Chapter Twenty #3
Rhys crawled up her body again, spreading her legs wider as he kissed the inner thigh of one leg, then the other, alternating until he nuzzled so close to her sex she wanted to cry.
“Damn, Jules.” He lowered his mouth to her. The wet heat made her buck against him. His tongue swirled around her clit. Gold sparks of brilliant heat shimmered every time his tongue flicked.
Her hands reached to her sides, her fingers flexing and scraping against the shallow rise of the pool floor.
Rhys elbowed her thighs wider.
Exposed as she’d never been before, flying higher than she knew possible, she didn’t even care how vulnerable this made her.
Rhys reached beside her, shoving her leg farther out. Then he did the other. She didn’t care. His mouth moved over her, lapping and kissing as he fucked her with his tongue. She spread for him, giving herself to him. She felt like she might die if the building pressure stopped in any way.
Rhys shoved an arm under her ass, lifting her to his face. “Do not hold back.”
“Rhys,” she moaned.
“Because I won’t.”
If she thought he’d worked her over with his mouth, she was mistaken. The man ate. Devoured. Consumed. And as her orgasm built, he used his tongue, his fingers, his lips. There was no tracing of the stupid ABCs, no mental list of what to do to get the job done. Rhys Callaghan destroyed her.
The orgasms tore through her. She split apart, riding his face, calling his name, as she was depleted of every ounce of energy her body had to give.
Then that was it. Except for the tremors slicing through her limbs, the pulsing spasms of her cunt, she couldn’t move, semifloating on a pool mat. “I think you killed me.”
His quiet laughter shook, and like a gentleman, he moved to her side and gently drew her legs together. Lord knew she couldn’t do that herself.
Rhys scooped her up, walked them out, and grabbed some towels. He approached an oversize couples lounger arranged under an equally large shade umbrella and tossed the towels onto the cushions. Carefully, he set her down, wrapped a towel around her, then covered them each with another one.
She needed to say something. Thanks? Wow? You killed all my brain cells with your tongue? Nothing seemed terribly appropriate after shouting his name with his head between her legs.
He didn’t say anything, either, though, and dropped next to her on the lounger, pulling her close to his side.
The sun and an easy ocean breeze dried them off.
She tucked her cheek onto his pec. His fingers lazily drifted over her skin.
In the back of her head, she expected that they would keep going, like the checklist hadn’t been completed.
He needed to get off too. But he seemed content, and she still could barely move.
How was it possible to feel that good? To bask in an orgasm that seemed to suck the oxygen out of the universe?
Her eyes drifted shut. “You’re amazing,” she whispered.
His tracing fingers paused. “I thought you might be asleep.”
“No. I’m floating. Like nothing but this exists.” She rested her chin on his chest. God, he was handsome. The stubble on his cheeks from this morning had darkened into a five-o’clock scruff.
Jules rested her palm on his cheek then slid it against the grain and relished the way the coarse hair scratched her palm.
She shivered, propping onto her elbow.
Taking her chin between his thumb and index finger, Rhys brought her mouth to his. He kissed sweetly and lazily, lounging in the sun as though they never had to leave their poolside hideaway.
“I like vacationing with you,” she said against his lips.
“I like the way you taste.” He nipped her bottom lip.
She smiled against the teasing curve of his lips.
Her tongue flicked along the seam of his mouth, then she wondered the same about him.
Jules splayed her hand on his stomach, sliding over the ripple of hard abdominal muscles until she reached his sternum and collarbone.
Then she retraced the path her fingertips had taken, growing bolder, moving lower.
His breathing drew deeper, expanding his chest wider as she teased her way to the waist of his boxer briefs.
Her breaths quickened also.
Nerves and uncertainty, the desperate need to explore him, to make him feel as good as Rhys had made her, urged her on.
Her palm skimmed over the wet fabric. The thick ridge of his erection was growing harder under her touch.
She couldn’t believe she was arousing this man, who was unbelievably sexy and experienced and nearly unattainable. “You should undress too.”
His hand covered hers over his hard-on. “That’s what you want?”
The uneven cadence of her pulse skittered. She nodded. His hold gripped hers as he stroked himself with her hand. With another squeeze, he released her and rolled off the chaise.
He stood, his midnight eyes on her as he dragged the wet cotton down his muscular thighs until he’d kicked it away and his erection hung before her.
Rhys stroked himself lazily, not breaking the iron hold he had on her gaze. The strokes teased. They invited. She’d never been more turned on by watching a man.
Honestly, she’d never watched a man. Never studied the way his carved jaw tightened or the column of his throat bobbed when he swallowed hard.
He had Herculean broad shoulders and well-muscled arms. His chest tapered to the V below his stomach in that indescribable way a man’s body narrowed to his cock.
His grip tightened as he stroked. “Come closer.”
On her knees, she moved to the edge of the lounger. Jules rested her palms on his thighs. Her fingertips flexed into the hard muscle. Her chin rose, her eyes meeting his.
“Open, sweetheart.”
Deep inside her body, her core pulsed. She parted her lips, her tongue wetting them. Breathless, she licked them again and darted the tip of her tongue over his crown.
Rhys sucked in a breath, still pumping himself. Her eyes went to him again.
“Again,” he said. “Just tease me.”
She flicked her tongue against him again. Her mouth watered for more, and growing more certain, she studied him as she dragged the tip of her tongue from the bulbous ridge of his cock to the slit.
Rhys trembled and hissed.
She wanted more. She needed it. And wrapping her hand to his, she slid her other hand against the thickness of his shaft, gripping the way he did until his hand fell away and she worked him alone.
Jules took him into her mouth, sliding it down as her hands moved up.
“God,” Rhys groaned. “Jules.”
That didn’t sound like “Stop.” It sounded as though he liked the way her mouth worked over him. She took more and more. Saliva slickened her hands. He hit the back of her throat, and her eyes watered, but her jaw relaxed as she needed more of him.
Rhys’s hips flexed up, and he tangled his fingers into her wet hair, threading the strands into his fists, guiding the motion he needed.
Jules gagged, then her throat relaxed again. She moaned around him.
“Damn. God.” One hand stayed knotted in her hair, and the other touched her, petted her, urged her on like he couldn’t stop touching her as he crooned about how fucking good she made him feel.
The more he encouraged her, the more she could take. Her hand worked with her mouth. His mutters and murmurs mixed with prayers and her name. His hips flexed. “Jules.”
Rhys’s nostrils flared, and his chest heaved. His jaw clenched as if he would shatter in the sun.
Please. Give me. Every part of her begged for him to come down her throat.
He moaned her name, thrusting his orgasm. All of him tensed then shuddered. And she’d never needed something so badly. He’d given her what she wanted, what had made her bold and… capable.
Rhys dropped his head back, resting his hands on her shoulders as his chest heaved. Still on her knees, she eased back, feeling like a queen.
“You’re unbelievable.” He pulled her into his arms and curled around her on the oversize lounger.
Naked, wrapped together, they faced the infinity pool, which disappeared into the aquamarine and turquoise water.
A warm breeze carried on the ocean-salted air.
He brought her hand to his mouth and peppered kisses along her knuckles, one after the other, until he nuzzled her closer.
She closed her eyes to drift into that place on vacation where no responsibilities and no rules had given her this gift.