Summer
Dad: Summer, what did you do to that poor boy?
Summer: I don’t know what you’re talking about. But I do wish everyone would stop talking about a man in his thirties like he’s a child. Or a dog.
Dad: Okay. You’re defensive too. Got it.
Summer: I’m not being defensive. I’m just pointing something out.
Dad: Defensively.
“W here the hell do you think you’re taking me?” I ask right as we clear the doors into the cool night air. Cool air that I desperately need after Rhett Eaton just set my entire body on fire.
I’m mad at him. I’m hot for him. And those two things blend until they’re almost indecipherable.
Rhett’s breath puffs out in front of him as we face off. “Away from Emmett. Before he tells you about the cowboy hat rule.”
I scoff. “What the hell is the cowboy hat rule?”
“You wear the hat, you ride the cowboy.”
My eyes bulge in their sockets. “What?”
“You heard me. You wanna take Emmett for a ride, Summer?”
His voice is pure venom, and I lurch back, not recognizing this tone on him.
“What if I do?” I’m not backing down just because Rhett’s going all caveman on me. “Seems an awful lot like none of your business, seeing as how the minute you had a chance you were all over some blonde buckle b—”
I go to hold up a hand between us, the one still holding the stupid whipped cream, and close my eyes. “You know what? It doesn’t even matter. For a minute there I had a major lapse of judgment and just . . . forget about it.”
Spinning on my heel, I turn and storm toward the crosswalk, relieved that our hotel is across the street. I jam my finger at the
button, willing the light to change as quickly as possible so I can get the hell away from Rhett before I tumble right into the deep well of poor decision making that I’m staring down into.
I feel him come to stand beside me, but he says nothing. We walk in tense silence. The chirping sound of the walk signal is our only companion as the thumping music from the bar fades. My fingers wrap tightly around the whipped cream can, and I envision it being Rhett’s neck for a moment, but truthfully, that just makes my palms sweat.
Why does he have to be the first guy since Rob who gives me butterflies in the chest? And not the same kind I got as a horned-up teenager staring at pictures of him. These butterflies almost hurt. They feel like they’re writhing beneath my skin, taking over my stomach, impeding my vision.
Because all I can see is Rhett. On the back of my eyelids when I sleep, and with me all the fucking time when I’m not asleep.
It’s like he’s become an extension of me, a necessary part of my personal ecosystem. Infatuation by proximity. It’s like I never even had a shot.
We walk into the hotel, him just a step or two behind me. We don’t look at each other, we don’t talk, but the most intense sense of anticipation grows in my chest. Expanding, pressing, aching.
I want it to stop and carry on forever all at once. I want to peek at him, but I think if I do, the reality of what we’re about to do might scare me out of whatever trance I’m in. Whatever sense of resolve I’ve come to.
We wait at the bank of elevators with one other person, and when we step into the space, Rhett and I take opposite walls. I cross my arms under my breasts, the cool metal can pressing against my ribs and seeping through my shirt while I stare at him across from me.
The other man takes the space in the middle. He looks tired, ready for bed, not nearly as amped up as Rhett does. Rhett looks like a downed power line sparking in the dark.
And I think I’m about to pick that line up and let the electricity course through me.
When the man realizes he’s standing in the middle of two people eyeing each other like they might set one another on fire
with the power of their sight alone, he straightens up. I catch him peeking at us, head swiveling as he peers at each of us.
When we reach his floor, the elevator dings, and I swear he shakes his head as he gets out, like he knows there will be some sort of brawl between us.
When the doors slide shut behind him, my body tingles—the tips of my fingers, up my inner arm, into that dip behind my elbow, before shooting straight into an ache beneath my bra straps.
Rhett stares at me like no man has before in my life. And for all the times I couldn’t decipher his look and thought he was glaring at me with irritation, or frustration, or distaste . . .
I realize I was wrong.
He’s staring at me like he wants me. Really wants me. Like he aches for me. Like he might melt, just for me.
My breathing quickens, eyes scouring his features. Heavy brows, straight nose, deep, warm eyes, all that scruff. God knows I’ve stared enough at him over the years, and he just keeps getting better. Firm broad shoulders, narrow waist, and long, lean muscles.
