Chapter 17 #3
And that means asking him to slide his hand higher, slip it under my skirt—do that thing he did at his place, the one that made my back arch and my voice vanish, the one that turned my legs to jelly and rewired my brain around his touch.
My body recalls before my mind can argue. It leans into him, betraying every sensible thought I came in here with.
I need to stop these thoughts. I should be smarter. But all I want is his hand back where it was that day. His mouth on my neck. Fingers making me fall apart.
“Kiss me.”
The words leave my mouth before I can talk myself out of them, before fear, pride, or common sense has a chance to pull me back. I’ve never been this reckless or this honest, but I need him just as desperately as I need air in my lungs.
He blinks, unsure if he heard me correctly, as if the words haven’t fully registered yet.
Then his hand tenses on my thigh.
“Say it again,” he says, voice hoarse.
I don’t. I just keep moving.
Swinging one leg over, I straddle him in a single, breathless motion, careful not to press too hard against his ribs. His breath punches out against my throat, his eyes darken, and his hands instinctively find my hips.
“Are you sure, Red?” he murmurs, all rough-edged restraint.
I nod. “Kiss me.”
The moment the words leave my mouth, he closes the distance.
His lips meet mine with a scorching heat, rough and hungry, but beneath it all, there’s a quiet message that he needed this just as much as I did.
I kiss him harder, fingers sliding into his sweat-damp hair. He groans, deep in his chest, and I feel it vibrate through both of us.
His body’s worn out from the game. I can feel it in the way he moves, slower, more cautious, the wince that flashes across his face when he shifts. But he doesn’t stop.
I grind down on his hard cock, and he swears, his hands flexing on my hips.
“Fuck, Red,” he mutters against my mouth. “You’re gonna kill me.”
“Then die happy,” I whisper back.
And I kiss him once more.
His mouth opens beneath mine, needy and rough. His hands slide under my shirt, palms pressing against my lower back, pulling me closer, pressing our bodies together until only heat and friction remain.
He winces. His body tightens as one hand slips from my back to brace against his ribs.
Shit, fuck… don’t stop,” he growls when I begin to pull back. “It’s worth the pain.”
He watches me. I stay still, my lungs tight, as his hand slowly slides up my thigh. He doesn’t rush. He draws it out, testing me, daring me to stop him.
I don’t.
My skin prickles when he gets closer to where I need him most. Fuck, I’m already wet, aching, already too far gone to pretend I don’t want this.
He’s watching me, not the way a guy checks out a girl, but the way someone studies art, trying to understand how it exists. I stay quiet, but my chest rises faster, and my legs tense under his touch. His fingers pause just short of my pussy, eyes searching mine.
He’s trying to read me—to see if I’ll pull away.
I close my eyes, resenting how much I desire this and the control he has at this moment.
“Reece,” I whisper, almost in a murmur.
When I look at them again, he’s still watching me, eyes full of that same desperate hunger that I'm drowning in. It’s not just desire, it’s outright need. It’s written all over his face.
And for a moment, that terrifies me more than anything else.
His fingers glide over the front of my panties, tracing the wet spot he’s already responsible for. He doesn’t speak or smirk, or even tease me with that cocky mouth. He just strokes up and down my slit back and forth. I know he can feel how soaked I am.
My breath stutters. My hips jerk. I bite the inside of my cheek to stop myself from grinding into his hand.
Last time, I lost control. Rode his face until I shattered, and when I came back down, I’d never felt more exposed.
But even now, knowing I should pull away, every part of me leans toward him.
I want to experience that again. The way Reece made me feel before. Needed. Wild. Untouchable. He’s a fuckboy. Every girl knows it. And I’m not the exception. But there’s something inside me that doesn’t care. That still wants him anyway.
I whimper as he finally moves my panties aside and slides one finger inside me.
Then another. My body tightens around him, slick and prepared, and he moves purposefully.
