Page 162 of Composed
“Fuck, Rixie.” He rolls it beneath the pad of his thumb, his breaths laboured. My chest hitches, my eyes rolling to the back of my head. “How are you so fucking perfect?”
I open my mouth on a gasp when he slides my underwear to the side and drives two fingers inside me.
The cold metal of his rings bites into my overheated core. He tugs the ring with his thumb, his fingers curl, and I’m a goner. He plays me expertly, just like he plays the keys of this piano.
Every stroke drags me deeper into the abyss. Stars flicker across my vision, my lungs expand. I chase the climax, following as it reaches a peak, only for it to drop when he pulls his fingers free.
My head smacks against the wood and I groan.
“You really thought I’d give in to you that easily, baby?” He clicks his tongue. “I’ve been missing you for ten years, Rixie Moore. I’m going to savour every fucking second of having you again.”
He drags my jeans down my legs and peels them off, tossing them behind him.
“Do you know how many times I’ve dreamt of this?” His voice is a low rasp as he plants my feet on the fallboard and perches on the stool. “You, spread out on my piano, dripping just for me…”
I whine.
Cole Hayes has always known how to use his voice to draw pleasure from people, but fuck if it has expanded his skills somewhere in the last ten years.
“I wonder, how do you taste at thirty, Rixie?”
He licks his lips as he leans in.
I push up onto my elbows, my chest heavy with each breath as his coasts along my slick pussy. He kisses my thighs, soft, sweet, and not nearly enough to satiate the need coiling inside me.
“Still just as sweet?”
“Why don’t you find out, Rock Star?” I whisper, tangling my fingers in his dark hair as he hovers over me.
My skin vibrates when he chuckles.
Then, everything hushes, the room blurs, and he dives in.
He parts me with his thumbs, his tongue flicking my clit. He doesn’t just taste, he indulges. Every lick, every flick, every nip. He pulls me to the edge, releases me, then pulls again.
My breaths quicken, my pulse thumping. I rock my hips and my feet arch off the wood as he slides three fingers inside of me. His teeth catch my clit ring. He flicks his gaze up, eyes locking with mine when he tugs.
I explode.
My mouth falls open, a moan clawing at my throat.
He doesn’t relent.
His fingers thrust in and out as he stands. With his free hand, he flicks his jeans open and drags them down his thighs.
I throw my head back when he hits my g-spot.
Still riding the high of my orgasm, I quiver, whimpering as he pulls my arse off the piano, tilts my hips, and with a single thrust, fills me right to the hilt.
My back bends as he withdraws himself inch by inch. So fucking slowly. I thrust to meet him, but he doesn’t give me what I need.
Or maybe this is everything I’ve needed for ten years.
He slams back in, and then I feel it.
My eyes snap open as metal presses into my g-spot.
“Yo—” I cry out as he rolls his hips, drawing me to the precipice once again.
