Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 78257 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78257 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
He stands there, his sculpted chest rippling with muscles, the deep V of his hips disappearing into his shorts. I touch the golden curls on his chest.
“You wore the white shirt…for me?”
He smirks. “I know you like it.”
A long sigh escapes my lips, and I curl my hand around his shoulder then tug him close until we’re pressed together. I lean down and tease his nipple with my mouth.
“Red,” he moans, tightening his arms around me.
I lean my head down to listen to his heartbeat. It’s as erratic as mine, and I know, I know…
“You’re perfect,” I say, my voice bemused. Happy.
“Don’t stop kissing me,” he groans before taking my mouth again. We kiss and kiss until I can’t think. His lips skate down my neck to my chest. He falls to his knees, his hands cupping my ass. He moves slowly and deliberately as his tongue finds my navel and explores while I arch my back to get closer. I call out his name, my hands twining in his hair. His touch is masterful.
With a deft motion, he pushes my lace shorts down to my ankles and his mouth kisses my hipbone, sucking there.
“What are you doing to me?” I breathe.
“Whatever you want,” Ryker replies, looking at me with dark, heavy-lidded eyes.
I want it all, my heart thunders.
“We don’t have to take this all the way,” he says softly. “But I’m going to make you come. Hard. You’re going to be begging me to fuck you. You’re going to be begging me to fuck you every single day you’re alive…”
I nearly orgasm right then. “You’re the cockiest sonofabitch I know,” I murmur.
“Is that a yes?” he growls, his hand sliding in between my legs and sawing back and forth over my clit.
There’s a boldness in his gaze as he watches me. Rapt attention. He quivers, a full body tremor as I spread my legs apart, and he eases me down on the bed. I’m half on and half off as he kisses the top of my foot, the inside of my knee, the birthmark I have on my thigh, lavishing attention. His fingers pinch my nipples lightly, as if I’m a fine piece of porcelain and he’s exploring it. His mouth trails hot kisses over my stomach and he’s murmuring my name and saying how good I am, how beautiful—
He licks my center, and my back arches, writhing in sensation as he plays me. The pleasure is exquisite and excruciating at the same time. I want to bend space and time so that we never leave this bed, his mouth always torturing me.
I throw my hands behind my head and scoot to be closer to his hot mouth. He props my legs open wider and devours me, his fingers working my core, his mouth skyrocketing me straight to the heavens.
“Ryker,” I moan, my head thrashing. I feel disoriented, a taut string between him and my body and a fire that’s gathering at the base of my spine. I’m going to spin out of control.
“Come,” he says, his scruffy jaw brushing against my inner thigh. “Come, Red.” His finger slides inside me, catalyzing a storm. “You’re mine,” he says against my pussy with a hard suck of his lips, and the vibration combined with his tongue sends me over the edge. I detonate and shatter into a million pieces, falling and falling until I’m nothing but sensation and need and desire. Tears spring to my eyes.
The aftershocks vibrate my body, and he rides it out with me, taking me further with his mouth, pushing me until I scream out his name.
“Hell yes,” he says as he makes his way up to my face.
He kisses me hard, and he tastes sweet and hot. I’m spent, a limp puddle of nothing, but my hands eagerly curl around his shoulders.
In a smooth motion, he picks me up, slides underneath, and places me on top of him.
He holds me tight to his chest. As if he’ll never let me go. “That, babe, is third base first class.”
A quick glance at the clock on my nightstand tells me it’s two in the morning, but neither of us is asleep. We talk about everything. He tells me about always striving to be the best in football, hoping it’s enough for his dad, hoping his mom will hear about how talented he is. Emotion clogs my throat when he tells me he only talks to his dad once every few weeks. My mom is gone, but she always had time for me. I guess I was lucky that way, and not everyone is. He’s never seen a good relationship. I guess I haven’t either, but with him, I’m starting to think there’s hope.
Hope is a dangerous thing, though, because the more you hope for something, the more painful it is when it all comes crashing down.