Page 65 of Well, Actually
I nod, his hands still at my splotchy cheeks. “You made a pretty compelling point with the jomforter situation.”
My gasp harmonizes with Rylie’s laugh as he presses his smile to my lips and kisses me again.
We’re slow and reverent at first, a hesitant tenderness like we’re testing the reality of everything we just said. Every brush of his lips against mine feels like a promise, a declaration of adoration. I return each vow, my walls being laid to waste as we pull each other closer, kiss each other harder, a growing franticness that shifts the energy to something rawer.
“I need you,” I whisper in his ear before tracing the shell of it with my tongue. Rylie’s groan is low and thick, igniting a hot flame in my stomach.
I’m still in my pajamas, a silky black set with a button shirt and flouncy shorts. He fumbles with the tiny pearl buttons, but I’m too impatient for his care, and I swat his hands away, giving a quick tug at the edges of the top. The buttons clattering to the floor punctuate the pop of his dimple as he looks at me, eyes fixed on my bare chest.
He shakes his head slowly, dragging his knuckles across his lips. “God, you’re unreal. So absurdly beautiful.”
My smile is obscene, entire body flushing at his praise. I pounce on him again, kissing him like my life depends on it.
I back us up, his palms cupping my breasts, my fingers twisted in his shirt. “Bed,” I moan against his lips, then bite the lower. We only make it as far as the couch, the world tipping and my heart swooping as he follows me down onto the cushions. I claw at his clothes, transforming into a wild, needy animal whose only focus is to feel his skin against mine. Rylieprops himself up on one palm, grabbing both my wrists in his other hand and pinning them above my head. He wraps my fingers around the cool metal bar of my end table. “Hold on to this for me, sweetheart,” he whispers into my ear, voice like velvet. I grip the bar with everything I have.
Rylie tries to hide his chuckle, and I glare at him but his smile doesn’t flicker. He reaches behind himself, dragging his shirt over his head and tossing it to the floor. My arms flinch with the need to touch him, but he shoots me a warning glance, eyes dragging from my flushed face to the grip of my hands. “Good girl.”
With a lazy assuredness, he repositions himself on his knees between my legs, my body prone beneath him, and he flicks the buttons of his jeans free. He pushes them down his thighs, his cock springing out, and he grips the shaft, giving himself a few slow strokes as his gaze drags over me. Rylie’s never been a person I would describe as self-possessed, but right now, he’s a man undone, hair a mess, glasses crooked, my bites marks on his neck, his expression delightfully ruined.
Seeing him like this sends a surge of need through me, and I clench against the painful emptiness between my legs, hips jerking up toward his. Rylie catches my thigh, then grips the silk of my shorts, pulling them tightly between the lips of my pussy. It creates just a hint of friction, and I groan, pelvis working even harder to find relief.
He lets out a low growl, fist moving faster as he strokes himself. I can’t stop watching him touch himself, my mouth watering with a want to taste him, my body throbbing with the need for him to fill me.
“Look at what you’ve done to me,” he says, dragging myattention to his face. “Look at the mess you’ve made of me, Eva.”
I let out a broken whimper, squirming as I try to squeeze my thighs together, desperate for some type of relief.
His smile is ruthless. In a flash, he grips my waist, positioning me further up the couch, my hands still clinging to the end table. He lifts my legs and tears my shorts down, tossing them to the side before shouldering his way between my thighs, head dipping to my stomach. He traces my navel with the tip of his tongue, then drags the flat of it lower.
“It only seems fair I make a mess of you too,” he whispers between my thighs before pressing his mouth to my aching flesh.
I scream, writhing up into the hot, wet suction of his mouth, eyes squeezing shut as the pleasure violently rushes through me. He shows no mercy, spreading my legs wider, centering on my clit as he alternates between pulsing suction and quick flicks of his tongue. I’m wound so tight it feels like every muscle will snap. I say his name, over and over.
“I’m close, so close,” I pant, torso curving up, watching his head work between my thighs. Rylie makes a humming noise against my sensitive clit, and I moan, the first flicker of my orgasm igniting. With a suddenness that has me shouting out a string of curses, he pulls back, nuzzling my inner thigh, kissing the crease of my pelvis.
“What the fuck are you doing?” I garble out, sweating and panting and trying to remember how to use my hands so I can release this bar and strangle him.
His smile is pure innocence, mildly questioning. “Something wrong, Kitten?”
I stare at him with so much fury my eyes nearly cross. He buries his smile against my leg, but I feel the vibration of his laugh.
“Keep. Going,” I say through clenched teeth, twitching and trembling from the need he’s built in me. My skin is hot, feverish, my teeth chattering and muscles aching. Rylie takes his time to lift his head, giving my body a leisurely perusal until his eyes meet mine.
“If you want to come,” he says, pausing to drag his teeth over my hip bone and making me groan. “You need to show me how bad.”
He drops his head back to my clit, and I’m torn between choking him with my thighs and outright begging him to finish what he’s started. He teases me relentlessly, building me up, backing me down, every muscle in my body taut like a bowstring. I try not to let him win, try to put up a fight, but it’s a losing battle.
Rylie pushes a finger in me, then a second, his lips and tongue working on my clit, his entire body moving as he fucks me with that mouth. Something in the glint of his eyes, the easy confidence he has as he drives me wild, feels like a challenge.
I suck in a tight breath as he finds an unhurried rhythm that has me grinding against his tongue for more. Fighting for steadiness, I clear my throat. “I didn’t get the chance to say this last night—”
Rylie stops, lifting his head to give me a patronizing look. “Because you were running away like you’re deathly allergic to feelings?”
I urge his head back down with my legs, giving his mouth something else to do other than annoy me. “But it pisses me offthat you’re actually pretty good at this,” I say, trying to sound bored, but another sharp gasp in my voice gives me away.
Rylie’s eyes were momentarily closed, those long lashes sweeping his cheeks, but they open, skimming up my body. With another lick with the flat of his tongue, he pulls back, lifting his head and smirking like the devil.
“That so?” His voice is soft and mocking, his fingers still pumping and curling into me.
