Page 90 of Almost Ours
When we reached the couch, he broke the kiss long enough to shove his pants down, kicking them off completely and leaving them in a heap on the floor. The sight of him–bare, unrestrained, completely mine–made my pulse spike.
He dropped back onto the cushions and pulled me with him, his hands spanning my hips like he was anchoring himself. The kiss deepened again–hot, slow, intoxicating–his tongue sweeping against mine with deliberate precision as he guided me onto his lap.
His fingers trailed up my spine, pausing at the zipper of my dress. The sound of it sliding down was soft but electric, every inch undone making my skin prickle with heat. He eased the fabric off my shoulders, letting it slip down my arms before tugging it away completely and tossing it aside.
His gaze flicked between my face and where I was touching him, his jaw clenching. With a quick, almost impatient movement, he reached down to his pants for his wallet, flipping it open and pulling out a condom. The foil tore with a sharp rip that sent heat rushing through me. He rolled it on with practised ease, his eyes never leaving mine.
Then his hands were back on me–one sliding up my thigh, the other moving my underwear to the side with a slowness that made my breath hitch.
I knelt up, guiding him to where I needed him most, and as I sank down onto him, we both let out a sharp, gasping breath.
Jesus fucking Christ.
I gripped his shoulders, steadying myself as he filled me completely. His hands flexed against my hips, holding me still for a beat, as if he needed a second to compose himself.
Or maybe he just wanted to drive me insane.
His mouth found my breast, tongue flicking over sensitive skin, and I arched into him with a needy whimper, rocking my hips experimentally. The way he filled me, stretched me–it was too much and not enough all at once.
His fingers dug into my waist as he guided me, slow at first, teasing.
“Fucking perfect,” he murmured against my skin, his voice nearly reverent.
A moan slipped from my lips as I moved faster, chasing the heat curling low in my stomach. He met me thrust for thrust, his grip tightening as he lost himself in me.
The pleasure built fast and intense, winding through my body like a live wire.
“Oh, my God,” I gasped, the words barely audible as I shattered around him.
Ryan groaned, his grip flexing, and before I could fully recover, he shifted–strong arms lifting me off him with a surprising tenderness before flipping me over the arm of the couch.
The shift was effortless, instinctual. A shiver ran down my spine as his palm slid over the small of my back, pressing me into the couch
Then, in one slow, deep thrust, he was inside me again.
I cried out, fingers curling around the fabric of the couch as he set a rhythm–deep, unrelenting, almost punishing in its precision.
“Fuck, Harper,” he groaned, voice raw and desperate. His fingers tangled in my hair, tugging gently so I arched against him. “You feel so fucking good.”
I couldn’t think. Couldn’t speak. I could only feel.
Every thrust pushed me higher, each sharp snap of his hips unraveling me a little more.
And then–God.
The pleasure crashed over me in waves, stealing my breath, my sanity. Ryan followed seconds later, his rhythm stuttering, a low, broken moan spilling from his lips as he found his release.
For a long moment, neither of us moved. The only sound was our ragged breathing, the heavy silence settling over us like a fog.
Then, Ryan’s hand slid from my hair to my back, smoothing it down as his fingers traced slow, lazy circles against my spine.
My chest still heaved as I turned my head, looking at him over my shoulder. His face was flushed, his lips slightly parted, but his eyes–those damn eyes–held something different. Something soft. Something dangerous.
“You okay?” he asked, voice hoarse.
I nodded, dazed and spent. “Better than okay.”
His lips twitched into a slow, satisfied smirk before he leaned down, pressing a kiss to my shoulder. Then, with a gentleness that made my stomach flip, he pulled me upright, gathering me against him.