When the elevator dings, I startle and swallow hard, watching his Adam’s apple bob in a similar fashion as he holds a hand out to gesture that I go first.
My lips press together, but I exit, mind whirring with what to do next.
I should go to my room.
I should go to his room.
I should take a freezing fucking shower.
I should run straight down this hallway and jump through the window like James Bond getting away from a super villain because no matter what I do, this is going to end poorly. I just know it.
Rhett Eaton will ruin me if I give him the opportunity, and I don’t even know what to do with that.
I think I might want him to ruin me.
As we walk toward our side-by-side rooms, I focus on breathing. I’m so hyperaware of his presence I might forget to breathe if I don’t actively remind myself to do it.
When I finally reach my door, I place one palm flat against it to hold myself up as I wait for him to walk past me. This is hands down the most out of control, confounding feeling in the world. I
want to stare at him all night long, and I want to squeeze my eyes shut and never look at him again.
“Rhett, I—”
“Go to bed, Summer.”
I snap back, surprised by what he’s saying. “Go to bed?”
“Yes. Before I do something distinctly ungentlemanlike to you.”
My brows shoot up, taken aback by his directness.
“Like what?” My voice comes out quiet and uncertain. Our slightly hostile banter is my comfort zone, but alone with a man like Rhett Eaton, looking at me the way he is, well, it’s way the hell and gone out of my wheelhouse.
Sex with Rob was rushed and unsatisfying.
The friends-with-benefits situation I had during law school ended with unrequited attachments.
And that one-night stand I had was . . . just bad.
I don’t know where the hell that leaves me with Rhett. I don’t know what I want from him. But I know I don’t want to go to bed.
Not alone anyway.
A muscle in his neck jumps and he crosses his arms, shirt bunching around his biceps. “I’d start with those pretty fucking lips.”
My lashes flutter and a whimper stalls out in my throat as I try to work out how I should respond to that.
I opt to take the bull by the horns. With one step forward, my hand darts out and I yank the saddle-brown cowboy hat off his head and place it on mine. His leather and licorice scent rushes in around me, and I sigh.
I’d like to bottle that if I could. Sweet and earthy and so damn masculine all at once.
He growls when I step away wearing his hat and push my back against the flat wall between our rooms, letting a small smirk play on my lips. Reveling in the way his eyes heat when I do.
With two steps, he’s towering over me. My head tips back to take in all his agitated glory.
“You know what I’m sick of, Summer?” His hand comes to my throat, fluttering over the skin so gently that I arch toward him to increase the pressure.
“What’s that?”
“Having you think I’m out fucking everything that moves when I’ve looked at nothing and no one since the first day I laid eyes on you. I stepped into that godforsaken boardroom, and you practically demanded I become obsessed with you.”
I gasp for air, rendered speechless.
His finger pads stroke my neck with such tenderness that I blink up at him, more emotional than I banked on.
“Do you know what else I’m fucking sick of?”
“What?” My question is a breath, a whisper—a plea.
His hand moves up, and his thumb pushes down firmly on my chin, gently forcing my mouth open wide. There’s something crude about it, but the way he’s looking at me as he does it has me trembling with anticipation, my pussy wet and slick when I squeeze my thighs together.
“Having to spend all day, every day, with you and this smart mouth . . .” His spare hand yanks the can of whipping cream from my sweaty grip. He holds it up, hitting me with the most sinful grin.
“And not being able to use it the way I want to. To fill it the way I want to.” His voice is husky, but I barely have time to register it because the whoosh of the pressurized cream filling my mouth permeates the air between us.
When he stops, he presses my chin back up, closing my mouth. “How does that taste, Princess?”
“Mm,” is all I can manage as my tastebuds dance with the creamy sweetness, while every nerve ending dances with scorching electricity.
“Good girl. You wish that was my cum, don’t you?” A strangled whimper lodges in my throat as I nod back at him, trapped in his amber gaze. Then he leans in close, breath damp against my lips and growls, “Swallow, Summer.”
Sharp anticipation races through my veins, and I make this desperate little moaning sound as I swallow for him. “Are we done playing games now?” His voice is heavy, full of promise, raising the hair on my arms.
I nod, nervously licking at my lips and unable to drop his gaze.
