Her smile spread, slowly and so bright he should probably look away. But that smile was worth risking blindness for.
“Is that a good fuck me, or a bad one?”
“It’s about to be a fantastic one.” Somehow, he made it across the three or four feet that separated them, losing his shirt and shoes in the process. He should have taken his time to undress, said something sweet about the way the sight of her filled him with more than just lust, but the second he lifted a hand to the curve where waist flared to hip, instinct took over.
And his instincts? They weren’t sweet ones.
The first time he got behind the wheel of a car, Ryan liked to take his time, get to know the placement of the pedals, the layout of the mechanics, the feel of the steering wheel under his hands. He could spend hours admiring a well-fitted seat. And he never ran before he walked, never pushed the pedal to the floor until he was sure he and the car had reached an understanding.
Being with Amy—touching her, feeling her come to life underneath him—was a completely different experience. Everything he knew about handling a car, and about handling a woman, was lost in the overwhelming desperation he felt in her presence. He wanted to be off and flying, heedless of the consequences. He never wanted to slow down again.
And Amy wasn’t helping matters any. Everywhere he touched on her body was a curve, every graze of his fingertips on her skin set her sighing aloud. He captured those sighs one by one, his mouth greedily battling hers as they inched closer to the bed. When he felt her legs hit the edge of the mattress, he hitched her up and spun, settling himself in a seated position, holding her naked form to his.
“If you need me to slow down, you have to say so. I can tell you right now, I don’t intend to bother coming up for air.” He buried his head in the crook of her neck, nipping and sucking his way downward, not stopping until he had the firm tip of her breast in his mouth. Her skin felt like silk under his tongue, and he suckled deeply, forced to hold her firm as her back arched and she tugged his head closer.
Her fingers laced behind his head and held him tight. “Slow down?” She moaned and ground her hips against him as he took her other nipple into his mouth. “Why would I want to do that?”
Because I’ll hurt you. Because I can’t stop on my own. Because I’ll take what I want and leave you in the lurch. He tightened his hold on her hips. “Just promise me you’ll say something if I go too fast.”
“Of course I promise, Ryan. But I trust you.” She tugged on his head again, this time bringing him up to meet her in a searing kiss. The kiss itself was enough to ignite him—her tongue delving deep into his waiting mouth, the way she trapped his lower lip in her teeth on the way out again—but she chose that moment to begin grinding her hips against his. The slow, languid rotation of her body against his seemed calculated to get a rise out of him—literally—though there was no need for her to go to such lengths. In fact, if she didn’t stop soon...
Dammit. This wasn’t going to work. He felt too much, had fallen too far. If she remained in his lap for another minute, there was no way he could leave this room without being heartily ashamed of himself.
With his arms wrapped firmly around her waist, he lifted and swung her to take his place on the bed. She moaned and kicked, narrowly missing his nose. “Oh, shit. I’m sorry.” She struggled to sit up, but he placed a hand flat on her stomach, pinning her to the bed—which, he noticed, was all done up in white. Fluffy white. Virginal white. The kind of white that told tales afterward.
“Don’t worry about it. I’ve got fast reflexes.”
She moaned again, this time settling more firmly into the pillowy comforter. “I hope they’re really fast then. If you’re about to do what I think you’re going to do, you should know I kick a lot.”
He paused, lifting and appraising her legs with renewed interest. They were such an intriguing mixture of long, lean muscle and soft flesh. Of course, they weren’t nearly as intriguing in that moment as the damp, curly apex he sought.
“I thought dancers were supposed to have command over their bodies.” He lifted her leg so he could kiss along the inside of her right knee. No immediate damage occurred, so he moved higher, teeth and tongue burning a furious path up to the middle of her thigh. God, he could smell her, taste her, drown in her.
“I can do this. Does this count?”
As the this in question was the spread of her legs wide enough to open the vibrant slash of her pussy, he rather thought it did. “Fuck, yes,” he breathed, continuing his northward path. He’d just reached her inner thigh—a piece of delicious, glorious perfection—when there was some definite twitching in her muscles.
“Is it that you’re ticklish?” he asked, only mildly alarmed. He never backed down from a challenge. Especially not one that tasted like her—musky and decadent, a luxury he could no longer do without.
“Not ticklish.” The sound was half pant. “I just have this tendency to forget myself. Which means flailing. And loud noises. Sometimes, I can’t even remember my own name afterward.”
He liked the sound of all those things. Unwilling to waste another moment with talking, he pressed a kiss as high up as could technically be counted as leg before finally reaching the treasure he sought.
Amy tried not to flail, she really did. There was something so ungainly about a woman—a supposed ballerina—who writhed and flopped around a bed just because some guy was able to find her... Oh, dear God. Her clit. Yep. It was right there. It was throbbing. And aching. And somehow tugging at her nipples until she thought they might burst from her chest and start singing show tunes.
She groaned and spread her legs wider in an attempt to keep them under control. She had no idea what it was Ryan was doing to her body right now, but she was pretty sure she was going to manacle her legs around his head and rip it off in her excitement.
