Page 109 of Reckless

“Mm…” He doesn’t hurry. He presses another kiss higher, closer, and I feel his breath warm against my skin, and just when I think he’s finally going to give me what I want, he pulls back, dragging his mouth along my other thigh instead.

“Stop doing that!”

His head snaps up like I just poured acid on him. “What?”

“You’re taking forever. Stop doing that!”

He chuckles. “I’m just being thorough.” I can hear the smirk in his voice even though I can’t see his face from this angle, as he slides my panties down my legs and then his mouth finally finds where I desperately need him. That’s when every complaint I had dies somewhere in my throat, turning into a low, broken sound instead. “Oh, fuck, yes!”

His tongue finds my clit, and he works me slow at first, patient, learning exactly what makes my hips jerk, my breath catch, and I fist a hand in his hair, not pulling him away, just holding on because I need something to hold on to.

He doesn’t let up. My back arches off the sofa, my other hand fisting the cushion, his tongue circling relentlessly. I whimper as goose bumps pebble across my skin. Heat flushes through my body as I begin to tremble, and just when the pressure builds tight enough that I can feel it winding toward breaking, he pulls back, pressing one last kiss to my hip and stands, dragging his shirt off over his head in one rough motion.

“That’s cruel,” I gasp.

“I have plans.” His voice has lost most of its patience now. He grips my thigh and hauls me forward off the sofa entirely, and we end up on the rug in front of it, knocking one of the sofa cushions down with us.

He shifts back long enough to look at me, just for a moment, something fierce and unguarded on his face. “Say you’re mine,” he growls, pulling off the remainder of his clothes.

“I’m already yours. Took you long enough to catch up.”

“Say it again.”

“I’m yours, Ghost,” I murmur, and drag him back down by the back of his neck.

He lines the tip of his cock up with my pussy, his eyes locking with mine. For a second, we stare at each other. Months of tension and me sitting patiently at his desk while he ignored me have all been boiling to this moment. Then, without warning, he thrusts into me in one hard, deep stroke, and my entire body arches up off the rug to meet him.

My nails find his back on instinct, dragging down hard enough that he hisses against my throat, and I feel the sting of it echo something in me, sharp and satisfying.

“Fuck,” he grits out, dropping his forehead against my shoulder, and drives in again, just as hard, punishing this time, no restraint left in it anywhere.

My elbow flails out to brace against the rug and catches the leg of the coffee table instead. Something on top of it rattles, and a coaster or the remote—I can’t tell which—skitters off the edge and thuds onto the hardwood beside us. Neither of us so much as glances at it. I’m too busy dragging my nails back up his spine, meeting the next hard drive of his hips with one of my own, and he’s too busy with his mouth at my throat, groaning my name against my skin like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded.

“Jesus!” His voice is wrecked against my ear.

I laugh breathlessly. “What?”

He pulls back just enough to look at me, his forehead still resting against mine. “This would’ve been a hell of a lot easier if you’d just listened to me.”

I blink. “Excuse me?”

“I’ve been flirting with you for months,” he says, thrusting deeper into me.

I actually bark out a laugh. “Ghost…”

His expression never changes. “Apparently I’m terrible at it.”

I cup his face, still laughing. “You brought me flowers.”

“Mm…” He thrusts again, causing me to moan.

I meet his thrusts with my own, my breathing quickening as he works me up. “You learned sign language for my sister.”

“Mm…” he groans, his breathing increasing now too.

“You kept turning up everywhere I was.”

One corner of his mouth finally twitches. “See?”