Page 24 of Wicked Intentions (Wicked Games 3)
I might have intended a casual fling, but Ryan intends something else entirely.
He’ll never find me. No one can. I’ll vanish like I always do.
Even as I reassure myself with those words, I’m doubting them. Something about this man makes me believe he’d follow me to the ends of the earth.
“I need to get you out of your head,” Ryan says, watching me.
Those damn eyes. They see everything.
I sit up abruptly, scoot to the edge of the bed, and take the top button of his fly between my fingers. Looking up at him, I say, “How many times do I have to tell you to shut up?”
His laugh is husky, but turns to a groan when I rip open his fly and swallow his erection.
He’s big and hard in my mouth, a pulsing heat against my tongue. I open my throat and take him all the way to the base, thrilling to the sound of his broken gasp. He settles his hands on either side of my head, and they’re trembling.
Adrenaline surges through me.
I want him undone. I want him to feel what I just felt, that sudden, jarring loss of equilibrium, knowing someone else has taken over your body. Knowing someone else—a total stranger—is in command. I want to knock him off his smug pedestal and leave him whimpering at my feet.
I want to punch him in his pretty face.
Who is he to control me?
Then, without warning, I’m flat on my back with Ryan on top of m
e, his elbows braced on either side of my head.
“We’re not doin’ this if you’re pissed off,” he says, breathing hard.
Now I want to kill him. “I’m not pissed off!”
“Lie to me again, and I’ll take you over my knee, woman,” he growls.
I try to shove him off, but he weighs too much. Plus he’s bracing himself with his arms and legs. Budging him is impossible. I grit my teeth, seething with frustration. He puts his lips next to my ear.
“Normally I’d tie you up right now and force you to tell me what the fuck is wrong, but since you don’t like bein’ restrained, we’re just gonna have to have a conversation like adults.”
I can recall with perfect clarity how many times in my life I’ve wanted to commit murder. This is time number three. I want to strangle him. I want to squeeze his thick, tanned neck and choke the life right out of him, then maybe light him on fire and do a victory dance as he burns.
I’m losing it. I close my eyes and suck air into my lungs.
Ryan grips my head. His heartbeat thunders against my chest. His cock, wet from my mouth and rock-hard, presses between my legs. “Be honest with me for once!” he says into my ear.
A sob catches in my throat. Suddenly, I’m fighting tears, mortified by these ridiculous emotions, hating how powerless I feel.
“You make me feel weak,” I blurt, then groan at my own stupidity.
A shade of tension leaves his body. His voice gentles. “You keep forgettin’ you’re the one in control, Angel. This is happenin’ because you want it to. Just ’cause you’re feelin’ some kinda way about me, about this thing between us, doesn’t change the fact that you’re here, lyin’ naked underneath me right now, by choice. Trust it. You’re not the kind of woman who’d be here by accident, no matter how different this is from what you usually do.”
My chest rises and falls in rapid bursts. “How do you know what kind of woman I am?”
Looking into my eyes, he speaks deliberately. “Because I see you. And I know that’s what really scares you. No one ever gets to see the real you, but I do.”
Knife to the heart, slicing it wide open.
God, the truth is awful. And this terrible intimacy is even worse. I think it’s probably the worst thing in the world.
Ryan holds my head still when I try to turn it. At the end of his patience, he snaps, “Either you drop this hiding bullshit and be brave, or I’m kickin’ your ass outta my room! What’s it gonna be?”
