Chapter 10 #2
The tension hangs heavy, a tangible force weaving through the dimly lit room.
It’s laced with the scent of his cologne and the faint hum of electricity sparking between us.
This is a dangerous dance—a push and pull of desires and fears, of wanting, needing, and denying—all colliding in one heated moment.
This is the point of no return, and I don’t know which scares me more: giving in to him or walking away.
A sneer curls on my lips, a scathing retort ready to slice through the suffocating tension. But before I can let the venom drip from my words, his lips crash onto mine, silencing everything I might have said. The smooth, demanding texture of his mouth extinguishes every protest swirling in my head.
His grip on my throat eases, his fingers trailing heat down my neck.
They brush over my collarbone, making a mockery of the restraint I’m desperately clinging to.
A shiver ripples through my skin as his hand finds the swell of my breast, his thumb brushing over my nipple, teasing it into a peak of sensitivity.
He swallows each gasp that escapes me, kissing me like I’m the air he needs to breathe.
And then, with a roughness that sends adrenaline surging through my veins, he grabs the hem of my sweater and draws it over my head, tossing it aside. My bra meets the same fate, discarded without care, leaving me bare beneath his hungry gaze.
“Damn it, Ryan,” I breathe against his invading mouth, but there’s no fight in my voice anymore—just raw, unfiltered need that matches his own.
I’m starving for him. My body betrays me, every moan vibrating against his lips as I arch into him, desperate for more. Craving the press of his skin against mine, I can’t stop myself.
For the first time in years, I let myself feel.
Feel him.
Feel us.
The storm kicks up in intensity as if it is a reflection of the one brewing between us, but for once, I don’t fight it.
Instead, I let it consume me.
His hips pin me firmly to the wall, the hardness of his cock throbbing against my belly, igniting a fire I’ve fought so hard to keep at bay.
“Let me touch you,” I plead, hating the desperation in my voice but unable to stop myself.
But he doesn’t relent, his hands pinning mine above my head.
It’s maddening—the way he controls this dance of dominance and submission, leaving me helpless to do anything but feel.
I guess we’d been doing this with each other even before either of us knew anything about the lifestyle.
I feel the roughness of his jeans against my inner thighs, the heat of his erection branding my skin, the ache pulsing within me, demanding satisfaction.
“Touch me? Is that what you want?” His voice is a low rumble, laced with dark promises and the threat of surrender. “Because you’ve got to say it, Candace. Tell me you want it.”
My throat tightens around a whimper, my eyes locked on his, caught in the stormy depths of his gaze that threatens to consume me whole. This man—this infuriating, intoxicating man—has stripped me of my top and all my defenses along with it.
“Please,” I whisper. The word is barely audible, but it feels louder than any declaration I’ve ever made.
“Better,” he murmurs, his breath hot against my cheek, scorching skin that’s just been pressed against the cool plaster of the wall. As his hips grind into me again, I wonder if this is what it feels like to teeter on the brink of chaos—terrifying, overwhelming, and utterly exhilarating.
His hand, that masterful artist of desire, slips past the barrier of my yoga pants, delving into the heated silk of my need.
The world narrows to the movement of his middle finger, striking a chord deep within me, playing me with a mastery that leaves no room for denial.
His palm, a searing brand on my pulsing center, forces my spine to arch involuntarily, my body betraying any last shred of resistance.
"Ryan," I breathe, as his other hand finally releases mine.
My arm snakes around his neck, pulling him closer, needing the solid reality of him to anchor me against the whirlwind of sensations his touch sparks to life.
My free hand, trembling with a mix of need and rebellion, slides down his taut stomach and beneath the waistband of his pants.
The thick, hard length of him presses against my palm, a claim on my breath, a physical reminder of how much he wants me.
He is all tension and heat, a statue of male desire carved just for me.
"Damn you, Ryan," I manage between ragged breaths as he lifts me into his arms. The world tilts, and I cling to him, my sanctuary in the storm he’s unleashed.
The stairs become an obstacle course on the way to the bedroom, but I don’t care.
I want him, and I’m done denying it. My hand ventures further into the heat of his pants, earning a stumble from him.
With a growl of frustration and lust, he sets me down on the cool wood, my back pressed to the banister.
His fingers work at my pants with a frenzy that borders on violent, stripping them and my panties away and leaving me bare, exposed to his hungry gaze.
