Epilogue #2
The kiss is needy, a frantic game of back and forth with our lips as I work at his belt between us. He sits up, pulling at the hem of the jersey and groans loudly through kiss-bitten lips.
“What?” I laugh, staring up at him, my chest heaving.
“I uh—” he huffs, “I can’t get out of it.”
“Sorry, what?” I laugh.
“It’s not funny.” He clears his throat, standing up tall, and stretches the collar of the jersey with both hands. “It’s stuck.”
I sit up on the bed on my elbows and watch him struggle with the impossibly tight fabric of the rugby jersey. “That’s unfortunate.” I stifle the laughter at the base of my throat.
“Laugh it up, Hellcat,” he says, but there’s no real anger in his voice.
“You could always just live in it,” I tease him, hooking my fingers into the front of his jeans to pull him back between my legs as he continues to stretch out the collar with two hands. “Become, ‘Mr. Rhea Drake, super fan.’” I laugh.
“Mmm,” he grins slightly, “you’d love that.” He yanks at the collar again, and every muscle in his body tightens.
“It would be hilarious for a little while,” I say, and push a hand beneath the fabric against his stomach, “but I’m kind of attached to what’s underneath it.”
He lets out a low chuckle and freezes as my hand moves up his abs. “Yeah?” He glances down at me for a split second before going back to stretch out the collar with a new urgency.
“Yeah,” I confirm and pop the button on his jeans, helping him out of them as he struggles with the tight fabric.
“Hey,” he mutters under his breath as my hands start wandering. “Not helping with the jersey situation here.” His voice comes out breathless. “Stop distracting me.”
“Get it off, Brighton,” I demand, and watch his body harden. It’s like everything shifts in the bedroom, his enjoyment of following orders takes over, and he thrives under the smallest of them. His breath hitches at the command, immediately responding to the authority.
When he pulls at the jersey this time, it’s with a renewed force in an effort to obey the request. “Yes, Ma’am,” he clips, and I hear the fabric tear as my hand dips into the front of his boxers.
Brighton tears the jersey down the front with a heavy grunt as my hand finds his shaft. “Good boy,” I whisper, staring up at him.
It’s new, but his eyes flutter closed briefly at the praise, a soft whimper escaping his lips.
The fabric, once restrictive, now falls open completely, revealing his bare chest that rises and falls rapidly with each breath.
His hips push forward slightly, seeking more contact with my hand, and I smile with every tiny reaction.
“Feel better?” I ask, leaning forward and kissing his hip as my hand wraps around him.
I lick my tongue up his stomach just to feel his body shudder from the contact.
His hand tightens as I kiss his skin, rock hard in my palm.
The possessive touches and soft commands are slowly undoing him, and we haven’t even gotten anywhere.
“Mhm,” he hums, nodding slightly, but his eyes never leave me.
“What else do you need?” I ask.
His breath catches at the questions. His eyes fluttered closed at the small touches before opening again, filled with need and desperation. “Don’t stop touching me,” he admits quietly, his fingers tightening. “And talk to me like that.”
“Like what?” I ask, my thumb rubs over his tip, and I use the other hand to push away the boxers from his hips as he shucks out of the ruined jersey and tosses it aside.
There’s something about needy, pleading Brighton that does things to my nervous system.
I know what he wants, but I like to hear him say it.
“Like you’re in charge.” He swallows hard as my thumb circles him again. His boxers slide to the floor, leaving him completely naked and hard. “As if you own me,” he adds softly, not breaking eye contact. His hips buck into my touch without permission. “Please,” he whispers. “Take what you want.”
“I don’t know,” I smile lazily, “I’m pretty sore from the game. Do you think you could be gentle with me tonight?” I ask in a soft tone, watching him through my lashes as he inhales shakily.
Those blue eyes widen, and he nods, his hand immediately moving to frame my face gently. “Of course I can be gentle, Hellcat,” he promises softly, his thumbs brushing over my cheeks. “I’ll be so careful,” he whispers, leaning down to place soft kisses along my jaw.
“I’m going to miss this,” I huff, and rub my fingers in the stupid mustache that covers his top lip.
“Make your peace with it,” his voice is stern. There’s no way I'll convince him to keep it at this rate.
“Oh, I will,” I giggle.
We move back across the bed, and Brighton continues his onslaught of tender kisses and even softer touches.
His mouth moves down my neck, sucking gently at the sensitive skin.
His fingers brush over my collarbone, down between my breasts, and along my ribs.
He’s so gentle it’s almost torture, his touch so feathered and his gaze so hot.
Just make sure that’s all you do.
Fuck. I laugh gently, the sound vibrating from me.
“Brighton,” I wait until he’s looking at me again, “I love you,” I say to him. I probably shouldn’t—it’s not the time, but there’s something in him that begs for the words. That lends to a comfort that makes them mean more than anything.
His lips pause, his breath hitching at the confession.
It’s true, I do. I stare at him.
“I love you,” he whispers back urgently, his voice cracking slightly. The air in the room gets quiet and tight.
“Did I ruin it?” I ask, the mood, the night. “It was impulsive.”
“It was.” He wets his bottom lip. “But you didn’t ruin it.”
I nod, even though we both know it wasn’t.
“I didn’t?” I question.
