Chapter 27 Bellamy
TWENTY-SEVEN
BELLAMY
Rafe stares at me, his face a landscape of intense hunger, eyes darkening like the sky bruising before a thunderstorm. “Right here?” he asks, his voice a low rumble as his eyebrow arches.
I lick my lips, tasting the salt of desire, my hands already busy with the button on his jeans. “Right here.”
The corner of his mouth twitches up in a smirk. “Can’t wait?”
I shake my head slowly, the metal of his zipper cool against my fingertips as I tug it down. “Can’t wait.”
His voice drops an octave, all gravel and heat. “What if I want a taste?”
His cock springs free from his jeans, hard and ready. I wrap my hand around him, feeling the silken steel pulsing against my palm, his sharp inhale sending a shiver down my spine.
“Do you?” I ask, looking up at him from under my lashes. His jaw is tight, the cords of his neck standing out in sharp relief. He’s a study in restraint, a coiled spring ready to release. The sight of him, raw and hungry, sends a throb of desire through me.
“Always,” he growls, stepping closer. But I don’t lose my grip on him. I stroke him slowly, savoring the velvety smoothness of his skin, the way he throbs in my hand. He kisses me deeply, his moans vibrating into my mouth, his hips moving in sync with my strokes.
“You’ll have to wait your turn.”
I open his pants wider and sink to my knees, the rough gravel biting into my skin, but I barely notice.
All I see is Rafe’s thick cock. I can almost taste the salt of him on my tongue, feel the weight of him on my lips.
My mouth waters at the thought, and I squeeze my thighs together to relieve the ache building between them.
I flick my tongue along the tip of him, slow and light, and the effect is immediate—his head tips back with a guttural sound, hips jerking forward like he can’t help himself. The taste of him, salt and skin, floods my mouth and makes my pulse jump.
I take him deeper, lips sliding over him, and savor the shudder that runs through his body. I don’t rush—drawing him in, swirling my tongue, letting the pleasure build for both of us.
My palms push up under his shirt, greedy for the heat beneath, the rolling muscle.
His hands find the back of my head, fingers tangled hard at the roots as he holds me there. Every moan he tries to bite back vibrates through me, turning me molten and reckless.
He’s trembling by the time I pause, breathing ragged and eyes blown so wide they’re all pupil. I smile up at him, mouth slick, and stroke him once, squeezing at the base.
“Alright, baby. My turn.”
Rafe grabs me beneath my arms, lifts me as if I weigh nothing, and hauls me upright.
My breath is still catching up, confusion and lust tangling together, when he spins me.
The world blurs: sunlight sparking off the ocean, my hair twisting in the wind, the cliff’s edge and the blue of the sky slamming together.
Then the warm pressure of his hands on my hips, the sudden rush of air as he flips my sundress up, baring me to sky and sea.
He places a palm in the middle of my back. “Bend over, baby.”
My knees feel weak as I stare at the road, bracing my forearms on the seat of his bike. Anyone could drive by at any second.
Lust drips down my thighs, and I shift from foot to foot.
“So eager, hm?” his breath skates down the back of my legs as he kneels behind me.
Before I can respond, he pulls my thong to the side and his mouth is on me. He’s relentless, tongue and teeth and possessive hands spreading me wider, holding my ass so I can’t squirm away.
“Jesus Christ.” It’s ripped from me.
He moans into me, like he’s the one being devoured, and the vibration travels up my spine and detonates somewhere behind my eyes.
“Rafe—fuck—” I try to say his name, but it comes out as a gasp, half-whine, half-laugh.
My whole body goes taut, head falling back with a helpless cry as he circles my clit until my legs threaten to collapse. His hands are everywhere at once: one braced around my thigh, the other palming my ass, anchoring me to his mouth, refusing to let me fall even as he’s tearing me apart.
I want to say something—thank him, curse him, beg him to stop or never stop—but all I can do is hold onto his bike. He hums into me, his tongue flattening and flicking until the world narrows to his mouth, his hands, the sound of my own heartbeat.
“Oh, fuck, I—I’m going to—”
I come so hard I nearly black out. Stars burst behind my eyelids, every muscle seizes, and I realize too late I’m digging my nails into his seat. I ride it out, shaking and guttural, and then collapse forward, breath shuddering out of me in a helpless laugh.
He lets me catch my breath, but only just. Then he’s spinning me again, pressing my ass against his bike. His mouth finds mine, tongue deep and claiming.
He pulls back, tangling his fingers in my hair as he looks at me.
