Page 43 of Rivals
“I’m not running,” I say, even though it feels like I am.
“Good. But just so you know, if you run, I’ll catch you,” he says with fire in his eyes. He steps up to me, and there’s barely any space between our bodies. I push him back, but he was expecting it, and he doesn’t move.
He dips his head to my neck and kisses the skin covering my pulse. “Lachlan,” I rasp.
“Do you trust me, little bird?”
“I don’t know,” I say, a little breathless. Even though I told him, I would try, even if it’s just forty percent. But that doesn’t seem to matter at the moment.
“I do,” he says and dives into me. He devours every bit of doubt that sat in my stomach. He pursues me; he wants me.
I lean into the kiss and hold his shirt tightly in my hands. He pulls away and tosses me up a little before catching me, and I swear my heart pops out of its cavity. Everything feels like too much and not enough. He pushes me against the wall, leveraging his hips against mine while his hands shove their way under my hoodie. We gasp between kisses while his hands explore, and I hold on tight. Skin meets skin, and I groan, holding him as close as I can to my body. His thumb skates the edge of my breasts, and I gasp at the sensation. His tongue plunders my mouth, and I grab at his hair, tugging hard. He grunts and thrusts his hips against me.
“Lachlan.”
“Damn, I love it when you say my name like that,” he says, and then leans into my neck and licks my pulse. A moan bubbles from my lips, and he pulls back to walk us back to the bed. His kiss is almost reverent in his cautiousness. He nips my lower lip, and I lean into it. I know this is a bad idea. I know we shouldn’t do this. We are nothing but oil and vinegar, yet we’re so good together. He gently pushes me onto the bed and crawls over me.
“We’re going to get paint on your sheets,” I say, starting to get up and avoid staining other things.
“Revna, I don’t care,” he says, leaning in, meeting my lips again. Our kiss turns desperate, and my skin is on fire. I grab the hem of his shirt, and he helps me pull it off. Then he reaches for the edges of my hoodie and pulls it over my head. My t-shirt goes with it, leaving me in my practical bra.
I can’t help myself, and my hand goes to his abs. I trace the muscles with my finger like I’m painting his skin. He grabs my hand and lifts it, kissing each of my fingers and the center of my palm. I lay back, left in my leggings and Lachlan still in his jeans.
He kisses his way up my stomach, between my breasts, and lands back on my lips. His hands never stop their exploration of the skin exposed to him. His fingers skim down to the waist of my leggings, and he pauses. I open my eyes to find his emerald gaze staring back at me. I nod, and he whips them off, tossing them to the side. He growls into my mouth and searches for the clasp on my bra. The moment he gets it off, his mouth latches onto a nipple, and his teeth sink into my skin.
I scream, and he chuckles darkly into me, and the vibration sends a spark straight to my center. “Lach,” I moan again as he soothes the sting. For a moment, I wonder how we got here. How this happened so fast, but no objections pop into my mind.
“I’m going to paint your skin with my tongue and color it with your moans,” he says to me like it’s a foregone conclusion. It is a statement of fact, and there is nothing to do but lean into this moment. I want to, for the first time in a long time.
“Yes,” I whisper. He grins and leans in to kiss me again. My shaky hands fumble for his jeans, but he pushes my hand away.
“Not yet,” he grumbles as he makes his way past my belly button. He continues to my thighs, skipping over the place I want his mouth more. His tongue finally dips across my center, and my hips jolt.
My knees bracket his head, and I grab onto his hair. “Hold on tight, little bird. I’m going to make you soar.”
I cackle, and he lowers to his knees, and I lift my head to look at him between my legs. A sight I could paint, to be honest. “Why is that funny?” he asks, dead serious.
I giggle again.“ You are full of the worst and best things I’ve ever heard.”
“Well, let me add feel to that list, too.” I roll my eyes, and he bites my inner thigh. “What did I tell you about rolling your eyes?”
“Well, maybe you should make good on your promise to make me regret it.” He nips me, and there is no more talking, as he does make me fly. His expert fingers and tongue move me to the edge, only to let me fall and bring me right back to it like a bungee chord. I pull on his hair so hard he growls, and I shove my hips up. His hands skate to my lower back, lifting me higher. I scream so hard my voice goes hoarse, and I’m sure the neighbors two floors above can hear me.
Sweat pricks my skin as I inhale deep gulps of air. Moving to my elbows, I look down at him, still on his knees in front of the bed. He is stunning. I let myself ogle this man. He is what sculptures are made of. Only he’s covered in me and paint. It’s not a medium I prefer, but I would be willing to try it to replicate this. Goosebumps cover my skin, and he stands, flicking the button to his jeans and pushing them down.
My eyes widen. I don’t know why I’m surprised, but I am. This man is literally a Greek sculpture. I try to capture everything I can see as he leans over me, sliding a hand under my hips, lifting me further up the bed into the pillows that smell like him. It’s a slight tang of paint and something musky, like cedar.
He kisses me and fits himself between my legs. His body heat radiates off of him, warming my skin. He draws his hand down my thigh to the back of my leg and lifts my knee to his side. It’s just like I had thought it would be— electric, heady, and consuming. He braces himself above me with his other arm, and I drag my nails down his stomach again. The muscles flex, and he groans before I reach him.
“Revna, baby, don’t,” he groans. Despite his protests, I move my hand up and down slowly. Before I could go further, he yanks my hand away, and without warning, he thrusts into me. I cry out as he shifts above me until he finally seats himself. He stays still for a moment, and a tear escapes the corner of my eye.
He freezes. “I’m sorry, baby,” I shake my head and reach for his lips. He gives them to me freely, and it’s like my soul has met an old friend. My chest feels light as he moves us together. My hips meet each of his thrusts, and the headboard bumps against the wall. He’s treating my body like we have all the time in the world, and I feel cherished for the first time in my life. He grunts, picking up pace and then slowing down. This is not a race. This is a marathon.
As he hits that spot within me, shrill cry bursts from my lips and my hands scramble for purchase. “Yes,” I say, out of breath, chasing what he can give both of us.
“I knew it,” he says and squeezes my chest. My eyes spring open, locking onto his. I can’t respond. I’m too full, too overwhelmed, to ask what that means. “I knew it would be like this, Revna.” He tilts his hips, and I go off.
“That’s it, muse. Look at you… so beautiful for me. I’m going to paint you just like that, giving into me.”