“I refuse to be responsible for your accidental dismemberment. Just so you know.” She clutched at her comforter, hands twisting the material into sweaty heaps at her sides. She should have had him sign a waiver—this was not going to end well.
But it did. It ended very well.
As if he knew his life depended on it, Ryan held her legs apart and firmly in place as his tongue flicked some kind of crazy, otherworldly maneuver on her ladyparts. One second she was a bundle of nerves strung up high and poised to fall, and the next she was cascading down into a pool of fizzy liquid pleasure. Muscles spasmed, her hands shook and God only knew what kind of sex noises came out of her mouth in the interim, but she finally hit the bottom and folded out like an accordion nearing its whinging, polka end.
He sat back and flexed his hands, making and unmaking fists, his forearms pumping with a delicious twist each time.
“What are you doing with your hands?” She struggled up on one elbow, unable to find any of her other bones. This messy animal sex stuff definitely had its benefits.
“I’m stretching. Keeping you pinned in place for that was a hell of a workout.”
Her laughter came out in a whoosh as she flopped back to the bed. “If post-orgasmic stretching is something you enjoy, I think you should do lunges next. Fully naked lunges.”
His own laughter was a strangled choke. “That is by far the strangest request I’ve ever gotten in the bedroom.”
“Is it?” She liked that. She wasn’t the best at anything—not really, not when you compared her to other ballet dancers or women who were able to mewl and give a decorous twitch as they came—but she liked knowing something distinguished her from the herd. Especially since oral skills like that meant Ryan must have a very grateful, sated herd hidden away somewhere. “Does that mean you’re going to do them?”
He glanced down at his crotch, where she assumed—hoped?—he continued to show a lively and rock hard interest in her, and shook his head. “I’m not so sure I could in this condition.�
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She scooted further up onto the bed, not stopping until her head rested against the puffy white headboard. She squirmed and settled herself comfortably, content to command at her leisure. “I think you can. Ten lunges or I roll over and go to sleep.”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“It’s eleven lunges now. Big, manly ones.”
She wasn’t sure she knew what a manly lunge was—or that she even cared to see one performed in the nude—but she was too far in it now to quit. Besides, there was a playful sparkle in Ryan’s eye she wanted to explore further.
It was clear Ryan wasn’t a man given to play—not without being forced first. He’d always be the guy standing on the fringes, cementing his outsider status with a frown. He’d laugh only when the joke slapped him on the face, participate in a group activity with the right amount of persuasion and wheedling.
But this Ryan? She was beginning to wonder. So far from requiring forced participation, he was jumping in—hands and tongue first. Maybe the bedroom was more his playing field. One-on-one games. Sex games.
She’d never really played sex games before—but, oh, how she wanted to. Even though she was sure her legs were suffering from some kind of postcoital spasm that would render her immobile for the rest of her life, she felt the warming call of desire pooling once again in her belly.
“Be careful what you wish for,” he warned, the playfulness traveling all the way to his lips, which lifted in a heart-stopping smile. He dropped his hands to the top of his jeans and undid the button, pushing just far enough to hint at the powers contained within. His stomach continued flat and hard all the way down, leading into a curly thatch of golden hair that peeked over the top of his straining fly.
“Twelve lunges,” she said, mesmerized by the hitch of his thumb on his waistband and the coil of fingers over the top of his groin. He could have been an underwear model or a standing advertisement for cologne. She normally hated cologne on men—thought it made them smell a bit too much like desperation—but she’d have bought gallons of whatever Ryan was peddling in that moment.
He took another step forward, his pants falling an inch lower on his hips. The thick protrusion of his cock swelled, trying to be released into the wild, and she could feel herself willing its forward progression. Escape, my friend. Be free. Don’t let the confines of all that fabric keep you down.
Ryan dropped trou. Well—it wasn’t quite that sudden, more like a semi-striptease than a frat boy prank, but the end result was the same. Naked man. Gorgeous, turgid cock with a spring and a bounce in its step as it enjoyed its newfound liberty. And then he promptly turned on his heel and performed a perfect lunge.
Well, perfect when considered from a purely athletic standpoint, what with his hands on his hips and the careful dip of his knee. From an aesthetic standpoint...
She squealed and clapped her hands over her eyes, though with wide enough slits between her fingers that she could see every mesmerizing clench of his milky white buttocks. “I take it back. I take it all back.”
“You don’t like my lunge?” He cast a playful look over his shoulder and whirled so that he was pointing rather, um, pointedly at her. “What about now? Like this? Do you want me to go deeper?”
He went deeper. A lot deeper. So much deeper she was pretty sure his balls grazed the floor.
“I’ll never wash that spot again,” she vowed, and collapsed against her bed in a fit of giggles. Her room, though the size of most two-bedroom apartments in town, wasn’t nearly big enough to contain the force of that man as he worked his way across the hardwood floor, pausing only to look at her and make sure his spectacle was appreciated.