“I hope you’re not done yet.”
He takes my lip between his teeth, pulling gently. “Not even close.” He pulls away and nods toward the bike. “My place isn’t far.”
Part of me is already rewriting it—cataloguing it as reckless, stupid, the kind of thing that leaves marks you can’t explain. The other part is still on my knees in the gravel, not wanting to be anywhere else in the world.
He gets on his bike, holding out a hand to help me on behind him. I slip my hand in his, and instead of getting on the back, I swing onto the front, right in his lap.
He arches a brow. “What are you doing, baby?”
Nerves tap dance along my spine, but I’m just drunk enough on lust to go for it.
“I was thinking…” I reach between us and wrap my hand around his dick. He’s still so fucking hard, it makes my breath snag. I stroke him once, twice, watching his jaw tighten before I drag my gaze up to his.
“Will you try something with me?”
“Baby, your hand is on my dick,” he drawls, his hands flexing on my hips.
“It is,” I start, licking my lips. “But I want to come again. With you inside me. Right here.”
For one heartbeat, nothing happens. Then his eyes darken, and the edges of his mouth kick up. “You don’t need to ask, baby. You want my dick, you fuckin’ got it.” He slams his mouth to mine, his hands lifting me up by the back of my thighs.
He lifts me and I use my grip on him to line us up. The first inch pulls a sound out of me I don’t mean to make. My fingers curl into his shoulders.
“Holy fuck, Rafe.”
His answering grin is slow. “That’s it, baby. One inch at a time, yeah?”
Time ceases, speeds up, and slows down as I ease myself onto Rafe’s cock. It’s the most exquisite torture. The stretch makes my eyes blur, my mouth fall open, every thought I had dissolving somewhere between his hands and the sky above and the ocean below.
When I’ve taken all of him, he presses his forehead to mine and whispers, “You’re fucking perfect.”
“You are,” I fire back, but my voice is ragged and ruined.
I start riding him, slow at first, savoring every inch, and he lets me set the pace for a moment. Then he takes over. His hands on my hips, holding me down, fucking up into me so hard the bike rattles on its kickstand. I brace myself against his chest, digging in, trying not to fly apart.
He breaks the kiss long enough to look me in the eyes, and the intensity there is savage. “We should go to my house.”
“I don’t want to stop,” I gasp, grinding down harder, chasing the next wave already building in my gut.
“You can make it three blocks, baby.”
I shake my head as the familiar tingle of pleasure starts in my fingertips. “I can’t. It’s too good. Don’t stop. Please, Rafe.”
He doesn’t change the rhythm, continuing to hit that special spot inside of me. “Anyone can drive by and see us. Is that what you want? Do you want strangers to see me fuck this pussy?” He brings his hand between us, thumbing my clit with small circles. “I don't think I want to share you, baby.”
My internal muscles squeeze him. “What if I want to be shared?”
Rafe thrusts harder and tangles his fingers in my hair, tugging my head back so all I see is endless sky.
He drags his lips across my exposed neck. “Not with strangers. I'll let them watch if that's what you want. But know that I'm going to have to take them to the desert afterward. Do you want that on your conscious, baby?”
Lust rolls over me in an intense wave, my orgasm is close enough that I can almost taste it. I just need a little more.
I shake my head. “No, no I don't want that.” My hips roll forward without my permission. “But I want—” The words dissolve. I tip my head back toward the open sky and just let myself feel it, the exposure of it, the openness, the idea of eyes on us from somewhere I can’t see.
I lick my lips and whisper, “But I like the idea of being watched.”
“Then pretend one of my brothers is sitting in a car right now,” he murmurs against my mouth, “watching every second of this.”
My whole body answers before I do. My nails drag down his chest, my hips stutter, and then I’m gone—clenching around him, shaking, a sound tearing out of me that I couldn’t have swallowed if I’d tried.
He’s still inside me, still hard, even as the aftershocks rip through my body. I have to catch his shoulders to keep from sliding off his lap, the world pitching and tilting, my vision fuzzed at the edges. I feel wild and scraped raw, ruined in the best possible way.
“Fuck,” he breathes, the word ragged. “You’re still squeezing me.”
“Drive,” I rasp. “Take me to your house.” I dig my nails into his arms, trying to anchor myself to something. “But don’t stop.”
Something shifts in his expression—jaw tightening, eyes dropping to my mouth for one suspended second. Then his hands find my hips, hauling me closer, and sinking deeper inside of me, and the engine turns over beneath us.
Three blocks have never lasted so long.