Page 86 of Reckless
My head lowers back down on the bench. “Admit wh-what?” I stutter when he curls his fingers inside me and hits a spot that makes me see stars.
“That you only come for me. And that you fucking love it. All that snarling. All that unaffected nail-gazing. All those scowls. They all disappear when you have my face between your legs. I can fuck you happy, can’t I, Winter?”
“I hate you.” I glare at him, but there’s no malice. How can there be when he’s right?
His fingers push and twist and my body bows toward him like the deceitful little hussy it is.
“Admit it. Then I’ll let you come. Tell me what I need to hear.”
What he needs to hear?I’m panting, body pulled tight. I’m wound up to the point where I could burst.
So I admit it, as much to him as to myself.
“Theo, I only come for you and—”
He doesn’t let me finish before he’s back to devouring me, and within seconds, I burst. Just like I predicted.
A hot wave rolls through my body, and I give myself over to it. Thrashing in the heat. Relishing in the feel of a man who likes making me come, likes watching me fall apart for him.
He doesn’t push me too far. He doesn’t pull away too soon. He is so damn good at this.
So damn good to me.
I don’t just come. I come apart. I feel like I could break forever, over and over again, under the worshipping hands of Theo Silva.
Which is a terrifying prospect, because I’ve broken before.
And no one has ever helped me pick up the pieces.
* * *
I expected more after he went down on me. But he picked up my pants and carefully bunched them up over my ankles like he was dressing a child. I watched him, deft hands, veined forearms—one that should probably still be in a sling—and a look of satisfied concentration on his face.
“Don’t you want me to.. .” I trail off, rolling my wrist to explain my train of thought and realizing I feel a little shy. A little lost for words. A little out of my element.
What he did? The things he said? They shouldn’t have felt so momentous, but they did. And it terrified me. He isn’t just some hot one-night stand anymore. He’s the father of our little girl. I’ll be connected to him for the rest of my life, whether or not I want to be.
Whether or not he wants me.
This could be everything. Or it could be the biggest disaster of my life.
So when he smirks, rakes his eyes over me as I fix my fucked-up ponytail, and says, “Nah. I’m good,” my mind goes crazy.
He grips my chin and presses a hard kiss to my mouth before turning away to finish closing the gym. I taste myself, but all I can focus on are those two words echoing in my head.
I’m good.
As in, it satisfied him too?
Or likeEw, no thanks?
He spent countless minutes divulging all the things he likes about me. It seems unlikely he wouldn’t want to do more. And yet, that’s where my brain is trained to go.
My dad chose someone else.
My husband chose someone else. He chose my sister.
And I don’t resent her for it. I resent myself, because what is it about me that is so profoundly unlovable? I feel like I’m on a constant mission to figure that one thing out. I’m not offended by it. I just need to know what it is so I can fix it.
