Page 69 of Rush

“Then, we don’t fuck tonight.”

God, I shiver every time he says that word…fuck. He makes it sound so hot and dirty, all at the same time.

He leans down over me, hands on either side of my body, mouth an inch from mine, those blues staring right into mine. “Like I told you yesterday, the first time we have sex, we’re doing it right. And right isn’t me picking my clothes up at the end, dressing, and going home.”

My heart shimmies in my chest. “Why does it matter so much to you that we do this right?” I ask quietly.

“Because I fucked up with you once before. I won’t make the same mistake again. This…what we’re starting here, is too important. You’re too important.”

I’m important. I don’t think I’ve ever been important to anyone before.

Tears sting the backs of my eyes, but I refuse to cry and spoil this moment.

I slide my hand around the back of his neck and whisper, “You’re important to me, too.” Then, I lift my mouth to his and kiss him.

He groans into my mouth, deepening the kiss, his body settling down onto mine. I part my legs, and he settles between them.

He’s hard already.

I love that I can turn him on without even having to remove a scrap of clothing. It’s doing awesome things for my ego.

“I can’t believe I almost drove you away.” He presses his forehead to mine, exhaling.

“You’re lucky I’m awesome,” I joke. I don’t want him feeling bad right now. The only thing I want him to feel in this moment is good.

“I really am.” He kisses me again, his mouth moving a path along my chin, down my neck. Pressing kisses along my collarbone, down my chest, to the valley of my breasts.

His fingers slide under the hem of my tank, the silk dragging up my skin, the rough pad of his fingers driving me to the point of madness.

He slides down my body, pushing my top over my breasts, and starts pressing hot kisses to my stomach, making me squirm with desire.

I reach down, take hold of my top, and pull it over my head, leaving me in just my bra.

Kind of like the first time I saw him—minus being wet through.

Well, I am wet. In fact, I’m soaking…so I guess it is like last time.

His eyes fasten onto my breasts, pupils dilating. “Nice bra.”

He licks a path up to my breasts. One hand covers my right boob, gently squeezing. The other, he sucks my nipple through the fabric of my bra. My hands fly to his hair, gripping the strands, my hips jerking up, seeking him out, needing to feel the press of him against me.

His hand leaves my breast and takes hold of my thigh, bringing my leg up, opening me to him, as he moves against me, his denim-covered cock rubbing against the spot where I need him, while he continues to torment my nipple through my bra with teasing bites and sucks.

Then, finally—finally—he takes my bra off, and then it’s mouth on skin.

My thighs tighten around him, gripping.

“You’re sensitive,” he murmurs as he licks my nipple, teeth gently grazing over my skin.

“You’re driving me crazy,” I tell him.

All the other men I’ve been with in my life, it’s been a quick foreplay fumble and then sex.

Ares seems to be in no rush. Taking his time with me. Getting to know what I like.

I slide my hands under his shirt, desperate to feel him.

He stops what he’s doing to me, kneels back, undoes a few buttons on his shirt, then reaches back, and pulls it over his head, tossing it to the floor.