I wasn’t going to mention that. We’d talked a lot last night, even though we’d only answered two of the questions each. I wondered what the others were that he’d thought of, because as much as he said he wasn’t a planner, he wasn’t unprepared. That much was obvious.
“You’re thinking too hard.”
I jerked at his voice. “I thought you were asleep.”
His laugh was husky. “I was. Your thoughts were noisy. You were all tense.”
I paid attention to how I was laying and realised I was tense. And I shouldn’t be. I took a long inhale and slowly let my breath out, remembering my yoga teacher’s instructions. “I’m good.” I turned over, entangling our legs again. Anything to slow this morning down.
“Sleep okay?”
“Perfectly well.” I had. I was used to beds that weren’t my own, and I learned to sleep fine in most places, including on set when necessary, but last night I’d slept particularly well. I figured I knew why, and it wasn’t something I could get used to. “You?”
“Very well. It’s not every night I get to have someone to use as a human blanket.” He pulled me over him. “I woke up about three in the morning and this is how you were sleeping.”
I was draped all over him. “That’s so not true!”
His hands went to my sides and pulled up my vest top. I pushed against his shoulder to cobra myself up, watching him unashamedly look at my boobs.
“Need a picture?”
“You sent me one.” He freed up a hand to cup one, playing with my nipple with his thick fingers. “I’d like one with my cum over them.”
“How very possessive!”
His grin was dirty.
“Prefer my cum being somewhere else though.”
I felt my centre tingle and tighten, feeling his cock harden against my stomach. “I think I’m interested in that.”
“Good. I was hoping this would be how I’d be spending Sunday morning.” He sat up, forcing me to sit too, and then he started on my breasts, slowing toying with them, sucking and pinching my nipples. They were so fucking sensitive, something he’d discovered when we were in Houston, and I’d indulged in the fact he was definitely a tit man.
I lost my underwear, his hand cupping my centre, a finger playing at my entrance and making me feel empty inside. I nudged his hand, encouraging him to finger me, because I knew it would end in a certain orgasm.
He laughed evilly, teasing me with just the tip. “You want to ride my hand?”
“Yes.” I wasn’t up for playing games right now.
“I can tell. You’re so wet.” He finally pushed a finger inside me and I nearly came right then, the barricade of sweet anticipation breaking and a flood of animalistic desire soaking through my every fibre.
I started to ride his hand, seeking more movement, but he snatched it away.
“On your knees, Otillie.”
Lust-drunk, I shifted off him, doing as I was told as if he was an Oscar-winning director.
He was too slow, pulling off his boxer-briefs, pushing back the duvet, moving himself behind me, his hand giving my ass a slight slap which made me groan and him growl.
“Thought I was Diane.” I knew it would earn me another slap to the other cheek, which it did.
He entered me roughly, his hands taking hold of my hips. “You’re the only person I want to be doing this with right now.”
There was a pause when he was fully seated, before he started to move again, and I forgot where he ended and I began. My body, still pushed to the edge with anticipation, exploded quickly, my moans probably loud enough to wake our neighbours from their Sunday lie-in, but I’d care about that later.
Ryan took exactly what he wanted from me, my body completely owned by him while I drowned under two orgasms. I became a pliant mess, my hips only held up by him as he finished completely sheathed in me, the roar as he came enough to make me wonder if I’d ever have this again with anyone else.
We collapsed into a sweaty, sticky mess, lying on crumpled sheets, me taking what felt like half his body weight.
