22. Impossible, Insufferable, Unmatched
Selene
Selly.
No one has ever called me that.
Selene. Queen of Darkness. Sel. Cold heartless bitch. Moon Goddess.
Yeah... over the course of my life, I've been called countless different things, most of them not exactly flattering. But my absolute favorites... alas, I'm discovering the hard way, are the ones Ron Willers calls me.
Selly. A stupid, sweet pet name. Intimate.
I can't catch my breath. My heart picks up a reckless rhythm, hammering against my sternum.
Ron arches an eyebrow. He's right there, standing in front of me, and he's staring at me. He's waiting.
He's expecting me to strip for him.
Fuck.
I curl my fingers into the hem of my shirt, and suddenly I feel paralyzed. I don't feel comfortable with this at all. I mean, yes, I want to do it. I want to strip for him, but I hate, I hate with every fiber of my being feeling so insecure when all I should be doing is letting go.
I swallow hard, a bitter lump scraping my throat.
Okay, I repeat to myself mentally, trying to summon my cynicism. We aren't going to do it again anyway. If my imperfections turn him off... it'll only make it easier to close this chapter.
I know perfectly well he's already seen me naked. But... in the pitch black of his truck. And I wasn't even completely undressed.
Now, though, I am completely exposed.
"Only if you touch yourself while I do," I tell him.
Ron hitches a breath. A sharp exhale escapes his lips.
"Fuck," he whispers. He runs his tongue slowly over his lower lip, his eyes darkening even further. But then, his expression shifts. It gives way to the man who can read me like a book.
"But only if you actually want to, Selene," he adds softly.
My armor cracks. He sensed I'm not comfortable with this. Of course he did. That man has a built-in radar for my mood swings. He's Ron Willers... he just has to be the perfect bastard, always putting how I feel first.
"Get moving, Willers," I taunt him again, trying to chase away the anxiety. "Don't you want to see what's underneath?"
I want to do it. The idea of exposing myself to him turns me on so fucking much. It's just... nothing. I hate making room for my old insecurities. I hate that Jim's voice still echoes in the back of my head.
Ron doesn't need to be told twice.
He grabs the hem of his gray t-shirt with one hand and rips it off over his head in a single, fluid motion, throwing it to the floor.
Dammit. It should be illegal to be this sexy without even trying. The lines of his muscles, his broad shoulders, his chiseled abs. When the hell does he find the time to work out?
My throat is bone dry. I can't take my eyes off him.
I don't think I've ever seen a sexier man than this ridiculous new-cowboy.
His hands drop to his belt buckle. He undoes his jeans and boxers in one go, shoving them down and kicking them off.
I blink. I physically cannot stop myself from running my tongue over my lips as I stare at his erection. It's thick, veiny, heavy. It is simply... obscene.
Perfect and obscene.
"As you can see..." Ron murmurs, "I don't even need to see you naked to get hard."
Keeping his blue eyes pinned to mine, he brings a hand to his cock. His long fingers wrap around him, and he starts stroking himself.
"You're a fucking wet dream, Selene Dusk."
Oh. My. God.
My lungs forget how to work. The image of him touching himself, standing right in front of me, looking at me like I'm his own personal religion, sets every nerve ending in my body on fire. My insecurity is brutally incinerated by pure lust.
"But I want you to look at me," I whisper.
My hands, which have finally stopped trembling, hook back onto the bottom hem of my shirt.
Do I want this? Yes. So damn much. I just wish... I had something equally statuesque and perfect to show him.
I pull the shirt over my head, letting it fall to the floor.
I am naked from the waist up. I brave his gaze, completely exposing my asymmetrical breasts, a detail I have always hated.
Ron's hand slows its hypnotic pace, but it doesn't stop.
His eyes devour every inch of my pale skin. They linger on the shape of my breasts, on my tight nipples.
"You're a vision," he whispers. He keeps stroking his length, sliding up and down. His mouth is slightly parted, his breathing short. There is no shadow of disappointment in his eyes. There is only pure, burning adoration. It's as if he genuinely loves what he's seeing.
Encouraged by his reaction, I strip off the rest of my clothes.
Ron steps closer. He keeps touching himself, a breath away from my body, his heat radiating against me.
"You are beautiful." His voice is low, virile, rough.
And, as I absorb those three simple words, the final wall crumbles. The ghosts vanish. For once, for the first damn time in years... I truly feel beautiful.
A drop of his pre-come lands on my thigh. It pulls an involuntary shiver from me.
Ron lifts his free hand. He brushes my face, gently tipping my chin up. He leans down and presses his lips to mine.
It's a light, soft kiss, infinitely sweeter than any we've exchanged so far. He rests his mouth against mine almost timidly, tasting me with tenderness. It's a kiss that tastes like reassurance. Like devotion.
Then, without breaking eye contact, his hands slide to my hips. He gently pulls me toward him, right to the edge of the bed.
Ron slowly lowers himself, bending his long legs. And he drops to his knees, settling right between my thighs.
My heart does a backflip in my chest.
What is he doing?
Ron reads the silent question and answers it before I can even ask.
