Page 45 of Better Not Pout
I stand beside her, trying not to focus on the way her tits heave with each ragged breath, every heave of her chest. I want to suck on those pretty little nipples until they’re raw from my lips and my beard.
I slip my arms beneath her and pick her up bride-style, all while she squeals, telling me to put her down. But I ignore her.
“Quiet. I want to carry you,” I say, bringing my lips to hers to silence her. I manage to get the door open without breaking the kiss, and I step inside, using my foot to shut it behind us and walking directly toward the fire.
Carefully, I lay her down on the plush rug and step back, letting my gaze roam. Her skin looks golden from the warm glow of the fire painting every inch of her, the inside of her thighs burned red from my beard, causing a swell of possessiveness to bloom behind my rib cage.
Nothing is sexier than seeing your girl marked by you.
“You’re making me feel self-conscious, staring at me like that, Wells,” she whispers quietly, moving to cover herself.
I drop to my knees beside her, my fingers curling around her wrist and gently tugging her hand away with a shake of my head. “Fuck no, Sugar. I’m staring at you because you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Never think that you ever have to hide yourself from me, Rosalie. I love every goddamn inch of you. Hell, I’m about to come in my fucking pants like a teenager just from eating your sweet little pussy.”
I fit myself between her thighs, leaning down to place a kiss on her stomach, her hip bones, the smooth space above her pussy.
“You are a dream, Rosalie Sullivan.” I whisper the words along her soft, feverish skin, hoping every syllable sinks in and she can believe how fucking crazy I am about this body.
Even if we’re pretending and I only get to have her temporarily, I plan to use every single bit of the time I have her for doing exactly this.
Capturing her nipple between my lips, I suck the hard, pebbled peak into my mouth and roll it between my teeth until her back arches off the floor, and her fingers tangle into the hair at my nape, a needy whimper pushing past her parted lips.
The sound shoots straight to my cock, making precum leak from the tip.
I run my hands along her sides, squeezing the soft flesh of her waist in my fists as my hips rock, my cock gliding along her wet heat. Only the thin fabric of my briefs separates me from sliding inside her.
“Wells…” she pants, tugging harder at my hair, spreading her legs wider and lifting her hips to meet my own.
A groan vibrates in my throat when her fingers graze my stomach, the muscles contracting tightly beneath her touch. Lower and lower, she trails her fingers until they’re dipping into the waistband of my briefs, where she circles my cock with her fist.
I almost fucking come at the feel of her. I groan, hips flexing on their own with the desperate need to sink inside her.
Slowly, she pumps my cock, fingers tightening around me as she does, and my balls draw tight.
“Can I have you, Sugar? Please, let me fucking have you,” I say as I pull back to look at her.
Without hesitation, she nods, eyes flaring heady with arousal. “Please. Fuck me, Wells.”
seventeen
. . .
Rosalie
Checking the Naughty List Twice
There’sa possibility that I might melt into the floor or combust into an inferno, a blaze of fiery flames, in the next few seconds with how hot it is in here.
I’ve never been so turned on in my entire life. I’ve never wantedanythingas badly as I want Wells McCoy.
The way he’s staring almost… reverently at me makes me feel so incredibly sexy and wanted andempowered. His desire is what gave me the confidence to ask him to fuck me, something I’ve never so brazenly done before. It’s not that I’m shy, but I don’t think I’ve ever felt comfortable enough to ask for my pleasure as I do right now at this very moment.
There have been times in the past when I didn’t even feel comfortable enough to take my shirt off around the very few men I’ve hooked up with. I didn’t want them to see me fully naked, but with Wells… it feels different. I’m still a little self-consciousbecause it’s ingrained in my brain, and likely always will be, but he takes the time to reassure me without me having to say anything at all.
I know that he doesn’t truly understand what that means to me, but it’s… everything.
Those who have never struggled with their weight or body image can’t fully understand what it’s like to hate the person staring back at you. To pick apart every single part of you until there’s nothing left but a shell.
“Thank fuck. I’m dying here, baby,” he murmurs near my lips, nipping gently at the sensitive skin beneath my ear, then laving it with his tongue, sending sparks shooting through my blood.