“Good.” His thumb strokes the sensitive spot beneath my ear as he grips the back of my neck. “Now, tell me honestly, Summer.
If this were your last moment on earth, what would you want me to do?”
I don’t even need to think about it. I know what I want from him.
“Ruin me.”
“Good. I’m about fucking done being a gentleman with you.
And the only thing I’m ruining you for is anyone else.”
He swipes his key card and shoves us through the door.
And it looks like I’m going to his room after all.
I drop the can of cream on the carpet right as the heavy door clicks shut behind us, and all bets are off. My entire body hums with need. For her.
Ruin me.
She’d told me to ruin her. The only thing I’m going to ruin her for is any other man. I’m going to give her a night she’ll never get over. A night that will keep her coming back for more.
I push her against the closed door, the brim of my hat on her head brushing against my face as I swoop in to taste her lips. But this time it’s not for show. This time it’s because she told me this is how she’d want to go out. Kissing me.
And fuck, a statement like that is a powerful drug.
I kiss her like my life depends on it, like hers does too. We latch onto each other, her arms curling around my neck while mine roam her body.
It’s a desperate sort of kiss, full of angst and longing. She seems rushed. Like she thinks this might end. Like there’s a time limit on this thing we’re doing.
I pull back just a little, cupping the base of her head, her hair silky beneath my hand, her breathing labored, her breath sweet like sugary cream, hands still feverishly tugging at me. “Stop rushing, Princess. We’ve got all night. Save your energy, you’re going to need it.”
“Fuck,” she whispers as she sucks in a sharp breath.
“Let me show you. I’m going to take my time with you,” I murmur before taking her lips slowly, swallowing the sweet little humming noise she makes, feeling her arms soften, hands tracing across my shoulders. Her nails drag and a shiver races down my spine.
I don’t know what this is between Summer and me, but I want to worship at her throne. I want to give her the best of everything.
The best of me.
She slides her tongue against mine, and I taste the whipped cream I just made her swallow. Even with my eyes closed, I can
see the way her throat worked, the way she swallowed it the way I told her to. It’s burned on the back of my eyelids.
Didn’t think my cock could get any harder than it already is, but it pushes painfully at the zipper of my jeans at the memory.
I slide my hand down the curve of her body. My thumb flicks at her nipple through the thin cotton shirt as I clear her breast, and she whines into my mouth, trying to rush the leisurely pace I’ve set.
“Greedy girl,” I growl as I pull back and press a kiss to the bottom line of her jaw.
I kiss just beside her mouth.
“Rhett.” My name on her lips. Fuck. It’s a prayer. It’s a plea.
It’s my goddamn undoing.
I kiss her cheek.
“I thought I got off on hearing fans scream my name from the stands.”
I kiss her temple.
“But hearing you moan it?”
She tilts her head, giving me more access. Asking for more.
“Hearing you moan it is so much more satisfying.”
I kiss the spot just below her ear, and she squirms against me. She goes all breathy and moans my name again. “Rhett.”
“You like that?” I nip at her ear.
“It’s the beard. It feels so good. I . . . I’ve never had that before.” The girl who is usually so put together and well-spoken is a puddle, all because of my beard.
And I get off on it. I get off on being the first man to give her beard burn. Her neck isn’t safe tonight, neither are her inner thighs.
I chuckle and drag my teeth down the side of her throat, fueled by her moans. By her hips rocking toward me. By her fingers in the back of my hair.
My fingers land at the waistband of her tight fucking jeans and reach in to tug her shirt out. I instantly squeeze the taper of her waist, her smooth warm skin, noting the strap of whatever sexy fucking panties she’s wearing coming up over her hip in the most alluring way.
And then, I’m pushing the white shirt up over her head, wanting it off as quickly as possible. Wanting to see what she’s hiding underneath this well put together exterior.
Her arms raise, and as the shirt clears her head, my hat topples to the ground at her feet. But I leave it there, just to take in Summer propped against the door, wild hair, chest heaving, full breasts pushed up high in the red lace bra. Straps of matching lace panties wedged up high over her jeans.
She looks a little unsteady and a lot desperate. Totally disheveled.
And I love this look on her.
I crouch quickly to swipe the hat and the can before replacing the hat on her head. My hat. I groan and shut my eyes at the fucking wet dream before me.
