Page 27 of The Press Secretary's Passion
My fingers whiten where they grip the headboard as he devours me. He growls as I roll my hips in time with his ministrations, and I feel it rumble through me like thunder.
“Yes,” I breathe as I arch my back.
I’m close. I’m so close, but as amazing as this feels, I don’t want it like this. Ryan could have died today, and by some miracle he didn’t. I could let him make me come like this, or I could come with him deep inside me.
“Ryan,” I rasp as I pull up higher on my knees. He grabs me by my hip and pulls me back down to his mouth to take another swipe at me, and I gasp before I drop a hand to cover his at my hip and push up again. “No, baby. I want it with you. I want you inside me.”
“Then have me,” he says.
Carefully, I crawl down his lean body until my thighs straddle his hips, and I rise up until I touch the very tip of him to me and sink all the way down. Ryan arches his back, lifting his hips to thrust the last bit inside me, ripping a moan from my chest. He knifes up to a sitting position so we’re face-to-face and wraps his arm around me.
I circle my arms around his neck, mindful of the tape at his shoulder, and rise up on my knees to take him again. He fills me up completely like this, and if I don’t move, I might die. I work my way up and down his cock, leaning back on my hands, braced on his strong thighs.
His fingers bite into my ass cheek as he leans into me and sucks my nipple deep into his mouth, rolling his tongue over the tip. I drive down onto him as he scrapes his teeth over my flesh and gasp.
“Yes,” I pant as I move faster and faster over him while he licks his way over to my other breast. He then drags his tongue up the column of my neck while he pushes his hand up my spine and grabs my hair, making me dip my head so he can take my mouth.
I push against his chest with the flat of my hand as I rock my hips over him, again and again, faster and faster. The climax that was building before is now all-encompassing, and I couldn’t stop it if I tried.
I tip my head back, losing his mouth, and cry out as I come. Ryan buries his face in my neck, his body wrapped all around me and deep inside me, and he lets out a roar as he comes.
I hold him tight to me as my breath saws in and out of my lungs. And as it always is with Ryan, he manages to make my entire universe draw down to the one point where we connect, where we’re together and we’re everything. That is until he takes it all away and turns my nights cold again.
And he always does.
It’s like a bucket of ice water is dumped over me. I feel my spine straighten and my muscles tighten. And I know Ryan feels the change in me too.
“Jules?” he asks as he pulls his face from my neck after placing a quick but hot kiss to the center of my throat, but I don’t look at him as I climb off his lap and lose his cock.
I race into my bathroom and lock the door. I clean up and then stare at myself in the mirror for far too long, not liking what I see one bit. But I know I have to give Ryan the time he needs to find his clothes as he makes my great escape even in his injured state. Today has been too emotional and eye opening all around. I need a break.
When I’ve given him plenty of time to leave, I open the bathroom door and walk out into my room, determined not to cry myself to sleep this time, knowing that once again I’ll be in my room, all alone.
Only, I’m not.
I stop in my tracks halfway across the room, because Ryan is still lounging on my giant stack of pillows. I have pillows with shams that match my comforter, big euro shams, tons of toss pillows, and a delicate little row pillow, all of which he has stacked up behind his head and shoulders. The covers are tossed aside, and I’m lost in the beauty of his strong, nude form when he’s sprawled on my bed. His heavy cock lays soft and glistening against his thigh, and I can’t stop staring.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he warns, but there’s humor in his voice.
“Like what?” I ask.
“Like you like the look of my cock.”
“I was not—” I start to argue, but he interrupts me, and I feel heat hit my cheeks. I feel heat hit me everywhere, because I’m still naked.
“You were.” He laughs. “And I like it. But you can’t look at my cock like that right now, baby, because I’m forty-seven not seventeen. I need time to recover and regroup, so I’ll let you come cuddle me for a bit, and then I’ll fuck you slow.”
“Excuse me?”
“Come here, baby,” he says, holding his hand out to me, and I grab it even though I know I shouldn’t. “You wore me plum out, and I don’t have it in me to watch you get all riled up, not because it’s a deterrent, but because I think you’re sexy as hell when you do, and as I mentioned before, you wore me out and wrung me dry. I need a minute. So don’t make me wanna fuck you right now. Just come and lie down.
His accent is thicker with exhaustion, and I wonder if he intentionally clips it in his everyday life. I have no idea why, because it’s very attractive, so I do the only thing I can.
“Okay,” I say quietly, and then I climb into bed with him and let him curl me into his side.
And then later on, in the dark dead of night, he rolls me to my back and makes good of his promise to fuck me slow. When we both find completion in each other’s arms again, I roll into him voluntarily and fall into a deep, peaceful sleep.
When I wake up the next morning, he’s gone, proving I was right all along.
