It’s on the tip of my tongue to beg him to continue exactly what he was doing but somehow I manage to keep my mouth shut. I want him to decide. I want him to do whatever he wants to me. Because I know, whatever it is, I’m going to enjoy every single second of it. I never stood a chance fighting this.
His burning pupils bore into mine as he sits in the seat I just vacated, pushing me backwards on to the table, until I’m flat on my back. Greedy eyes drink me in as his fingers nudge my thighs apart, inching higher until they’re at my underwear again.
In one swift animalistic wrench, he rips them from me and I’m laid bare for him.
Hot lust radiates from his gaze as his face drops to the most sensitive parts of me. When his tongue finally reaches its destination, I cry out in sheer relief. It’s short lived as he begins to tease me with swift maddening strokes. As I wriggle and writhe beneath his mouth, he grabs my hands and pins them to the table either side of me.
The man is trying to kill me in the most infuriatingly seductive way.
Just when I think I can’t take it anymore, he changes tack, his tongue swirling, sucking, worshipping in a perfect rhythm.
Pressure builds inside and I’m so close to exploding. Maddeningly, he pauses, his face hovering millimetres from where I need him to be.
‘Now tell me who’s talented, Sasha?’ A deliciously alluring wickedness resounds in his tone and the slow deliberate exhale over my body is enough to send goosebumps rippling across my flesh. He’s got me exactly where he wants me and he knows it.
‘Whose girl are you, Sasha?’ He prompts me again, confident, poised and sexy as hell. I love his possessiveness. The way he seeks to claim me.
It was always going to end this way. No one else can, or will, ever compare to him, and that was before he took the world by storm.
I’m so busy panting and squirming, I can barely form a coherent sentence. ‘You. You. It’s always been you.’
‘Good girl.’ His grinning lips resume their position – his tongue returns to my centre with slow and sensual strokes. I’m so close. Within seconds, he brings me to the point of powerful, delicious explosion. A myriad of blinding stars burst behind my tightly shut eyelids.
He releases my hands from the table as I cry out his name. My fingers rake through his hair as he laps at me like I’m the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted. He offers my sex one final kiss before sitting back in the chair, a victorious expression carved on his magnificent face.
Hauling myself to a sitting position, I inch off the table to straddle his lap. The bulge from his trousers just begs to be touched.
‘You’ve still got it.’ I press a kiss to his lips and his hands tug at my bra until my breasts spill over the top. He teases my nipples as I hastily yank at his jeans, needing him to fill me up.
‘And you are going to get everything I’ve got, sweetheart.’ His mouth drops to my breast, as my fingers unfasten the buttons of his shirt before discarding it on the floor.
Strong hands grip my waist, lifting me onto the table again as if I’m weightless. His ripped chest glistens as he slides on top of me, minus his trousers. Spreading myself for him, I wait while he opens a condom. When he finally thrusts inside me, the cry that comes from my lips is unrecognisable as my own.
He moves inside me like he’s specifically made to be there. The tear that slips from the corner of my eye is one of sheer relief and unparalleled pleasure. And love. I love him. I always have.
Quickening the pace, his hands slip under my backside to angle himself better inside me.
‘Sasha.’ His mouth traces on my neck, my collarbone, my breasts.
I wrap my arms round his muscular shoulders as we shudder in a mind-blowing climax together.
CHAPTEREIGHTEEN
RYAN
3rdDecember
Waking up with Sasha Sexton in my arms is the single most transcendent moment of my life. The electric atmosphere of an arena rammed with a hundred thousand screaming fans has absolutely nothing on the sensations rippling through my body and my, until recently, cold fucking heart.
A contented sigh resounds through the blackness of the early morning and she snuggles deeper against my chest. Memories of last night flood me. The table. The sofa. This bed.
There have been plenty of other women in my life, but not one of them ever came close to creating what we had last night. From her lusty cries, I can only assume it’s the same for her.
Were there many men after I left? I can’t imagine it, but equally, it’s hard to imagine her short of offers. Thank god Conor was slow off the mark. Imagine if she’d married him…
The thought of her with another man perforates my heart like a shiny switchblade. One thing’s for sure, it’ll never happen again.
Because she is mine. And I’m hers. And that’s the way it’s always been.
