Chapter 5 Rylie
RYLIE
Iwas having a hard time catching my breath.
Devon was still on his knees in front of me, the low orange light striping across his chest like embers.
His fist moved slowly and deliberately, base to crown, twisting just under the head.
Every time he came back up, a fresh bead of moisture welled up, caught the light, and rolled down over his knuckles.
My breath caught at the sound it made—wet, rhythmic, shameless. It filled the cab and did something to my body that was new to me.
I was already swollen and aching from his tongue, but watching that slow glide, watching the thick vein along the underside pulse with his heartbeat, made me throb all over again. My thighs slid against each other, slick, and I felt a new rush of heat drip out of me.
His stomach flexed every time his fist tightened.
A low, continuous growl vibrated in his chest, almost animal.
Sweat traced the groove between his pecs, slid over one flat brown nipple, and kept going.
When he dragged his thumb across the head again, smearing that wetness in a slow circle, his head dropped back and the sound he made—half groan, half curse—went through me like a shockwave.
“Look at you,” he said, eyes locked on me even while his neck was arched. “Sitting there dripping for me, tits bouncing every time you breathe. You have any idea how fucking gorgeous you are?”
I whimpered. I couldn’t help it.
He stroked faster, hips jerking forward into his own grip. Another thick drop spilled over his fingers, ran down the length of him, and hung there for a second before it fell to the vinyl between us.
“Christ, Rylie,” he growled. “I have to be inside you. Right fucking now.”
“Lie down,” I said. “I want to be on top.”
He didn’t argue. Instead, he obediently stretched out on the long bench, the vinyl creaking loudly under his weight.
His cock lay rigid against his abs, flushed almost purple now, the head glossy and swollen. I climbed over him on trembling legs, knees settling onto the bench on either side of his hips.
The blunt heat of him nudged my opening, and I sucked in a breath. He felt scorching, impossibly hard, like heated steel wrapped in silk.
“Slow, baby,” he said, voice ragged but gentle, big hands settling on my waist. “Take whatever you can. I’m right here.”
I lowered myself an inch. The stretch was immediate, white-hot, a sting that stole my air. My nails dug into his chest. I froze, eyes squeezed shut, feeling every throb of him inside me.
“Breathe through it,” he murmured, thumbs sweeping soothing circles on my hips. “That’s my girl. Let me in.”
I exhaled shakily and sank another inch. The burn flared brighter, then slowly ebbed into a heavy, stretching fullness. I rocked, tiny circles, testing, and pleasure sparked deep, sudden, shocking.
“That’s it,” he groaned, the sound rumbling under my palms. “Fuck, you’re tight. Squeezing me so good.”
His encouragement cracked something open in me. My hands slid up my own body, cupping my breasts, rolling my nipples between shaking fingers. The sharp pleasure made me clench around him, and his hips jerked, a filthy curse tearing out of him.
“Jesus, look at you playing with those pretty tits. Keep going, sweetheart. Show me what you need.”
I did. One hand drifted lower, over the soft curve of my belly, until my fingers found my clit, slippery and throbbing. I circled it the way he’d taught me, and the dual sensation—him thick and pulsing inside me, my fingers on that electric bundle of nerves—sent sparks shooting up my spine.
“Damn,” he rasped, voice breaking. “You’re soaked, baby. I can hear how wet you are every time you move. Ride me. Take me deeper.”
I started to move—small rolls at first, testing how deep he’d let me take him, how much I could stand. Every inch dragged a low, broken sound out of Devon’s throat, and the sight of him beneath me was almost too much.
He was beautiful like this, struggling to hold back.
The low cab light painted gold across the sharp cut of his cheekbones, the heavy slope of his shoulders, the thick ridges of muscle jumping in his stomach every time I sank down.
His hands flexed on my hips, but he didn’t guide me.
He was letting me set the pace, even though I could feel how desperately he wanted to take over.
I could see it in the strain along his jaw, the way it flexed and clenched every time I took him to the hilt.
“Rylie,” he rasped, voice shredded. “Baby, you have to move faster or slow the fuck down, because I’m—” He broke off with a hiss when I rolled my hips in a slow, filthy grind, taking him so deep my thighs shook. “I’m trying so damn hard not to flip you over and fuck you into this seat.”
The raw plea in his voice sent a fresh rush of heat spilling out of me. I was drenched. Obscenely so. Every time I lifted up, the wet slide of us parting and coming together again filled the cab with a sound so dirty it made my cheeks burn even as it drove me higher.
I braced my palms on his chest, feeling the thunder of his heart under my hands, and started riding him in earnest. Long, deliberate strokes that ended with me grinding down hard, clit dragging against the base of him.
Each time I bottomed out, his cock jerked inside me, thick and impossibly hard, nudging something deep that made my vision blur at the edges.
“Fuck, look at you,” he growled, eyes locked between us now, watching himself disappear into me over and over.
“Taking every inch like you were fucking made for me. Wet and greedy and—” His head fell back against the seat with a thud, throat working as he swallowed hard.
“Jesus, I’m not going to last. Not when you’re squeezing me like that. ”
I couldn’t answer. I was too lost in how good he felt—scorching hot, thick enough that every drag scraped across places I didn’t know I had, filling me so perfectly I wanted to cry from it. My thighs burned, my breath sawed in and out, and still I couldn’t stop chasing that edge.
His hands slid up to my breasts, cupping them roughly, thumbs flicking my nipples until I whimpered. “Come on, sweetheart,” he urged, voice hoarse and wrecked. “Let me feel it. Want to feel this pretty pussy milk me when you come.”
That was all it took.
I slammed down one last time and came—a sharp, high cry tearing out of me as pleasure crashed over me in brutal waves.
My walls clamped down hard, pulsing around him in long, greedy pulls that brought a savage groan from his chest. I couldn’t stop shaking, couldn’t stop grinding, riding it out until tears pricked at the corners of my eyes.
Devon’s control snapped like a frayed wire. His hands gripped my hips as he surged up into me—once, twice, three brutal thrusts that lifted me clear off the seat before slamming me back down.
“Fuck—Rylie—”
The words ripped out of him, raw and guttural.
He buried himself as deep as he could get and came with a hoarse shout, cock jerking hard inside me.
I felt the first hot pulse, then another, and another, thick and endless, flooding me until I was overflowing, until I could feel him leaking out around us with every throb.
His hips kept moving in short, helpless jerks, drawing it out, milking every last shudder from both of us.
His arms locked around my back, crushing me to his sweat-slick chest as he buried his face in my neck.
His breath was ragged against my skin, teeth scraping my shoulder like he needed to mark me while he emptied himself inside me.
We stayed like that, trembling, fused together, his heartbeat hammering against my breasts. I could feel him still pulsing faintly, the warm, wet proof of what we’d done sliding slow and sticky down my thighs.
Only then, when the mountain air finally slipped cold through the cracked window and our breathing started to slow, did the haze lift. But Devon’s arms were still iron bands around me, his lips brushing lazy, reverent kisses along my throat.
We hadn’t used anything.
Oh god.
What if I get pregnant?