I’m slick and hot andaching.
I want his mouth, his fingers, his cock—and I want them all right now.
But he takes his time.
Gentle strokes, soft kisses, lapping at my pussy, circling the tight bundle of nerves that’s my clit. Slow. Steady. Patient.
And driving me up the edge.
“Rhodes,” I gasp as I hover there.
But he doesn’t send me over.
Instead, he lifts me up into his arms and carries me to his room.
And then…he worships me.
Drugging kisses. Hands stroking. His big body finding its way between my legs again.
And pleasure.
So much pleasure.
A fingertip stroking my clit, his mouth working me, his thumb sliding deep?—
His name tumbles off my lips as I come apart.
He coaxes me down the other side, gentles me, holds me close as I slowly sink back to Earth.
But when I reach between us, intending to return the favor, intending to do so,somuch more, he catches my wrist.
“Next time, Stitch,” he murmurs, drawing me into his arms.
My eyes are heavy, my body is pleasured and lax, and even though I try to summon the energy to press the issue, I find I can’t move.
So…I let him hold me, let him stroke his hand up and down my back, let him send me off into peaceful sleep.
Maybe I should be scared.
And maybe…I am.
But underneath that?
I’m happy.
Stupidly, terrifyingly happy.
Because pursuing this thing with Rhodes…
May be the biggest risk of all.
Twenty-Six
Rhodes
I expect to feel guilty,holding another woman in my arms as she sleeps.
As we lie in the bed I shared with Anna.
