Total pages in book: 21
Estimated words: 18799 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 94(@200wpm)___ 75(@250wpm)___ 63(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 18799 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 94(@200wpm)___ 75(@250wpm)___ 63(@300wpm)
I dive in, dragging my tongue up the length of her slit. Her moans echo off of my bedroom walls. I lap at her, slow at first, then rough, and she falls apart for me. I fucking love how responsive she is. Every lick, every stroke, she gasps and arches, begging for more.
“Ryan, oh my God, don’t stop,” she begs, her fingers tangling in my hair.
Never. I could eat her for hours. Rory cries out, her thighs clamping around my head like she’s trying to drown me in all this sweetness. Fuck, I’d let her. I slide two fingers into her tight pussy and curl them just right, working her as I lap at her clit. Her back comes off the bed, that wild hair fanning out over the pillow. She makes desperate little gasps, like she can’t get enough air.
“Ryan, oh my God, I can’t—I’m gonna—” She breaks off with a scream, her pussy spasming around my fingers. The taste of her is better than any goddamn thing on earth. I keep sucking, keep teasing every drop of pleasure from her body until she’s begging me to stop. I pull back and stare at the mess I’ve made of her, the way she’s shaking, flushed and breathless and so fucking gorgeous I have to grit my teeth.
My cock is throbbing so hard it’s almost painful.
I line up and rub the thick head against her dripping entrance. “You’re mine.”
“Yours.” She wraps her arms around my shoulders and drags me down until our mouths collide again.
I push in slowly, an inch at a time, watching her face as I stretch her. She’s tight, so fucking tight, her pussy clenching around me as I slide deeper. A low, guttural moan escapes her as I bottom out, my balls pressing against her as I fill her completely.
"God, you feel incredible," I hiss, resting my forehead against hers.
She wraps her arms around my neck, pulling me down for a bruising kiss. "Don't stop. Ryan, move."
I start to pull back, almost all the way out, before slamming back in. The sound of our bodies meeting is a wet, heavy slap that echoes in the quiet room. I find a rhythm, deep and relentless, pounding into her until the world narrows down to the sensation of being inside her.
Every thrust makes her cry out, her nails raking down my back as she meets every movement with a desperate shove of her hips. I reach down between us, my thumb finding her clit and grinding against it as I fuck her. The combination is too much; her eyes roll back, and her breath hitches into a series of short, sharp pants.
"Come for me, Rory," I growl, picking up the pace. "Give it all to me."
She screams my name as she shatters, her entire body trembling as the orgasm takes her. The feeling of her clenching around me is the final straw. I bury my face in her neck, a loud groan ripping from my throat as I explode inside her, hot spurts of cum filling her as I pump into her one last time.
We collapse together, our skin slick and sticky, our breath coming in ragged bursts. The silence of the apartment returns, but it’s different now. It’s not empty. It’s full of the scent of us—sex and sweat and something that feels dangerously like a beginning.
I roll onto my side, pulling her to my chest, her back tucked against my front. I kiss the top of her head, my hand resting on her stomach. The moon is still high over the Sound, but the world feels like it’s shifted on its axis.
CHAPTER EIGHT
RORY
The light in Ryan’s bedroom is the color of pale honey, filtering through the heavy curtains and catching the dust motes dancing in the air. I wake up slowly, anchored by a weight across my waist that feels more right than anything I’ve ever felt before.
I don't move. I don't even think I breathe for a full minute, just cataloging the steady, rhythmic puff of air against the back of my neck. Ryan is still asleep, his body a furnace pressed against my spine. I could get used to waking up tangled in Egyptian cotton with a man who’s built like a Roman gladiator.
His arm is thick with corded muscle. My skin feels sensitized, hyper-aware of the slight friction of his forearm hair against my side.
I shift, just a fraction, and the grip on my waist tightens. He isn't awake, not fully. A low, gravelly sound vibrates through his chest and into my back.
"Stay," he mumbles, his voice thick with sleep and something that sounds dangerously like need.
"I’m just getting comfortable."
He huffs a laugh, the sound warm against my skin, and buries his face in the crook of my neck. "Good."
I turn in his arms, the sheets rustling between us. His eyes are half-open, a dark, sleep-shadowed blue that makes my stomach do a slow, dizzying roll. He looks different in the early morning light. Softer, more like a normal human being and less like a hockey god.