"You’re going to make me make you come before I can get you into a bed to fuck you properly, aren’t you?" His voice is rough, a low groan that reverberates through the air and settles like fire between my thighs.
"Maybe," I half-moan, half-tease, spreading my legs for him. My right hand slips down, opening myself to him, to the hunger in his eyes. He leans in, and his tongue traces a scorching path up my wetness, stoking the inferno raging within me.
"God, Ryan…" My words dissolve into a gasp as his mouth closes over me, his tongue relentless in its pursuit of my pleasure. Each stroke, each flick, pushes me further into the abyss, a fall I welcome now, one I only want to take with him.
My fingers clutch the cool, polished wood of the stairs beneath me, legs spreading wider as he dips lower, tasting me fully before sliding back up.
Ryan’s tongue, sinfully skilled, swirls around my clit, drawing circles of fire that leave me panting, my chest rising and falling with a wild need only he can satisfy.
It’s not just his mouth that has me spiraling—it’s the intent behind every calculated movement, the promise that he knows exactly how to unravel me.
"Ryan," I exhale, the word a fragmented surrender.
His free hand grazes over my nipples, pinching lightly, sending jolts of electric pleasure coursing through me, amplifying the sensations radiating from where his lips are locked onto me.
My gaze drops, and I watch him work between my legs, the sight nearly shattering my control.
I tremble, the coiling heat deep in my belly building to an unbearable peak. But I hold back, biting my lip, unwilling to give him the satisfaction just yet—though I know it’s only a matter of time before I can’t resist the release he’s so expertly drawing from me.
With a growl of frustration and lust, he lifts me up and carries me the rest of the way to the bed, tossing me onto it and following me down, unbuttoning his fly as he does so. Spreading my legs, he makes a place for himself between my thighs and then thrusts up inside me.
"More, Ryan," I pant between kisses, the sensation building, threatening to sweep me away.
"Keep up with me, Candace," he grunts, his breath hot against my cheek. It’s not a challenge—it’s a promise of the ecstasy waiting to consume me.
And I know, no matter what, this is exactly where I need to be.
In his arms. In the hands of a man who makes me forget everything but the raw pleasure of being his and only his.
The world tilts, and Ryan’s voice, a hot, dark whisper against my ear, sends shivers cascading down my spine. "I’ve wanted to fuck you again for so long. I swear the first club we visit you’re going to spend some serious time strapped to a spanking horse."
His words sear into me, sending a surge of need straight to my pussy, an irrevocable claim that unravels the last threads of my resistance. His eyes lock onto mine, drilling into me, as if to etch every word onto my soul.
"I’ve thought about you, fantasized about getting my cock inside you again. God, I’d forgotten how beautiful, how perfect you are, Candace."
As he speaks, my body tenses, the delicious coil in my belly tightening to the point of agony. He doesn’t wait for me to respond with sarcasm or fight. Instead, his rhythm becomes relentless, driving into me with a precision that promises nothing but oblivion.
"Keep fucking me," I gasp, my voice a ragged sound lost in the heavy breathing that fills the bedroom. My nails dig into his shoulders, marking him, branding this moment on both our bodies, a memory of when everything between us changed.
"Oh, I’m going to, baby. Until that hate in your eyes turns into something else," he growls, his breath hot against my sweat-dampened skin as he whispers words meant only for me. "Until you beg me to never stop fucking you."
There’s no time to weigh the meaning of his confession, no space to consider the future he paints with those words.
Because just then, his hand snakes between us and finds that spot, the maddening, perfect pressure on my clit, and I shatter.
I fall apart beneath him, my cries echoing off the walls as pleasure consumes me, taking every thought, every fear, and leaving only him.
He follows, his release tearing a guttural cry from his lips, my name falling from him like a confession, raw and unfiltered. He finds heaven alongside me, a heaven made of flesh and desire, of two bodies moving in perfect, desperate harmony.
In his arms, I rediscover paradise, a place I fought so hard to resist. One I never thought I’d find again, but Ryan is a siren call I can’t ignore, not when every touch scorches me, not when his presence alone ignites a need I can’t control.
And now? Now he has me, because I never want him to stop. Not now, not with the taste of him still on my tongue, the scent of hot, unbridled sex lingering in the air. In the tangle of limbs and labored breaths, I know I’m lost to him. And it occurs to me I might just be okay with being found.