“You should see yourself right now.” Her teeth dig into her puffy bottom lip, really completing the whole look. “So fucking pretty.”
“Please, don’t stop.”
“Wasn’t planning on it. Just admiring the view.”
“Lose the shirt.”
I chuckle. “There she is. My bossy girl.” I step closer, crowding her against the door. “You want it off, do it yourself.”
An expression of defiance flashes across her face, but within moments, she relents. Her small hands reach for the buttons of my shirt, and she nimbly works the first couple through the holes.
When she peeks up at me with that little smirk on her lips, I know she’s about to pull something naughty. She grips my shirt and rips. Buttons fly all around us.
She seems amused until I yank her bra down, the sound of lace ripping loud in the quiet room.
“Hey!” she starts, but her bare tits are exposed right in front of me. All soft and full, nipples hard as rocks. The neon lights from the shitty bar across the street cast a blue glow in the room that adds to her ethereal beauty. Even the scar down the center of her chest suits her. A battle scar. A testament to how hard she’s fought. How fucking strong she is.
I’m absolutely starstruck.
“That bra was La Perla. You owe m—”
I shut her up by spraying a circle of whipped cream over her right nipple. Instead of reaming me out, she swaps to moaning and running her hands through my hair when I drop my head and suck her breast into my mouth, taking a long pull.
Her chest arches into me as I lick the whipped cream from her body. A milk product has never tasted so good. I can feel the gooseflesh of her skin against my lips, and once I’ve cleaned her off, I graze her nipple with my teeth.
“Mm,” I murmur, slightly leaning back to admire the way her breast glistens before reaching behind her and removing the torn bra entirely.
She watches, speechless.
I go for the other nipple, covering it in cream, pausing for a moment to appreciate how she looks all scandalized and painted with sugary cream.
It’s giving me the filthiest ideas. Ideas I let play through my mind as I drop my head again and take my time cleaning her off while she moans and writhes.
When I straighten and drop the can on the floor, I cup her breasts and grin down at her.
“I thought you hated milk?” she huffs out, all glassy eyed and eager.
“I’m developing a taste for it.” I growl as I lift her up, pressing her into the door and kissing her again. Her legs wrap around my waist, squeezing my hips as she sears me with a kiss, my hat toppling off her head to our feet.
All I can taste is whipped cream and cherries, and all I can smell is her.
All I want is her.
Which is how I find myself carrying her across the blue-lit hotel room with long sure strides, ignoring the twinge in my shoulder—because who needs a fucking shoulder with a girl like this?—and tossing her down on the bed, her dark hair shimmering out around her, like rays of sunshine off her sweet, freckled face.
We pause for a second, her splayed out across my bed while I stand entranced between her knees. This is the moment where we fully consider if we’re about to do this.
“Do you want me, Princess?” I ask as I tug a boot off each of her feet.
Her lips part, and she stares back at me when I drop them on the floor with a heavy thud. “Yes.”
I reach down and unbutton her jeans, stepping away only to drag them down her legs. “Why?”
“Because . . .”
I discard them and stare down at her, panties wedged high, showing the outline of her pussy. I groan. That paired with the knee-high socks she’s wearing and her tits on display could make me blow on the spot. Paint her with something else entirely.
Stepping closer so my knees bump up against the mattress, I grip behind her knees and spread her legs wide. As I do, her panties slide over, exposing one of her bare lips.
“Fuck, Summer. Fucking look at you.”
She whimpers, hands falling to her tits like she’s trying to cover them. But I catch her rolling her nipples between her thumb and forefinger, clearly trying to avoid answering my question.
“Tell me. Tell me why you want me.”
Her lips roll together, her panting audible.
“You want this?”
She nods.
“Talk to me, Summer. You want me to fill this tight little cunt?”
“Fuck,” the word whooshes out of her as her eyes widen in surprise. Such a proper little princess.
“Have I got your attention now?”
“You’ve always had my attention, Rhett.” Her confession comes out quiet and soft. Like a secret shared between lovers.
And like a balm to my deepest wounds.
I groan and reach forward, running my thumb over the seam of her pussy, feeling her pulse and clench against me. Feeling how wet the lace there is already. Nudging the strip of fabric aside, I push a finger in and revel in her, smooth and slick.
