She kisses me again, cutting off my words. She's decisive, demanding, her tongue sliding against mine in a way that makes my knees tremble. When she pulls back, she's smiling.
"Stop overthinking. I want this. Do you want this?"
"Yes," I growl, my voice coming out rough and desperate. "Fuck yes, I want this. I want you."
"Then touch me," she whispers. "Please, Rhett. Touch me."
Chapter 8 - Claire
"Then touch me," I whisper. "Please, Rhett. Touch me."
I've never asked a man to touch me before. Never been the kind of person who could voice what she wanted so directly. But right now, with Rhett standing shirtless in front of me, his scarred chest illuminated by moonlight, his brown eyes squinted with desire, I can't control myself.
I want all of him. Every damaged, broken, beautiful part.
His scars don't scare me. The burn doesn't disgust me. He's real and raw and honest, and he wants me as much as I want him. Yeah, it's going to be hard. We still have to get to know each other better, still have to figure out how to tell the truth to his family. But we're in this together. We'll get through it.
I can feel it in my bones.
Rhett's hand moves up from my waist to cup my breast through the thin t-shirt, and I gasp. My head tilts back, and I bite my lower lip as his thumb brushes over my nipple. It's been so long since someone touched me like this. Since someone looked at me with desire instead of pity or judgment.
"Fuck, Claire," he breathes, his voice rough. "You're perfect."
"I'm not—"
"You are," he insists, cutting off my protest. His other hand joins the first, both palms covering my breasts, squeezing gently. "So fucking perfect."
He grabs the hem of my shirt and pulls it up over my head. I lift my arms to help him, and then I'm standing there in nothing but my red underwear, completely exposed.
For a second, I want to cover myself. Want to hide my soft stomach, my thick thighs, all the parts of me that societysays aren't good enough. But Rhett's looking at me like I'm a goddamn feast, and the hunger in his eyes makes me feel powerful instead of self-conscious.
"Relax," he says, his voice commanding but gentle.
I do as he says, settling back against the cushions. My heart is racing, anticipation coiling tight in my belly as Rhett drops to his knees in front of me.
He starts by kissing my knees. Soft, docile kisses that make me shiver. Then he moves higher, his mouth trailing a path up my inner thigh. Goosebumps erupt all over my body as his lips ghost across my skin, kissing everywhere except where I need him most.
He's taking pleasure in taunting me. I can see it in the slight smirk on his face, feel it in the way his warm breath brushes against my thin panties but his mouth never quite makes contact.
"Rhett," I whimper, my hips shifting restlessly.
"Patience," he murmurs against my thigh, but there's heat in his voice that tells me he's just as affected as I am.
He kisses closer, his breath hot through the fabric of my underwear. I can feel how soaked I am, my pussy throbbing with need. This is torture. Sweet, agonizing torture.
I can't take it anymore.
I grab my own panties and pull them aside, exposing myself to him completely.
Rhett freezes for a moment, his eyes locked on my pussy. He just stares, taking in every detail: the wetness gleaming on my folds, the tiny patch of hair above my slit that I never bothered to shave completely. I start to feel self-conscious, wondering if I should have groomed better, if—
Then he throws himself at it.
His tongue is on me immediately, licking and slurping up my juices like a man starving. He doesn't hesitate, doesn't complain about my bush or ask me to adjust or do any of the bullshit some guys have done in the past. He just feasts on me, his mouth hot and eager and absolutely relentless.
"Oh fuck," I gasp, my back arching off the couch. "Rhett—"
He groans against my pussy, the vibration making my thighs tremble. His rugged hands grip my inner thighs, spreading me wider as his tongue works up and down my slit. He's a man with a mission, and that mission is clearly making me cum.
