Something shifts in his expression. The careful restraint drops away, and what's left is pure, filthy want. He stands and pulls me to my feet, then leads me to the bedroom. My heart is pounding, but it's not from fear. It's anticipation. Desire. The knowledge that I want this-want him-more than I've wanted anything in a long time.
He closes the door behind us. "If you want to stop, we stop. Okay?"
"Okay."
"I'm not him," he says, and there's something fierce in it.
"I know. I trust you."
He kisses me then, and it's not gentle. His hands are already moving-down my sides, pulling my sweater up. I help him, lifting my arms, and then it's over my head and gone. His mouth finds my neck, my collarbone, and I'm already breathless. His hands grip my waist, and he walks me backward until the bed hits the back of my legs.
"I've wanted this for so long, you have no fucking idea,” he says against my skin, and the rawness in his voice makes my stomach clench.
I reach for his shirt, pulling it up and over his head. And then I have to stop. Just stop and look at him. Six foot two of muscle and heat and so sexy I can feel myself getting wetter. His shoulders are broad, his chest carved, and I want to climb him. I always have, going all the way back to day one. He’s so incredibly sexy it makes my body feel like it’s on fire. I want to feel all that strength wrapped around me, holding me down, making me take everything he's going to give me.
I've never, not once in my life, felt this kind of animalistic attraction to someone the first time we slept together. I'm normally in my head about it. But right now, all I'm thinking is how badly I want him to fuck me. My nightly fantasies had nothing on this.
He's already working on my bra, and when it falls away, he doesn't hesitate. His mouth is on my breast, sucking my nipple then biting down just enough to sting before licking it again, and I arch into him with a cry I can't swallow. His hand slides down my body, rough and demanding.
His body covers mine, and the weight of him is exactly what I need-grounding, overwhelming, pinning me to the mattress so I can't think my way out of this. His hands are everywhere, sliding down to hook my leggings and pull them off, taking myunderwear with them. Then I'm naked beneath him while he's still in his jeans, and the unfairness of it makes me desperate.
"Ryan-"
"Patience," he says, but his voice is strained. He kisses down my stomach, his stubble rough against my skin, and I realize where he's going a second before his mouth is on me.
"Oh fuck." The words tear out of me as his tongue drags through me, hot and wet and perfect. He doesn't tease. He doesn't hesitate. He spreads me open with his thumbs and licks into me like he's starving, and my hips buck off the bed before he pins them down with his hands.
"Stay still," he murmurs against me, and the vibration makes me whimper. "Let me. I've been thinking about this for months. About how you'd taste. About making you come apart on my tongue."
I can't respond. I can't think. My brain, which never shuts up, which spins and analyzes and worries is gone. There's only the wet heat of his mouth, the pressure of his tongue circling my clit, the way he groans against me like he loves it, like he could do this all night.
"Ryan." It's barely a word, barely breath.
"That's it," he says, and then he sucks me into his mouth, flicking his tongue just right, and my back arches off the bed. "That's it, baby. Fuck my face. I want this pussy to feel so good."
He's relentless. His tongue works me with steady, devastating pressure, and I can feel it building, coiling tight in my belly, higher and higher. I'm making sounds I don't recognize, desperate whining noises, and my hands are fisting in the sheets because I need to hold onto something, need an anchor, and he's the only thing solid in the world right now.
"Please," I gasp, not even sure what I'm begging for. "Please, I?—”
"Come for me," he growls, and then he pushes two fingers inside me, curling them just right, and I break.
I scream. I can't help it. I have never, not once, screamed during sex. Not ever. But this is something else. The orgasm crashes through me, violent and overwhelming, and I'm shaking, convulsing around his fingers while he keeps licking me, drawing it out, making it last until I'm sobbing his name and pushing at his shoulders because it's too much, so much I can barely breathe. My body is sensitive and I feel all herky jerky, like I'm not in control of my limbs.
He lifts his head, and his mouth is wet, his eyes dark and satisfied. "You're going to come again," he says, like it's a guarantee.
"I don’t think I can."
"You can." He crawls up my body, and the friction of his chest against my oversensitive skin makes me gasp. "I'm not done with you."
He strips off his jeans, his boxers, and then he's naked, and I get my first look at him-all of him-and my breath catches. He's thick, heavy, hard against his stomach, and I want it inside me. Ineedit. I've never needed like this.
"Tell me what you want," he says, positioning himself between my legs. The head of his cock presses against me, hot and insistent, and I try to tilt my hips, try to take him, but he pulls back just enough to deny me. "Tell me."
"You," I manage, my voice wrecked. "I want you inside me. Please.”
He pushes in, and I feel the stretch, the shock of how big he is, how he fills me completely. I cry out, my nails digging into his back, and he stills, breathing hard against my neck.
"Fuck," he breathes. "Julie, you're so—fuck, you're tight. You feel incredible.”
