Chapter 37
Fallon
Rhys’s mouth trails down my throat, and every part of me feels so full, so complete. I’m not sure how much longer I can hold everything happening inside my chest. My fingers are buried in his newly shorn hair. His breath scorches along my collarbone as if he’s branding me.
Maybe he is.
I want to do the same to him. He’s mine, damn it.
With my short skirt bunched around my waist and my silly candy-cane tights stretched over my thighs, I rock in his lap.
Rhys’s hands grip my hips, holding me in place as he grinds against the ache between my legs with the startlingly hard length in his jeans.
“I can’t—” I choke on a laugh, breathless. “I can’t believe this is happening.”
“Believe it, love.” His voice sounds low and wrecked. “Because I’m not stopping.”
Something inside me snaps loose. All those nights I lay awake imagining this, thinking I was too broken, and it would never happen. That I was too dark and wicked for wanting an assassin, and now he’s kissing me, teasing me. Nothing’s ever felt more solid and real.
Rhys chose me. He made me his before I even realized it.
I drag my mouth over his jaw, tasting salt and spice. Rhys groans, tipping his head back as if I’ve unglued him. That does something to me.
It makes me bold.
I peel my sweater off and over my head, tossing it somewhere behind the couch. The air nibbles at my skin, a wash of pebbled flesh rising everywhere. Rhys’s hands are warm and sure, smoothing up my spine, cupping the back of my shoulders. I imagine if I had wings, he would be stroking them.
I don’t feel like an angel. Not tonight. I want Rhys to do things to me that will send me to hell. Via the express lane.
His eyes go dark. “You’re beautiful.”
No one’s ever said that like it’s a fact. Like it’s not up for debate.
My throat tightens. “I don’t usually feel very pretty. No one sees the real me.”
“Their loss.” He cups my cheek with one hand, his thumb stroking my lips. “Because I see you.”
God, I want to be seen by him.
“And I want you, Fallon. I want you so fucking much.”
I kiss him again. It’s desperate and soft all at once.
Like a guardrail has collapsed, lines blurred.
We go at it until we’re a tangle of limbs and frantic heartbeats.
Rhys slides me down onto the couch cushions until I’m vertical.
He tugs down the waistband of my tights, slow enough that I can stop him if I want.
I don’t want him to stop.
I just nod and lift my hips. “Yes.”
He swallows hard, visibly trembling, too. “You sure?”
“I’ve never been surer about anything.” My voice shakes, but not from fear. Okay, a little fear. But more from wanting this so much.
Rhys kisses me, and it feels like a promise. Like a vow. Next, he’s undressing me with gentle movements that somehow feel less like stripping off clothes and more like laying down weapons to surrender.
Next, I’m completely bare.
“God, the things I want to do to you.” He parts my legs. “Can I taste you?”
“Um…” I can’t breathe. “Yeah. Okay.”
“This will feel good, really good, but if you’re not comfortable, tell me. I’ll stop.” His fingers trail up my thigh until he reaches my center. “Christ, you’re soaked.”
And I’ve never been so hard in my life from just touching her.
Spots streak in front of my eyes. “That feels so good.”
“This is just a sample of what I’m going to do to you.” He lowers his head, and his tongue flicks across the sensitive nub throbbing between my legs.
I gasp and see stars. My head falls back, and my mind blanks.
“I’ve been craving your cunt since you stripped for me.” He licks my entrance.
Need burns through me like a flashover. “Oh, oh, God, yeah. Don’t stop.”
Good lord, in this moment, I only exist to spread my legs for Rhys Quinlan. “Are you close, my little elf? Do you need Santa’s dick?”
My sight goes hazy. I don’t know why that sparks the darkest, delicious fantasy. But it does. “Yeah, Santa.”
The way his tongue traces every inch of my skin, the way it snaps back in his mouth with such force, I am hurtling toward the edge of something I’ve never felt before.
“Fuck, yeah, elf, come in my mouth.”