Slow at first, curling just right, then faster, pressing in deeper until I have to close my eyes and breathe through the pleasure surging through me.
My head falls back, the world shrinking to the addictive pull of his fingers inside me and the heat rushing over my skin. I am gasping, overwhelmed by sensation, too lost in pleasure to care about anything else.
He lifts my shirt slowly, then winces as his body curls forward and his mouth presses against my skin. That hiss, the pain from the bruises on his ribs should remind me to stop. But it doesn’t. If anything, it makes my chest clench harder.
He pushes my shirt higher, then leans down again. His mouth finds my nipple through the lace, and he sucks gently, tongue dragging over the thin fabric. A sound claws at my throat, and I bite my lip trying hard to keep it down. A slutty little moan that reveals way too much.
I can’t keep my emotions in check. I never can when he’s nearby.
Ever since the day he saw me in the worst underwear disaster of my life—the saggy granny panties and a bra that did nothing for my figure—I swore it wouldn’t happen again.
Not because I thought he’d get another chance to see me naked.
Hell no. Reece Wilson was a mistake with a cocky grin and a reputation I had no business getting involved with.
But apparently my subconscious is a traitor.
Even though I told myself it was a one-time thing, an accident driven by weakness and hormones, I’m now wearing black lace that hugs my hips and makes me feel powerful. A bra that pushes up what little I have, as if it’s auditioning for round two.
I didn’t plan for this. I wasn’t supposed to want him again.
But here I am, dressed for war. Hoping he’ll be the one to start the fire.
The warmth of his breath brushes my skin, and everything inside me tightens. I’ve never been this girl before. I was the good one. The tame one. But Reece Wilson flipped some filthy, godforsaken switch in me. And now, I swear, the second he’s near me, I’m a fucking orgasm junkie.
My mind goes hazy, nothing but static and heat as his fingers move in rhythm. I can’t think clearly. I can’t think at all. I’m chasing it, right there, almost—
Then he pulls away.
A needy, broken sound tears from my throat before I can swallow it down. It’s humiliating and honest. I try to catch my breath, but all I can do is blink at the bastard, who just grins at me.
The cocky bastard knows exactly what he’s doing, which only increases my annoyance.
“You don’t get to come unless it’s on my cock.”
His voice is low and rough—a mix of threat and promise. He brushes my hair over my shoulder, his lips gently grazing the side of my neck in a kiss so soft it makes my knees weak. I close my eyes, melting into the sensation of his mouth on my skin, every nerve alert and alive.
“If you want it,” he murmurs, his breath a slow drag down my neck, “then fucking take it. Let go on my cock.”
The filthy promise sends a fresh rush of heat spiraling through me. My nipples pebble beneath the lace, my body already aching for more. His hand finds the back of my neck, anchoring me as our lips crash together in a kiss that isn’t sweet. It’s savage. Desperate. All tongue and teeth and hunger.
It’s not sweet.
It’s a fucking storm.
I kiss him like I’m punishing him for every second he made me wait. My hands are already at his waistband, yanking at the fabric until I free his cock. He’s hard. So fucking hard. My hand wraps around him, stroking slowly just to watch the way his eyes darken, his jaw clench, his breath stutter.
I don’t fucking hesitate.
I rise to my knees, shifting my hips, and guide him into me. Inch by inch, he fills me, stretches me, and I swear I see stars. He grabs my hips, fingers digging in hard, his mouth parted, his eyes blazing with something dark and desperate.
“Fuck,” he breathes, voice wrecked, head falling forward until his nose drags along the column of my throat. “You feel so fucking good. So fucking tight.”
As I grind down on his cock, sensation hits me like a goddamn freight train.
Every roll of my hips sends a shockwave through my body, that tight pull deep inside winding higher, hotter, meaner.
I’m drunk on the feel of him, on the filthy, breathless sounds spilling from his mouth.
That low grunt when I squeeze around him. The curse he hisses when I do it again.