“If anything, I’m having a pretty tough time keeping it together right now,” he huffs, and his fingertips dig into my hips.
“Oh.” I exhale nervously, truly unsure if I had screwed everything up in the heat of the moment.
“Rhea, I don’t know how to explain to you how hard I am without turning into a horny teenager, so can you just kiss me some more?” he asks, and the smile on his face is euphoric when I grab his jaw and pull him back to me.
“I kind of like the sound of horny out of control, Brighton,” I giggle against his mouth.
He groans into the kiss, hands tightening on my hips as he hovers above me. His kisses turn messy and desperate, his tongue pushing into my mouth as my hands find his hair. “You want out of control?” he breathes when he breaks the kiss.
“I do,” I gasp as he rolls his hips down into me.
“I don’t know, Rhea.” His body shudders. “You’re sore and…”
“Brighton Black, I’m giving you permission to lose control.” I grab his chin and squeeze.
Something shifts in his eyes, and a smile grows on his face. “Will you beg me?”
“Do you need me to?” There’s no hesitation as the warmth pools between my legs, and he nods.
“I’m begging you,” I whisper, leaning on the bed just enough to brush my lips over his. “Please, Brighton. Please.”
He buries his face in my neck, the mustache tickling before he bites down on the skin there as he starts to grind against me harder, his hands possessively roaming my skin.
His fingers make easy work of the underwear I’m wearing, and I lift my hips to meet his as he returns, his mouth finding a nipple.
He releases it with a pop and kisses up my chest to capture my mouth again, biting my bottom lip softly.
“Don’t stop,” I dig my nails into his biceps.
He smirks at the command, lining himself up at my entrance, and rocks into me hard without warning. I cry out, burying my face against his chest, and he starts moving immediately, hard and rougher than he’s ever been. Out of control Brighton is a different animal.
“Fuck.” He peers down between us with a devilish grin. His hips snap forward harder at the sight of us coming together, and my back arches off the bed. “I’m going to tear you apart,” he pants, reaching down to spread my legs wider.
“Please?” I don’t mean to beg, but his lack of control is turning my rational thoughts into putty. His eyes harden at the desperate pleas, his hand presses down on my stomach, and I can feel every single thrust he makes.
The pain is delicious and nips at every sensitive nerve and curls my toes as I wrap my legs around his hips.
He leans down, sucking a nipple into his mouth and biting hard enough to leave a mark with his teeth as he rocks deeper.
The groan that leaves him is loud against the sound of skin slapping against skin as he grips my thighs and pulls me down over him roughly.
I cry out from the pain, my hips arching off the bed, so he hits that spot buried deep inside of me that blurs my vision.
Brighton loses it completely when the cry leaves my lips.
He slams into that spot over and over, his movements turning animalistic as he chases his release.
Without warning, he pulls out, and I gasp loudly as he flips me onto my stomach and pulls me back against his hips with a slick intrusion.
“Brighton!” I scream out, and he chuckles darkly as his fingers tangle into the back of my hair.
“You begged for this,” he reminds me, tugging my hair gently as he fucks me from behind with wild abandon.
His other hand reaches around to rub rough circles on my clit, making me cry out his name again and again.
The room fills with the sounds of raw sex and desperate moans for more. “Take it. All of it.”
“I don’t think I can,” I moan, my fingers digging into the sheets as he slams into me relentlessly.
He ignores the plea, his hips snapping as he fucks me mercilessly.
His fingers on my clit become brutal, almost punishing, as he tries to coax the orgasm out of me.
“Rhea, I need to slap your ass.” His fingers dig into the skin there, and I look over my shoulder at him with a weak nod.
His lips are wet, and his pupils dilated as he rubs the skin gently, having zero regard for how rough he’s being.
It’s an intense sight I didn’t expect to love, but it makes me clench around his cock tightly, and he shudders on his next thrust.
Brighton doesn’t prepare me; he just brings his hand back, and the sting is euphoric as his tip pops out roughly and slides back in just as smoothly.
“Time to make a mess,” he says, his hand soothing the spot before he lays another hard slap to the skin.
“I need you to come for me, or else I’ll stay here forever,” he groans and picks up his pace.
I yelp as his hand comes across my ass harder than before, but it shocks my body, and I tense with a surge of adrenaline. The tingle of the orgasm starts in the pit of my stomach and grows without care up through my body until I can’t breathe.
“That’s it, baby. All over me,” he demands against my skin as my body tenses.
Brighton wraps his arm around me as my body is wracked with pleasure and turns me into nothing but a quivering mess.
I clench around him, and he groans deeply, using his other arm to steady us as my orgasm triggers his own, and he buries himself deep inside.
He comes hard, and it fills every space before it mixes and leaks down my thighs.
He continues to rock gently, softening inside of me as he catches his breath.
One hand remains around me as the other slides down to feel the release against my sore thighs.
“Look at that.” He leans closer and kisses the back of my sweaty neck.
Whatever animal possessed Brighton is long gone as he collapses gently beside me, kissing my shoulder and jaw.
“So does this make you a switch?” I pant out and angle my head back so he can kiss my throat with a tiny rumble of laughter.
“Don’t start, Hellcat,” he groans and wraps his sweaty body around mine.