with a solid pressure. The other drifts softly, almost reverently against the skin of my inner thigh as he finally breaks my gaze and stares down at my bare pussy.
“Fuck, Gray,” he whispers, and I can feel his breath against the overly sensitive skin. “This for me?” He smirks, all cocky arrogance—a flash of that hotshot hockey captain I know he can be when he wants.
I huff, “Easier to keep it bare for my costumes.” I try to use the words to build a wall because everything with this boy feels dangerous already, like I’m suspended on a tightrope, the threat of falling for him permanently imminent.
He shuts me up by pressing a warm thumb into his own mouth before lightly playing along my slit.
“That’s not what I meant,” he rasps. He pulls his hand away to show me.
I’m near to dripping, embarrassingly wet considering he hasn’t done a single thing besides kiss me. But he’s gorgeous, a disarray of the perfect picture he’s been before.
The panic is gone from him, his hands steady and eyes bright, but it makes him more beautiful.
His brown eyes seem warmer in the yellow light of the showers.
He looks just as large as always, his thick thighs straining against gray sweatpants and a bulge distracting me enough that I turn my head.
And those goddamn dimples are on full display.
He’s a blend of boyish excitement and manly self-confidence as he slides my thigh easily over one broad shoulder.
I’m fully exposed, my skin turning pink beneath the sudden stifling heat of the room and his attention.
“So beautiful,” he whispers. Before I can try any response, he licks a wet strip along my slit, flicking his tongue lightly against my clit and then pulling back to blow across it softly.
“Oh, fuck,” I cry, then bite down on my lip because my control is slipping.
He peeks up at me, eyes half-lidded but burning like warm chocolate. “That’s all it takes?” he taunts, but there’s a question in his eyes.
It comes out before I can stop it.
“I don’t usually do this.”
“What? Hook up in a bathroom?” He smirks at me again, eyes twinkling. “Funny—every time I’ve had my mouth on you has been in a bathroom.”
It’s now, when he’s so relaxed, that I can see the bright shooting star that is Rhys Koteskiy.
This is going to burn. He is going to burn me.
Except I don’t care. I’ll let him burn me if he keeps touching me like this.
I shake my head, leaning back as he presses his nose into the pale flesh of my pussy, just above where I need him most.
“Please,” I beg, hating myself for it, even as my legs tremble beneath his hands.
He licks another long swipe before circling my clit.
Good God , I’m going to melt into the floor. My entire body is alight, and I’m embarrassingly close already. I avoid looking at him, my head tilting back against the brick.
“This is exactly how I pictured it.” He breathes in, almost like he didn’t mean to say it.
My head tilts down toward him with a smirk on my lips—like I might regain control.
“What? A dingy locker-room shower stall?”
Rhys huffs out a laugh, his eyes twinkling with mischief as he presses his entire mouth to my clit, sucking hard.
“Fuck,” I gasp.
I slip just slightly, enough that my hands reach for him, sinking into his soft brown hair. My nails scrape his scalp a little as he circles me in some witchcraft-like pattern that has me gasping as if I’ve been underwater and I’m just breaking the surface.
He groans and jolts my thigh higher, just over the ball of his shoulder. His big hands are holding me nearly completely off the ground. My toes are scrambling, and my shoes squeaking as I writhe.
With his left hand still melded to my ass, squeezing every few moments, Rhys takes his right hand and gently parts me, sliding one finger into me.
I cry out, far too loudly, but he lets a pleased noise rumble from his plush mouth against my clit.
I jerk, but he steadies me, sliding another finger in and speeding his lips and tongue to contrast with the firm, slow stroke of his fingers.
He curls them, just slightly, and I make the mistake of looking down at him.
His brown eyes are glowing, locked intently on my face, watching my every move. And then he smirks, letting me see just one goddamn dimple.
I go off like a rocket.
“Already?” he teases as I pulse around his fingers, gripping them. My shoe squeaks again against the tile beneath me as he lowers my leg. He gently kisses the inside of my other thigh as he pulls it from his shoulder and then sets me back on both feet. “Fucking perfect. So beautiful.”
A lump catches in my throat.
Rhys is still on his knees, his hands gentle on the curves of my calves. He reaches for my discarded underwear, and pulls them up my legs after helping me step into them.
My heart stutters as he presses another kiss to the fabric, this one more reverent than sensual; I hate the way it makes me ache.
The way, “ Do you want to come home with me?” almost spills from my lips.
I feel vulnerable, undone, and somehow more full of feeling than before—not the usual emptiness and restraint I bask in after a hookup.
Dangerous , my brain repeats, but my body is ready to tackle him to the floor.
After he helps me with my spandex, taking his time sliding it over my legs and smoothing his palms over covered and uncovered skin, I grip Rhys’s wrists and pull him to stand. Ready to take control back. Ready to—
He lifts his hand, his wrist still enclosed in my grip, and presses his fingers into his mouth.
The noise that comes from my lips, some sort of whine in the back of my throat, turns my cheeks maroon. Still, I can’t look away as he pulls his long fingers from his swollen lips.
He’s everything.
The way I think about him scares me. I need distance before this really hurts. And yet—
“We should do this more.”
His smile is like spun gold. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” I repeat, feeling a bit like I’m floating. “Yeah, actually, I think this would be good for us both. You need a distraction and I need a… release.”
Something dims in his eyes, his dimples disappearing. A little pain throbs in my chest, but I ignore it.
“What do you mean, exactly?”
I shrug and play at the hem of my shirt. “Like… hook up? Unless you don’t—”
His hand rises to stop me.
“Friends with benefits. That’s what you’re suggesting.”
I nod.
“I don’t really…” He trails off, seeming to be engaged in some sort of mental battle. “Never mind—I’m not missing my chance. Yes.”
“Really?” I smile brightly.
He mimics it. “If that’s what you want, Gray, then yes.”
He kisses my forehead on his way out, with a quiet, “Call me,” pressed against my skin.