And, oh, how she appreciated it. She didn’t have the willpower to glance away or the heart to tell him she’d never be able to look at a man stretching the same way again. She also didn’t dare say what she was thinking—that his willingness to play into her demands had sealed this deal something fierce. Drawing out this spirited, boyish version of Ryan was now her primary mission in life, for however long he was willing to let her try.
Ryan Lucas was finally coming out of his shell, and she was going to do her damnedest to make sure he wouldn’t fit back inside it again.
“There.” He rose to his feet, supremely proud of himself and not the least bit softer for it. If anything, the exercise had only sharpened the glint of desire in his eyes, made him hungrier for release. “Twelve of the sexiest lunges this world has ever seen. Just as the lady requested.”
“How do you know those were the sexiest I’ve ever seen?” she asked.
“I saw it in your eyes. That was admiration.”
“On the contrary. That was horror.”
Closer still, leaning over the edge of the bed, one hand working carefully toward her. Dammit. Her legs still weren’t working properly, or she’d have been able to move out of the way before his fingers clasped firmly around her ankle.
“If that was horror, why aren’t you screaming?” He tugged, pulling her to the end of the bed, pillows and blankets and his hard body smothering her all at once.
She gasped, drawing in a gulp of air in the brief moment he allowed before his lips crashed down over hers to claim his reward. There wasn’t much on earth he could ask of her right then that she would have denied. Her body, her heart, her soul—they were all his for the taking, though the only one he seemed to have an interest in was the first one.
And that was fine with her. She’d take what she could get. With a yank and a firm grip that had her arms above her head, she was trapped underneath him, helpless against the power he wielded. He commanded her every movement, her every breath, even the mounting ache between her legs, begging for his entry.
“Condoms in the bedside table,” she managed, using her body’s undulations to show her approval. “There’s also lube, but I have a strong suspicion we won’t be needing that.”
He smiled against her lips and snaked a hand between their bodies, not stopping until he reached her entrance. She could feel the slide of fingers against slick folds, her body so hot and wet for his touch she was probably embarrassing herself down there.
“Well, well. You did enjoy those lunges,” he said, eliciting a gasp with the flick of a finger against her clit.
“What I’d really enjoy right now is your cock inside me, you braggart.” She’d been striving for a coy tone, but she was pretty sure she’d just cackled.
After a brief second—or two, or three, or possibly twenty—in which his tongue moved roughly into her open, waiting, wanton mouth, he pulled away to grab a condom. “Wow. You have a lot of stuff in here.”
“Don’t snoop. Grab the goods and get out.”
“Strawberry, lemon, chocolate...pizza flavored body paint?”
“It seemed like a good idea at the time. I was hungry.”
“And I’m pretty sure these are office binder clips. Let me guess, you used these for—”
“Ryan,” she said sternly, unwilling to let him finish. Nothing about that drawer painted her in a sane light, but everything had an explanation. Of sorts. “In case you forgot, there’s throbbing going on over here. Painful, empty throbbing.”
He laughed and pulled out a long purple dildo that had been molded in the semi-crescent shape of an alien’s wang—a gag gift, she swore—and let it dangle from his fingertips. “I’m not sure I want to know what this is.”
“If you don’t stop judging my personal inventory, I’ll be happy to demonstrate by shoving it up your a—”
That was as far as she got, as he somehow managed, amid all the treasure hunting and mocking judgment, to slide a condom over his length. With a growl that was both playful and possessive, he opened her legs and pushed himself between them. She felt the delicious clench of her muscles tightening against the invasion and brought her legs to her chest to increase the sensa
tion.
“That’s more like it,” she cooed. God, she loved being conquered by a cock like this, so full she felt each minute shift of their bodies pull deeply at her core.
“You’re telling me.” Ryan paused to brush the hair out of her face. Her breath stopped as she waited to see what came next—if he was going to say something heart-meltingly romantic about her eyes or something with a harder edge, turning this into nothing more than skin and sex.
But he surprised her. “Okay, Amy. How many lunges do you want this time?”
She was still laughing when she came. Laughing and gasping and gripping his shoulders so tightly she probably left marks behind, but neither one of them seemed to notice. All she seemed to care about was that her desire to draw the sensation of fullness out for hours was surpassed only by the insistent tug of an orgasm that would allow no such thing. There was too much of him—hands, mouth, cock—to allow her to lie back and enjoy a passive assault on her senses.
And even though she was pretty sure there were more than twelve lunges that time, she did both of them a favor and didn’t keep track.
“You never told me you were hilarious in bed,” she murmured, their passion spent. She tried to pull away, but he shifted so that he remained inside her, his arms refusing to loosen their grip. She felt a tightness in her throat and let herself melt against the solid comfort of his chest. “You also never said you were a snuggler.”
“I’m not.”
“I’m no expert, but this feels an awful lot like snuggling.”
He held her tighter and tucked his head into the crook of her neck, where his breath blew a ripple of goose bumps along her skin. “You talk too much.”
“I’m just trying to figure you out.
“I’m not that complicated.” His fingers slipped through hers. “I’m not hilarious and I don’t snuggle.”
If I Stay Page 18
