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The pressure inside me is building. He slips one hand between us, and his thumb finds my clit. He circles it in time with his thrusts, slow at first, then firmer. Every stroke winds me a little tighter. My thighs start to tremble. I lose the rhythm, then find it again. Then his thumb presses down just so, and I break apart on top of him.
“Ryan! Oh!”
I’m still shaking when I realise he’s been holding back this whole time, waiting for me to get there first. Now he lets go. Both hands clamp on my hips, and he drives up into me, harder and faster than before. Everything down there is still fluttering and over-sensitive, and each thrust sends a fresh jolt through me, somewhere between too much and not nearly enough. I can’t meet him anymore. All I can do is clutch at his shoulders and hold on while he takes me, his grunts getting rougher, his fingers digging into my skin.
Then his rhythm stutters. He pulls me down hard onto him, buries himself deep, and groans through gritted teeth.
And I feel it. That’s the biggest difference of all. I feel him pulsing inside me, then a rush of warmth as he spills into me. It’s the most intimate thing I’ve ever felt.
For a long moment neither of us moves. I collapse forward onto his chest, and his arms come up around me, and we lie there, both of us panting.
Eventually, I lift myself off him, carefully, and flop down beside him on my back.
Goodness.
Ryan’s penis lies against his stomach, shiny and still twitching every few seconds, as if it hasn’t quite got the message that we’re finished.
Ryan rolls onto his side and shifts down the bed. Then, before I realise what he’s doing, he uses two fingers to part me and peers between my legs.
“Ryan!”
“Fuck,” he says, sounding enormously satisfied. “Look at that. I filled you right up, flower girl.”
I gasp, utterly horrified. “Ryan, that’s…that’s too dirty!”
He looks up at me with a wicked grin. Then he bends and plants a quick kiss right on my clit before stretching back out beside me and pulling me into his arms.
Embarrassed, I bury my face in his chest. Then, after a few seconds, I burst out giggling.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
RYAN
Six. Seven. Eight.
I’m in the back court, left hand on the washing-line pole for balance, right hand holding my right foot above my head, leg dead straight. It’s the stretch that keeps my axe kick high. Turns out the pole is good for more than just hanging sheets.
I let go and lower the leg. That’s the right side done.
Penny is sprawled on the grass a couple of metres away, belly up. It’s a sunny day, and a busy one for Briony and Emmy, so I said Penny could hang out with me rather than snooze under the shop counter all day.
She’s good company. She never tells me I’m training too hard, and she thinks everything I do is brilliant. There are worse training partners. Liam, for one.
Okay, other side.
I swap hands on the pole, take hold of my left foot, and lift it up past my ear.
One. Two. Three—
A familiar scrabbling starts behind me.
“Penny.” She was lying on her back just moments ago.
Four—
Soil patters onto the slabs.
Five—ah, fuck it.