A tingle hardens my nipples. Waves wash over me as I shatter and gush.
“Christ, that was hot. You taste so bleedin’ good.” He kisses my mouth as he holds my naked, shuddering body against his textured shirt.
God, I feel so damn naughty.
Rhys stands, licking his fingers. He slowly undresses, piece by piece, until he’s as naked as me. How can he be so beautiful? He hovers above me, lying on my sofa, and I see the calculations tick in his head. He’s too tall.
“Do you want to move to my bed?”
“Aye. I’d love that.” He helps me up, and as I float toward the bed, a dim glow of the city lights seeps through the blinds.
Rhys’s hand brushes my ass, and I swear he’s shaking. “So fucking perfect.”
I’ve never seen myself from behind. But I’ll take his word for it. I lay down on the bed, and he drapes himself on top of me.
Kissing me, he says, “Remember, tell me if you want to stop.”
“I won’t want you to stop,” I promise him, looping my arms around his neck. “And don’t be gentle.”
His eyes flare hot and dark. “Are you on birth control?”
I choke up for a moment. Damn. “No.”
“No problem.” He goes to his jeans and returns with a few condoms. “I came prepared.”
“Can I watch you put one on?”
“God, I was hoping you would.” He gets on his knees, stroking his length.
It juts out from a taut waist. Long, thick, veiny, and gorgeous.
“Even with this, I don’t know how long I’ll last,” he says, sheathing himself.
“Don’t rush. And don’t worry.” I lay back and spread my legs for the only man I’ve ever wanted like this.
Rhys stops to study me. “God, these tits. You’re going to ruin me.
” He lowers his mouth and sucks on one nipple, his hand keeping me wet between my legs.
Each flick of his tongue coordinates with how his fingers play with my center.
His wet mouth moves to the other nipple, teasing me, driving me crazy.
“Rhys, please,” I moan.
He lies on top of me, his knees pushing my legs wider. “Open for me. You’re mine.”
I happily obey. “I’m yours,” I whisper.
“Christ, I need to fuck you.” His smooth, thick tip presses against my entrance, and he slowly pushes inside me, inch by careful inch. Like he’s afraid I’ll break. “Fuck, that’s tight.”
It steals my breath the way he stretches me. How hot his skin feels, even with protection.
My hands clutch at his back as my body arches to meet his. He moves slowly, and it’s wrecking me in ways I didn’t know I could be wrecked. Am I in over my head?
Every glide of his hips sends pleasure spiraling low in my belly, but it’s more than that.
It’s how he’s whispering my name on a seductive groan. “Fallon, Fallon, Fallon.”
It’s how his forehead is pressed to mine, his sweat coating my skin, our breaths tangled, his heart pounding against my ribs. It’s the safest I’ve ever felt, even as I’m unraveling.
“Rhys,” I gasp, wrapping my legs tighter around his waist.
“Steady, love,” he grunts. “I got this. I got us.”
His rhythm quickens, his hips steadier like he’s losing himself to this incredible pleasure. His hand slides between us, finding that place where I’m already trembling and ready to burst into a million pieces.
It feels different this time. Different from his tongue. As soon as he touches my aching need, God, I shatter.
Rockets explode behind my eyes. My inner walls clench around him, and he curses against my mouth, losing himself in the same euphoric blaze.
“Fuck, I’m coming,” he groans. “Christ, you feel so good.”
My heartbeat syncs with his. And I don’t know what it feels like to beat on its own anymore.
When we are finally still, I’m pinned against his chest. I feel boneless as his hands snake around my waist. He strokes my hair, quiet, almost dazed as he catches his breath.
And for once, my mind isn’t buzzing or spiraling or worrying about what’s next. It’s a glorious peace.
“This,” he murmurs, lips brushing my temple, “was fun.”
A laugh chirps out of me, soft and shaky. “Yes. Yes, it was.”
“This bed is too small,” he groans. “Put something on and let’s do this again in my bed.”