“So fucking perfect in my shirt,” he says. “Too bad you’re going to have to take it off.”
The command thrums through his words. His hooded eyes are glued to my shaky fingers as I undo each button, pulling the fabric aside to show my bare skin. Ryan traces the edges of my breasts, and my nipples harden into painfully stiff peaks. He hums his appreciation as he gets down to his knees.
“Your tits are fucking amazing.” He scrapes his teeth over one nipple before drawing it into his mouth. His tongue curls around the tip, hot and insistent. My back arches as my body instinctively demands more. Every pull of his mouth sends another rush of heat to my lower belly. I groan in disappointment when he releases me.
“Patience, Pips.” There’s an edge of humor in his voice. “I always leave you satisfied, don’t I?”
He grabs the elastic edge of my panties and yanks them roughly down over my hips. Once he’s pulled them off, he pulls one of my legs up along the back of the couch and guides it up so it’s bent. The other he shoves up to hang over his shoulder. My muscles protest at the sudden stretch even as my blood sings at the thought of him manipulating my body like I’m a doll—a plaything. His heated breath plays against my wet core, making my clit pulse. He hasn’t even touched me yet, and I’m already pathetically desperate for him.
“This pussy is mine, Pippa,” he declares. “Because nobody can treat it better than I do. Nobody—” He kisses my inner thigh. “No other man can make this pretty, wet little pussy feel as good as I can. Tell me you know that.”
I whimper pathetically. I’m not thinking about anybody else—Ryan’s hands and mouth and cock are the only things on my mind. But Ryan nips my thigh, and I know he’ll need an answer before he gives me anything else.
“Say it,” he orders, voice low and wrecked. “Tell me who this pussy belongs to.”
I press my lips closed, but when he presses his lips hot against my inner thigh again, I can’t deny it. Not even to myself. For tonight, at least, I’mhis.
“You,” I choke out, my hips jerking helplessly. “I’m yours, Ryan.”
I always have been.
His eyes shine. “Good girl.”
Then his tongue darts out, flicking against me, and my body sings at how fucking good it feels. The flat of his tongue moves over my clit with determined focus. He grabs my thighs and pulls my body hard against his mouth, putting even more pressure on my core. Fuck, he’s relentless, like he’s trying to prove how fast he can make me come.
Like eating me out is a competition, and he has no choice but to be the winner.
Maybe if I wasn’t so turned on, I’d have a problem with that. I might tell him sex isn’t a prize, and it’s not how he wins me.
But right now, my head is full of snowflakes and glitter and fireworks—everything sparkly and beautiful. Ryan devours me, his mouth sinfully hot and wet. He consumes me until I’m writhing against his face, both of us chasing the inevitable drop.
His hands shove harder against my thighs, forcing my legs even further back so I’m even more spread open. He humsagainst the slick flesh, sending vibrations rippling up my spine. I dig my fingers into the couch cushions, grasping for purchase as the sparks flowing through my blood get brighter and brighter.
Somewhere beneath me, he groans like I’ve just handed him the winning hand in the biggest game of his life. His words are muffled against my skin, nothing but broken fragments of praise— “that’s it, good girl…ride my fucking face…give it all to me”—but they’re almost drowned out by the roaring in my ears.
Then my vision goes black, and I’m gone. Tumbling down a fucking mountain of an orgasm while my legs clench around Ryan’s head, holding on for dear fucking life. It’s like he threw me out of my head and into my body, changing me into some animal who only craves his mouth, his hands, his cock.
I tremble as I come down and Ryan presses a hot, wet kiss to my mound and then my thigh as I try to see through the dark spots still crowding in my eyes.
When I can finally see him, I find he’s grinning up at me from between my thighs, licking his glistening lips.
“Nobody makes you come like I do,” he says fiercely. “Nobody else knows what you need.”
This time, he doesn’t demand an answer. He already knows it’s true, and he knows thatIknow it, too.
His hands travel up my sides and knead my breasts. He holds me down like I’m bucking against him, when really I’m boneless and panting.
“Can you handle another one, baby?” he asks.
I whimper. Flickers of residual pleasure keep flashing through my body, like the stars in your eyes after you look at something impossibly bright. The skin on my thighs is so sensitized, even the brush of his hair makes me flinch.
“I can wait.” Ryan kisses my lower belly, right above my sex. “I know how high I just got you. Don’t worry, I’ll let you come down before I drag you right back up.”
It should be infuriating how cocky he is, but how can I blame him? I don’t know if I’ve ever had better sex than this.
Ryan grabs my wrist, prying my hand off the couch cushion. He kisses the tips of each of my fingers, then the sensitive skin on the inside of my wrist.
“After this next one,” he promises, “I’ll fuck you. I’ll make you forget your fucking name.”