Drenched.
“You’re soaked, Summer. Is that mess all for me?”
I swear I can see her cheeks flush pink, more of a purple in the blue glow.
“Yes,” she says meekly, sounding almost embarrassed. And, well, that’s just not going to do.
She needs to know how wild this makes me.
“I love it,” I growl, dropping to one knee, slinging her leg over my shoulder and tugging her ass to the edge of the bed. When I pull the scrap of lace to the side, I feast my eyes on what I’d only felt before.
“All this for me.” I rub her pussy again, feeling her leg clamp down on my shoulder as her head shyly flips to one side. “What a fucking treat.”
She tries to press closed her free leg, and I slide one finger into her wet heat while tutting her. “Nah, nah, nah. Don’t get all shy now. Legs wide open for me, Princess.”
I slide one hand up the back of her thigh to open her as she breathes out a quiet, “Okay.”
Pressing a kiss to the inside of her knee, making sure she feels the rasp of my beard, I ask, “Should I keep going?”
She takes a beat to respond. So, I wait, bestowing more kisses up her inner thigh, grinning when her hips buck. “I’ve never . . . well, this is new.”
I freeze for a moment, looking over her outline from where I’m kneeling. “New? Like no one has tasted this?” I rub her again, and my cock jumps when I realize she’s even wetter than before.
She shakes her head no.
Doctor Douche really is the fucking worst. But I don’t say that.
Instead, I reach for the lace underwear and drag them down her legs. If this is going to be her first time riding a man’s face, it’s going to be good. And there aren’t going to be any fancy panties in the way.
When they clear her ankles, I resume my position. “That’s a crime, Summer. A terrible shame.” I slide a finger in and feel her contract around me as she gasps. “It seems I have some wrongs to right.” I pump in and out, raptly watching her pussy take my finger, and then two. “And I’m not even sad about it. Do you know why?”
“Why?” she replies quickly, voice all raspy and thick.
“Because if this were my last moment on earth, that’s how I’d want to go.” I thrust in hard now, watching her body shake with the force, hearing her curse. “Head between these pretty little thighs, your pussy on my tongue.”
I hold her wide open, drop my head, and get to work.
M y eyes roll back in my head, and I see stars. Bright and shiny, almost blinding. I’ve heard good sex compares to an out-of-body experience, and I never quite understood that sentiment.
But with Rhett Eaton’s face between my legs, I do.
Both his muscled arms loop around my legs, and one hand splays across my stomach, holding me down. The other is wrapped tight around my thigh, and his fingers dig in so hard that I feel like he might leave bruises right next to the ones from the saddle pinching me a few days earlier.
His tongue.
His. Tongue.
His goddamn tongue.
He’s licking me, almost the way he did at the whipped cream on my breasts, reverently, but with just enough pressure. Just enough suction.
Just the right amount of teeth. He slides his tongue right into me, and when I try to squirm, his calloused hand pushes me harder into the too-soft mattress beneath my back. His beard is prickly and rough against my pussy. Grating on my inner thighs.
Increasing my pleasure tenfold. Partly because of the actual sensation, and partly because, well, because it’s Rhett.
Rhett Eaton. My teenaged crush. Rhett Eaton. Sex symbol.
Rhett Eaton. Ladies’ man.
Or is he? I’m thinking that’s an outdated perception that he hasn’t been able to shake.
He said he’s been obsessed with me. That was almost as shocking as how good it feels to have his mouth between my legs.
I thought Rhett hated me but tolerated me.
But based on the things he’s said, it seems I have been wrong. Very, very, wrong.
“Rhett!” I cry out, one hand still working at my nipple while my other shoots down to his head. I’m alternating between feeling self-conscious and not giving a fuck because it’s just so damn good.
He pulls back, pausing, “Tell me what you want, Summer.”
He’s killing me with all this talking. Having to say things out loud is firmly outside my comfort zone. For a man who’s never been huge on chatting, he sure has a lot to say once my clothes come off.
I push up onto my elbows and look down at him, his eyes still fixed on my pussy. “I want you to stop making me say things out loud.” I half laugh.
