Chapter 24
TOWNHOUSE
The moment we are in the car, he puts it in drive. Stillness stretches across the distance between the two front seats. His jaw, held tight as if he is deciding what he wants his next move to be. I know what I want it to be. My want, I hope selfishly, rubs off on him.
His hand grips the steering wheel fiercely, as if he is battling against his own free will. Less than ten minutes later, we park in front of a house that also must double as an office.
Is this his house? The sign on the door confirms it. Ry Heart Estate Lawyer it reads in bold white lettering. The quiet eats the air between us for far too long, giving the impression he may not want to see where the next move will take us.
“Well, I guess I’ll be getting out then.” I say, annoyed at his indecisiveness, which clearly has something to do with the war going on in his head.
The road is empty of traffic, and I get out of the car, looking around. Although it is dark, I can see he lives in a unique part of town screaming of old money. The houses stand tall and strong. Boldly emanating their own level of elegance with their gothic styled architecture.
Ry curses under his breath, and slams the car door as he exits. Here we go again.
“Follow me,” he demands. I am not normally one for men bossing me around, but I follow anyway through an odd instinct I’ve never been compelled to heed before until him.
He is unlocking the door when I decide to put my hand on his arm. The electricity that shoots through us is sharp and unmistakable. A charge not of this world, begging me to touch him again.
“Don’t,” he growls. This time I am put off by his brashness.
“Listen, I don’t know who you think you are talking to me that way, but I’ve had enough. You can’t tell me who I can be friends with, where I can go in my house or what I can or can’t do.” He’s quiet, so I continue.
“We barely know each other, so I understand you have boundaries. But you are the one who went as far as taking me to your house or whatever this place is. I didn’t even want to see you tonight, but there you were.
” Those last sentences feel like a lie on my tongue, so I decide to say what I know is true next.
“But one thing you cannot deny is this feeling between us. Tell me I’m not wrong?” My anger-filled words lose momentum with the last sentence I spit out when I realize he has backed me against the door frame.
“You’re not wrong,” he says roughly. And wraps his fingers delicately around my neck. He squeezes slightly, forcing me to lean my head back to look up at his sea-green eyes.
“Then tell me you’re sorry,” I say strongly, but I can hear my voice break. A daring comment to say to the man who has his massive hand around my throat.
“No.” He is still staring me down, swallowing his restraint. For a moment, his eyes question me. Boring their way into my subconscious.
I should be mad at this statement, but something makes me ask, “Why ‘no’? You think you have control over me? Because you don’t. You don’t own me.”
With that, his grip tightens, and his eyes turn dark. My pulse quickens under his large palm. The beat underneath feeling like a catalyst to what I expect will happen next.
“Now that is where you are wrong, my sweet succulent. I do own you. Every single inch of you belongs to me. Shall I show you?” He smirks.
His eyes turn almost black, and his skin seems to shine gold under the moonlight above us.
My eyes widen in response to his words, and the way he seems to physically morph before me.
Still, I say, “Yes. Show me.”
His enormous smile is instantaneous. He looks happy, excited, and ravenous, mimicking what he always does best: a hawk swooping toward its prey.
“There’s my girl,” he whispers. His hand comes off my throat and both move down to grasp my bottom as he lifts me up.
I wrap my legs around his waist, and he carries me into the house, slamming the front door behind him.
This game of resistance has played out. And the desire we both have is true and fast.
I’m not entirely sure where we head next as our lips keep meeting to say what we know is inevitable. My arms and legs are woven around him, unwilling to let go. He pushes my dress up, and the shock of a cold, hard surface under my thighs makes my whole body arch into him.
I pull my top over my head and, as if he reads my mind, his mouth finds one of my nipples. I hike up my skirt, helping him. Ry finds the edges of my panties and shimmies them down my legs and over my sneakers. Everything happens charged, hungry, and without pause.
“Open up those pretty lips for me,” he says, and I’m sure he is talking about my more intimate parts.
I open my legs and move my hand down, but he pins it down to my side. I look up at him, unsure until I see his intent. Oh. My panties balled in his fist waiting. I open my mouth, and he stuffs them in.
Surprise hits me when I feel the pooling of moisture between my legs leak onto the countertop. Ry reaches in between my legs with the same hand he used to shove the panties in my mouth. He gently sticks in one finger, slowly playing come-hither with my arousal.
“Do you like the taste of yourself in your mouth? I sure as hell do.” He trails kisses down my neck and chest, latching onto my nipple again. His warm tongue curling around my bud. It’s so good. Too good. He owns me—there is no doubt.
He pumps another finger into me, stretching me and curling it up. Finding myself not even on the counter anymore as he sucks my nipples, and I shamelessly ride his fingers.
“Keep going,” I rasp out through waves.
His thumb circles my clit, while I feel myself breaking around him. But before I burst, he puts me on the floor. Spinning me around and pushing my head down on the smooth marble counter.
My face pressed hard against the surface, and my ass exposed to him. Ry spreads my cheeks apart, and I feel him at my entrance. I open my legs wider—ready. A stinging slap burns on my bottom right before he pounds into me.
I scream in pleasure, but the panties that still fill my open mouth smother it. My bare nipples ache, still wet from Ry’s mouth and now raw from the friction. He keeps pounding into me from behind. Slapping the same cheek until I squirm under him. The pain mixes with pleasure, confusing my senses.
“More Ry. I need more.” My breathy plea is barely audible, but he hears it. This is a rough rush I am not used to, and it’s one I’ve only now come to know with Ry.
He reaches in between my thighs with his hand and starts pinching my swollen clit lightly. I’m unconsciously meeting his thrusts, helping him get deeper each time. He is giving me what I asked for.
Ry moves his other hand to open my backside up even more, picking up the pace and spitting between my cheeks, letting his saliva run around my tightest spot. He puts his finger there and starts rubbing circles just as he rubs hard on my clit, still stretching me with his huge, wet, thrusting dick.
In seconds, I am gone. I convulse under him and feel an explosion of wetness from where he enters me. He growls at the heat of it, his rhythm turning feral, grabbing a chunk of my ass with his hand and using it to bounce me on and off of his swollen shaft.
He pulls out and releases his load all over my backside. I feel it dripping down into my separation, claiming me. It is then that I realize the truth of what he said earlier. He does have complete ownership over every part of me, and I want it that way.
Point made.