"You said you might hate me a little less if I got on my knees..." he murmurs. He lifts his face toward my core. He slowly runs his tongue over his lower lip, wetting it. "...and I am absolutely determined not to be hated at all."
Ron's hands slide slowly from the curve of my knees up to the inside of my thighs.
"Open your legs for me, Selly," he whispers.
Shit.
No man has ever gotten on his knees for me. And none of them ever cared about foreplay, either.
This is why Ron Willers drives me crazy. There's no other logical explanation. He's attentive. He's devoted. He's fucking good at this before he's even done anything.
It's no wonder I'm on the verge of losing my mind.
He lowers his gaze, staring intensely at my center. He runs a single fingertip along the closed line between my legs. The touch is light as a feather, yet it sends an electric shock straight up my spine.
Completely unable to fight it anymore, I surrender. I release the tension and part my legs, offering myself up entirely to his gaze.
Ron swallows audibly.
"You have no idea the things I want to do to you, baby," he murmurs, his hot breath caressing my sensitive skin.
Dammit.
Lust fogs my brain. The only thing driving me is the urge to reach out, grab his hair, and shove his head violently between my legs. I want to let go, lose myself, and come until I pass out under his tongue.
"That's a good girl..." His thumb traces my folds, gently parting my petals. "Spread wide for me."
I can't hold back. I moan shamelessly as his wet finger slides slowly over my swollen, sensitive folds.
"You're so slick... so pink," his voice is a low, hypnotic rasp as he keeps dragging his fingertip up and down, spreading my own wetness. "Wet and ready for me."
Jesus Christ.
Who would have thought that one day I'd end up mentally begging this man to keep talking?
Ron keeps staring at my core like he's hypnotized. Then he slowly pushes the tip of one finger inside me.
The sudden fullness makes me arch my back. He moans along with me. A deep, raspy sound that vibrates against my thighs. I tremble, sliding imperceptibly down the bedspread to get closer to him, desperately needing more of him. Needing more.
"Dammit, Ron," I pant, balling my fists in the wrinkled sheets. "Do it."
He lifts his face for a second. The corner of his mouth pulls into his trademark lopsided smirk. "Are you getting impatient now, little Selly?"
I take a shaky breath. "I take it back," I hiss, my voice cracking. "I don't think I could hate you any less. Not even on your knees."
His smile widens into a lethal grin.
He slides a second finger in, filling me.
"Are you sure?"
I part my lips, gasping for air. "Yes, you're even more... irritating."
Without warning, Ron curls his fingers upward, hitting a spot that completely short-circuits my brain. I moan, loud and clear.
If this is his personal revenge for my teasing... then I think pissing Ron Willers off might be way, way more fun than I thought.
His hands move from my hips. He grabs my ankles and lifts my legs, resting my feet firmly over his broad shoulders.
I feel completely, terrifyingly exposed. My core is spread wide open, utterly defenseless beneath his gaze.
Ron lowers his head.
The first touch of his tongue is a jolt of electricity.
He groans against my skin, a sound that seeps right into my bones, and drags the flat, wet muscle of his tongue upward, then swirls it in slow, firm circles around my clit.
And it is fucking heaven.
"You taste so damn good," he murmurs against me, pressing kisses to the inside of my thighs.
I instinctively squeeze my calves around his neck and bury my hands in his hair, pushing his face tighter against my center. "Don't stop," I beg him. I have lost all dignity.
"That's it, good girl," he hums, his hot breath setting my nerves on fire. "Take whatever you want, Selly."
Dammit.
I moan, desperate, and grind my hips against his mouth with more force.
Ron caters to my demand instantly. His tongue picks up the pace, turning ravenous. He slides his hands under me, cupping my ass firmly. His fingers dig into my flesh as he presses me exactly where he wants me, controlling my every move.
"God... I..." I stammer, my head thrashing frantically from side to side. I don't even know what I'm saying anymore. I don't know what I'm thinking.
"Yeah, baby, just like that," his voice is a filthy, perfect command. "Come on my face."
And then he starts destroying me.
He doesn't just use his tongue. He creates a powerful suction with his lips around my clit, pulling on the sensitive flesh while the tip of his tongue flicks the raw nerve in a fast, hammering rhythm.
At the same time, his two fingers start moving again.
Sinking in and pulling out, curling upward to hit my G-spot in perfect, diabolical sync with the movements of his mouth.
The heat of his breath, the wet friction of his tongue, the way his thumbs hold my thighs spread wide open... everything is pushing me straight to the edge of the cliff.
My nails dig into his scalp, pulling his hair mercilessly, as an inarticulate moan—almost a cry of release—is ripped from my throat.
The orgasm hits me like a shockwave.
My muscles contract violently around his fingers.
I literally see black and bright stars dancing behind my closed eyelids.
Ron doesn't stop; he takes my spasms, swallowing my moans, stubbornly continuing to suck and stimulate me with his tongue, dragging out my pleasure until I am left completely drained, trembling, without a single ounce of breath left in my lungs.
Only when I collapse back against the mattress, surrendered, do Ron's hands loosen their grip, and he pulls back, just a fraction, breathing heavily.
"So? How much do you hate me now?"
Hate you? What does that even mean?
"So much."