He grips my hand, rough and possessive, fingers locking with mine as he uses it to steady me.
Holds me there like he wants to burn this moment into memory.
His stare pins me in place, dark, wild, and wrecked, and I fucking love it.
I move faster, chasing that raw friction that makes my thighs shake and my pussy clench.
And then I find it. That spot. The one that makes me forget my name. The one that turns me into a fucking sinner.
I ride him harder, each thrust making me unravel.
My moans turn into gasps, into broken cries, into a string of “yes, fuck, yes.” Heat coils in my belly, tighter than before, until it snaps and I come hard.
My orgasm rips through me, blinding and brutal, and I scream his name like a prayer I’ll never take back.
I’m gone. Fucked out. Floating in it.
And I don’t even want to come down.
With a rough grunt, he yanks tighter on my hair, hips jerking as his orgasm tears through him. Bliss shatters across his face, his mouth falling open as a deep, guttural sound claws its way out of his throat. His lips crash into mine, and I swallow the growl he spills straight into my mouth.
“Fuck,” he rasps, voice torn raw.
I slow my hips, still keeping him inside me, but the pace shifts. He looks at me, and I see his face change. That tight, desperate edge softens into something vulnerable.
“You’re not gonna leave me this time, Red, are you?”
My heart clenches so tightly it hurts. I blink.
“No.”
He exhales and presses his forehead against mine.
“Good.” He closes his eyes, just for a second. “Fuck!” His eyes snap open, full of panic.
“What?” I freeze.
“We never used a condom.”
The room stills. My pulse pounds in my ears. But his arms remain around me.
In the heat of the moment, I didn’t think twice.
My body made the decision—desperate, frantic, starving.
I was too caught up in the way he kissed me, in how good his hard cock felt in my hand to even realize we’d gone there.
No condom. Just skin, sweat, and the kind of hunger that made me forget every rational thought I ever had.
I exhale, slow and shaky, his cock still inside me, the aftermath of my orgasm still ricocheting through my limbs.
“Fuck,” he mutters, forehead resting against my shoulder. “We didn’t use anything.”
“I’m on birth control,” I add.
My dad made my mom take me when I was fifteen. Said some teenage boy at school was looking at me with a hard-on and called it insurance.
Reece pulls back and looks at me. He smiles in relief, but it fades when I say the next part.
“But maybe we shouldn’t have done it. You know, with everything.” I don’t know how the hell to say this part, but it needs to be said. “All the girls you’ve…” I trail off, staring at his face, our bodies still joined.
“Red…” he says, lifting his hand and brushing the back of his fingers against my cheek. “I’ve never been with anyone bare before. You’re the first.”
A rush of something stupid, ridiculous, and soft tears through my chest. I hate how much it matters to me. I hate that I smile. That some fucked-up part of me feels special for being the only one who’s felt him like this.
God, I really need therapy.
He leans in and brushes his lips over the tip of my nose, and somehow that small gesture undoes me more than the sex did.
“Before you do your dramatic disappearing act,” he murmurs, “come get food with me.”
I blink. “Food? Like... with you?”
He quirks an eyebrow. “No, Red. I was planning to eat alone and just wanted to see if you’d walk me to the car.”
I roll my eyes.
“Come on.” His voice is softer now. “You just rode me like you owned me. The least you can do is let me buy you a burger.”
"You really think this grants you dinner rights?"
He smirks. “I think the moment you moaned my name like a fucking prayer, you agreed to fries. Plus, I know a place that does those thick-cut chips you like. The ones you stole off Lola’s plate that one time.”
I pause. “You remember that?”
He shrugs, eyes now a bit too cautious. “I notice shit.”
I exhale slowly. “Fine. But if the fries are terrible, I’m walking straight out.”
He grins, full teeth. “Deal. But fair warning, once you taste those fries, you’ll be begging me for more than just a side of sauce.”
“Gross,” I mutter, but I’m already climbing off him, trying hard not to smile.