His eyes flit up to mine and he grins, the most carnal grin, before he licks his lips and winks at me. “What can I say? I like your pink cheeks and watching you squirm.”
I blush harder.
He gently unhooks my legs and stands, towering over my exposed body. Making me feel remarkably vulnerable. He drops his ruined shirt on the floor and quirks a brow at me. “Did I tell you to stop?”
“Stop what?”
“Touching yourself. Keep going.”
I swallow, wondering how I’m reacting to him this strongly. It’s consuming, and I don’t even consider saying no. Instead, I fall back onto the bed and slide one hand up my stomach before gripping my breast.
I do the same with the opposite, but when my knees tilt inward, his calloused palm gives one leg a little push open. “I’m not done with that,” he growls as he shucks off his pants, turning briefly to pull something out of his bag, giving me a glorious view of his ass.
Round and muscled, and so goddamn grabbable.
When he comes back, he’s holding a foil condom package.
His cock is huge and hard and it’s pointing straight at me. “You still want this, Summer?”
He sounds almost uncertain now, like he’s concerned I might turn him away.
“Yes,” I breathe, wanting to give him more. “I want you inside me.”
The locks of his hair have flopped over his face. He looks messy and delicious, and I think even a little bit self-conscious. I wonder what he wants me to say? What he’s trying to urge out of me?
I thought it was all dirty talk, but the way he’s watching me now as he rolls a condom over his steely length has me wondering if it’s something else.
“I want you on top of me,” I blurt out awkwardly as I sit up. My dirty talk needs work. His eyes narrow as he fists his cock, but I keep my gaze on his face as he advances on me, my heart thundering against my ribs. Like it wants to jump out of my body and give itself to this man.
Like it knows something I don’t.
With him finally hovering over me, I reach between us to grip his thick cock. And it is thick. “Jesus. I’m going to pay for this tomorrow, aren’t I?”
Rhett smirks. “If you’re not walking bow-legged tomorrow, I won’t have done my job tonight.”
Now he looks so playful, so delicious, so confident. His full attention is on me, and only me. He looks like the type of man I could easily get wrapped up in and be left standing with nothing but a broken heart at the end.
I swipe the head of his cock against my slick core, grinding on his tip, watching his eyes flutter shut.
He kisses me, a searing kiss that has my toes curling and my hips arching up to meet him. And then, he’s pushing into me—
slow, and steady, and delicious—filling me up and giving my body the time it needs to adjust. I lift a leg and wrap it around his back, pulling him nearer. Wanting him closer.
“Fuck, Summer,” he growls against my lips. “Just fuck. How are you this fucking tight?”
My nails skate over his back as I let my hands roam in a way they never did while I massaged him. There is nothing remotely professional about the way I’m touching Rhett Eaton right now.
When he bottoms out, resting in the cradle of my hips, he groans. “Are you okay? Because I think this is about as long as I can handle being gentle.”
I nip at his chin. “I thought I told you to ruin me?”
He rears up above me, deadly serious and painfully handsome. “Careful what you wish for, Princess.”
He pulls all the way out before shoving himself back in. My body shakes and my head tips back. I feel every point of contact between us, every inch of skin, every hair. Even his gaze is heavy
on me, like he’s pulling my soul up to my skin with the look in his eye alone.
He sets a slow but powerful rhythm, fucking me hard, watching my every movement, absorbing every noise.
On one hand, it’s borderline unnerving. On the other, I feel like a fucking goddess beneath Rhett Eaton. Like he can’t tear his eyes away from me, like he has all the time in the world, like he’ll never forget this.
Or get enough.
I know I never will.
My moans come at a higher pitch as he pushes my body taut, but he pulls out, drops to his knees, and feasts on me again.
The change in pressure, feel—the entire thing—it leaves my body reeling to catch up. A light sweat breaks out across my chest as he fucks me with his tongue like I’m the best thing he’s ever tasted.
“Rhett,” I gasp his name, completely lost to the sensation of him playing my body like an instrument he’s mastered.
“Yes, Princess? You going to tell me why you want this now?”
He stands tall, gripping my ankles as he goes, folding me how he wants, which at this current juncture, has my feet up near his shoulders while he looms over me like some sort of wild god.
Then he’s lining himself up, sliding into me again. Going so deep. Filling me with every inch.
