I sink my hands into his chest, feeling my fingernails bend. None of it matters when the heat of his firm body burns against me. He lied, and that is all tangled up with the worst day of my life, which should give me pause. But I’m seizing this moment.
“I love it,” I whisper. “How crazy I make you. I love the way you look at me. I know you joked about the gym, but that moment… it meant a lot.”
He sinks his hands into my hips as if his life depends on it. I’ve never imagined being this wanted, or allowing myself to want to be wanted. He leans in for a kiss. I think the only thing stopping him from crushing our bodies together is the camera resting between us.
Our lips collide and I caress his tongue, tasting him, feeling him moan and growl as he tastes me. He slides his hands around to my ass, then he leans back.
“We need to get out of here,” he growls. “I need you somewhere private.”
“All to yourself, huh?”
He nods, not joking, jaw clenched so hard like it might crack. “So badly.”
I turn and walk toward the house, taking his hand. I want to savor this, to relish in it. And I also want to rip off the Band-Aid so that I know wecanhave sex without me constantly having self-defeating thoughts.
“Meet me in there,” I murmur, nodding toward the bedroom. “I’ll just check on Mira.”
He walks by me, his hand gliding over my ass. He lingers, squeezing. I arch against him. He stares at me like he’s an addict and I’m his drug, and that makes me feel even hotter.
When he’s gone, I softly push Mira’s door open. She’s lying on her side, sleeping softly, curled up in a patch of sunlight like a little kitten.
We’ve got the sensors, the cameras. We’re safe.
I step into my bedroom. Rhett is standing facing the door, his hands at his sides. When I walk in, he sucks in a hungry breath, his eyes wide and full of desire. I softly shut the door, lay my camera down, then rush to him.
He wraps his arms around me as I throw myself against him. He lifts me up, groaning as his hands find my ass. I shift against him, my body aching so much it feels tight and sensitive, my entrance slick and tingly as we grind together.
He sits on the bed, and I ride him the whole way. I twitch my hips and grind against him, kissing him harder. I just want this so badly. Is there something wrong with that? Too fast to think, to fear, to doubt.
He grips my hips and lifts me slightly. My hands go to his belt and I untie it.
“Somebody’s in a rush,” he snarls, looking deep into my eyes.
“I just want you.” I breathe hard. “Are you going to shame me for that?”
“Maybe I want you to slow down, to savor every fucking second,” he growls, then he stands, lifting me as though I’m weightless. He lays me on my back on the bed. “Maybe I need to taste you first.”
My legs wriggle like they’ve got a mind of their own. Heat tickles between my thighs, my folds grinding against my underwear.
“Hmm?” He snarls.
“It sounds like somebody needs to be in control.”
“It sounds like somebody wants me to.”
He grabs my jeans and quickly undoes the button, then pulls them down to my ankles. He doesn’t pull them off all the way though. He’s fallen to his knees at the edge of the bed, staring at my sex.
“Fuck, you’re wet already.”
“What?” I ask, pushing up on my elbows.
He reaches forward, pushes against my underwear, rubbing my clit and my lips, causing mind-numbing pleasure. I writhe against him.
“Your underwear has got a big, beautiful fucking wet spot on it,” he groans. “Were you out there getting wet for me, Elle?”
He thumbs my clit through the thin layer of cotton, rubbing it harder, faster. I twitch against him, moving my hips up and down, chasing it.
“Elle?” He demands.
