Page 23 of Wicked Intentions (Wicked Games 3)
The first raindrops hiss against the balcony tile.
“Yes,” I whisper. “Oh God. That’s good. That’s so—oh—”
Without breaking the rhythm of his tongue, he slides a finger inside me. He reaches up with his other hand and thumbs over my hard nipple. Sounds are coming out of me that I don’t recognize as my own. They don’t even sound human.
When I stiffen and make a low whine in the back of my throat, he warns, “Don’t you dare hold back on me!”
The words burst out of me in a desperate, breathless rush. “I’m too close. It’s too fast. It’s been too long, I’m already—oh God—”
He stops listening to me before I get three words out of my mouth. He simply goes back to his glorious torture, only now he’s squeezing both my breasts in his hands, pinching and tweaking my nipples as he swirls his tongue between my legs. My hips rock in tandem with his tongue.
Sweat blooms over my chest. My heart goes arrhythmic. I groan, squeezing my eyes shut, the entire world narrowed to what’s happening between my legs.
“Come for me, Angel. You know you need to.” His voice is coaxing, wickedly soft.
I wish he’d stop calling me Angel.
Somewhere off in the night, a rooster starts crowing. They’re all over the island, stupid, wild roosters who crow just as often at midnight as they do at dawn. It’s to the sound of falling rain and a faint cock-a-doodle-doo that I come in a stranger’s mouth, crying out his name.
Ryan groans into me as I writhe. Along with deep shock at finding myself here, the noise vibrates all the way through me. Then thought ceases, and everything is reduced to sensation.
The rough scrape of his jaw on the tender flesh of my thighs. His calloused fingers on my breast. The leather of the sofa, cool and smooth against my shoulders. The heady scent of flowers and sex in the air.
His mouth, owning me. Driving me. Forcing my surrender.
My fingers twist in his hair. I’m scratching his scalp, but I can’t stop myself. I’m too far past restraint. I’ve jumped off an insanely tall cliff and am plummeting toward annihilation.
“Fuck yeah,” Ryan whispers harshly. “Give it to me.”
I do. I shudder and thrash and wring myself out against his clever tongue until I’ve got nothing left to give and I’m a mass of jelly limbs and random twitches, panting, sweating, laughing weakly with an arm flung over my eyes.
I get a tender kiss on the inside of each of my thighs and hear a low, satisfied chuckle. I look down to see Ryan with a pirate’s jaunty grin, blue eyes shining.
“You can catch your breath on the way to the bed.” He stands and picks me up.
I cling to his strong shoulders as he carries me to the large, four-poster bed. He sets me on my feet, steadies me, then peels off my dress like he’s opening a present. He kisses my throat, strokes my skin, murmurs words I only hear as gentle sounds, soft as the evening air.
“Ryan,” I whisper, trembling. My legs shake so hard, I think I might fall.
He takes my face in his hands. “I know. Me, too.”
His kiss is like a mark of ownership. A firm and permanent seal.
This is madness.
He senses my rising panic. “Only a few hours, and then I’ll let you run away.” His voice turns dark. “For a while.”
With his hands on my shoulders, he lowers me to the bed and lays me flat. He stands looking down at me. I’m exposed and vulnerable beneath his gaze. His expression is one of perfect concentration and total control. He slowly rubs the heel of his palm along the bulge in his jeans.
When I lick my lips, his eyes flash.
“Tell me what you want,” he demands.
“You.”
His smile returns, only now it’s edged in danger. “Oh, you’re gonna get me,” he says softly.
I shiver with equal parts anticipation and dread. I hear the unspoken whether you like it or not, and know without a shadow of doubt that he’ll come looking for me after tonight is over.
