Page 11 of Washed Up
He is.
Another nudge. I feel the whisper of his breath, then it’s happening. Reid Rushmore is pressing my lips apart so that he can slide his tongue inside. And boy does he know what he’s doing. Turns out my imagination got him all wrong. He’s not the unskilled but enthusiastic amateur I supposed. No, he’s a tease, a tormentor. He holds me in a grip that’s equal parts deferential and possessive. His worship makes me groan. It heats me up, steals my breath away, then makes me come begging for more. I follow him backwards so that I’m sprawled over his half naked body, our hips perfectly aligned.
“I’m not sure this is a good idea.” I mutter when we part for breath.
“Why’s that?” His hands settle solid upon my hips, and he rocks me back and forth against him.
“I don’t generally get off with guys I’ve known five minutes.”
Harrison liked to call me names. Easy, sluttish… Worse… That’s if he wasn’t chastising me for being the opposite—frigid, repressed. He just didn’t like the fact that I didn’t like him. His ego couldn’t handle it. I don’t put any weight on his opinion, but still, those labels echo in my head as Reid’s touch intensifies.
“It’s been well over half a day since we met,” he says.
“Practically a lifetime,” I deadpan. “Does it count if I was comatose for most of it?”
“Give me one good reason why we shouldn’t. If we’re attracted to one another, and we’re grown adults of sound mind, then what’s the issue?”
I don’t have one. He’s right. There shouldn’t be one. I should bask in my good fortune at discovering Reid Rushmore, a guy admired by millions is into me.
“Can’t think of one, huh?” Reid purrs against my skin. He starts on my neck, kissing, and then sucking hard enough that I’m sure he’s leaving marks. I can’t quite bring myself to stop him. The body’s willing, and my mind is only putting up a feeble show of resistance. Is this what I want to do? It is, right? Only, what happens once we’re done? Do I then get ushered on my merry way?
Reid wriggles his way down my body. I barely realise he’s doing it, until I realise his erection is no longer branding me as his tongue skims over my breasts, and paints circles around my nipples.
“I really want to taste you, Ariel.” He kisses me midway down my abs and hooks a finger under the waistband of the briefs.
“It’s Iris, and Reid…” My hands seek his shoulders, and he looks up at me with his pretty hazel eyes. That’s almost enough to convince me to let him carry on. I would really like to feel his mouth on my pussy, but I take a breath and say, “Stop,” instead.
He cocks his head, but doesn’t resist when I shift, so that I’m no longer astride him.
“You okay?” he asks.
I nod, snatch up the forgotten jeans, and pull them on. “This is all just… It’s a lot. I need to…” I make a lowering motion with both hands. He watches me while I bite my lip. “It’s not that I don’t want to. I just…”
“Your stepbrother fucked you up.”
“Yes—no. It’s a bit of that, but not really.”
“So, what is it then?”
I cross my arms across my chest, uncertain myself. Maybe just the sheer fact that I feel so vulnerable in my borrowed clothes and motley of bruises. “We only just met, Reid, and colour me wary after everything that happened last night.”
His pupils grow wide. “Did that fucker assault you? I thought the bruises were from the sea.”
I shrug. “I didn’t stick around long enough to give Harrison a chance to lay a finger on me. I took a dive instead.” At the time it seemed the better option.
“Shit, I’m sorry. That fucking arsehole. If I meet him, I’m going to wring his neck.”
His fury makes me smile.
“Thank you for stopping when I asked.”
He nudges my arm, then pulls me into a hug.
“No, I’m sorry for not being considerate, and taking advantage when you’re all vulnerable.”
“You didn’t.”
“Did.”