“I don’t know,” I pant, eyes lingering on the way his skin shimmers with perspiration.
“Try again.” He thrusts into me, setting a more punishing pace. His head tips back, highlighting the bump of his Adam’s apple. With every stroke, my moans grow louder, more frenzied—
just like his movements. “I’ll keep you screaming all night until you tell me.”
Fuck, am I screaming?
Right when my nerve endings coil again, when I’m reaching for that spot that I so badly want to hit, he pulls out and drops to the floor. Leaving me empty and breathless.
“I’ll have you coming all night long, Summer. But not until you say it out loud. I want to hear it.” His fingers slowly—so slowly—
rub my swollen clit. He pumps two fingers in, the sound of how wet I am for him enough to make me blush. But he just chuckles softly, deeply. “You want to fuck a bull rider, baby?”
His head drops and he laps at me again, tongue flat, his movements measured, dragging me back away from the edge.
“No.” My hands find my breasts of their own accord, body aching for release.
He sucks my clit into his mouth, grazing his teeth along my pussy.
“Take a walk on the wild side with a cowboy rather than your fancy city boys?” he murmurs, the sight of his head between my legs burning itself into my memory.
“No!” My response is more forceful this time.
He sucks harder, and my legs fall open wider. How I went from never having done this to devoured by the king of eating pussy, I’ll never truly know. But I’m definitely not going to complain about it. Especially not when I’m finally barreling toward release, pushing myself down on him, fingers wantonly pinching my nipples.
But he pulls away.
I let out a frustrated growl and push up on my elbows. He gives me a devilish grin and quirk of a brow, like he knows exactly what he’s doing.
“Tell me why you want it, Summer.” His voice is gruff, with a bite that wasn’t there before.
It.
It hits me that he talks about himself like a commodity. Maybe this isn’t a game for him at all. Maybe he really is trying to figure out why a girl like me would want a man like him.
I pin him with my eyes as I sit up on the edge of the bed and reach for him. “I don’t want it, Rhett. I want you.”
My hands run over him, gently searching, but he stays quiet.
Watching me like he always does. “I’m tired of doing what I should and ignoring what I want. And what I want is you. Inside me. All around me. I want you with me. And I want to be the only one.”
Out loud, it sounds so insecure. But my heart can’t take being broken again. It can’t withstand a man like Rhett treating me like I’m nothing more than a roll in the hay. I don’t know what it all means, but I know I want him to understand this isn’t casual for me. I may not know what it is, but it’s not that.
He stares at me, as though he’s processing what I’ve just told him, before he leans back over me, cupping my skull in his big hands with so much tenderness that my chest aches.
“You’ve got me, Princess. Only you, I promise,” he husks, before kissing me. A consuming kiss. I taste myself on his lips and feel his beard on my cheeks. His hair drops around us, closing us into an intimate bubble, and I smile against his mouth because he’s all around me right now.
After a cool down moment, my body heats again for him so easily. Like I have a switch, and he’s the only one who knows where it’s located.
We exchange no more words as he gently lies me back down, keeping our bodies close as he does, kissing me as we go, dragging his mouth—his beard—until I’m a squirming, whimpering mess beneath him. His face hovers over mine, his elbows drop onto the bed beside my head, and he stares into my eyes.
Always staring. Like if he blinks, I might disappear.
The pad of his thumb swipes across my temple reverently, brushing a wispy lock of hair from my cheek. The blunt end of his cock nudges my thigh as we bask in this moment. This anticipation. Because suddenly, this night feels different.
“I’ve never wanted someone so badly in my life,” I confess to him. His responding smile is soft, one I’m not sure I’ve ever seen on him.
His thumb still strokes at my temple with heart-aching gentleness as he slides himself into me. We sigh in unison, and then he says, “Me neither, Princess. Me neither.”
We kiss, we touch, he rocks into me, he fucks me until I shake beneath him. On every surface we can find. He spends the entire night proving just how badly he wants me, pulling me apart at every seam, watching me crumble for him over and over again.
I think he crumbles a bit for me too though.
When we’re both boneless and exhausted, he pulls me into the cradle of his body and holds me like he’ll never let go.
And when he feels how cold my feet are, he tangles his warm legs against them.