Real (Real, #1)(37)

I need to talk, to scavenge some of the thoughts from within and release them so I can start to breathe again. I pick the one she knows the most about, the one that won’t make her look at me and think I’m weak for succumbing to its clutches.

“I was scared. I remember the vague sense of being scared those last few seconds in the car as I was flipping through the air.” I don’t know why that’s so hard to admit to her.

She runs her hand over my chest. “I was too.”

“I know,” I say evenly but hate myself for putting her in that position. Loathe that she fears anything because of me. I reach down, my hand sliding beneath the band of her panties to cup the curve of her ass and pull her up so she can look into my eyes. I hate rehashing shit, but I owe her this ten times over and then some. “I’m sorry you had to go through that again.”

Her eyes glisten with tears and now I hate that I’ve made her cry bringing it up, but when she leans forward and brushes her lips against mine, all thoughts are lost but one.

Take.

And hell if it’s the emotion of the day, needing to erase my dreams, or simply being so f*cking relieved to be alive, but I do just that.

I squeeze her ass in my hands so her tits rub up against me, and every part of my body begs, craves, and is starved for more of her. I need to hear that sigh she makes, need her taste on my tongue, and I don’t hesitate. I slip my tongue between her lips and don’t even realize the groan is coming from me.

Thank f*ck I survived the crash because I need this little slice of Heaven right now, and I sure as shit know this was going to be one of the first things I’d miss if I’d died and landed in Hell.

I bring my free hand to her face and slide my other one from her ass up her back and put them in my favorite place tangled in her curls so she has no other option but to open up to me. And when I pull her head back, I see just that in her eyes: vulnerability, need, and desire all balled into one dick hardening look.

Hell, I was hard before that, but shit, there’s no turning back now.

“Ry, I …” My mind fires, fleeting flashes of stolen thoughts but none stick against the wall. Things I want to say flicker and fade just as quick as they come, but the feeling within me remains burning bright. I clear my throat, trying to buy time for them to come out but nothing does so I say the only thing I can. “Thank you for staying.”

Fuck this. That’s not what I want to say. Man the f*ck up, Donavan. You told her if you can’t say it, you’ll show her any way you can. So f*cking show her.

“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be,” she says, snapping me from my conflicting thoughts. I meet her eyes, a man on a mission now. Wanting to take and needing to prove.

My hand pisses me the f*ck off because I want to lift her up and onto me so I can keep my head still and not trigger another goddamn headache and ruin this, but it’s not working. And f*ck do I need it to work more than ever right now. But Ry anticipates what I want, so she straddles my hips and looks down at me.

I take her all in, lips parted, nipples hard beneath her tank, and the f*cking heat of her * on my very desperate cock. Desire ignites between us and within moments our lips are on one another’s, hands touching, bodies aching for so much more than this.

My good hand grips onto her hip, urging her to rock like that again over my dick and when she does, f*ckin’ A. All thoughts flee because my mind and body are in total agreement on what they want: her. Any way I can get her because it’s been so f*cking long since I’ve buried myself in her addictive *.

My right hand moves to her other hip because I need my woman naked right now. Need to see her tits, rub my thumbs over her nipples for my own f*cking pleasure and hers. I’m so lost in the taste of her kiss that when I go to grip her tank top, I forget about my hand—that it can’t pull the fabric up and over her head.

Without missing a beat, Rylee comes to the rescue—like always—and has the shirt off. And f*ck I’ve seen her tits before but don’t think I’ve ever wanted her more than right now.

Screw what the doctor says, what my head is going to feel like, because this man is not waiting. No f*cking way when she is sitting like this atop me. Vixen, siren, mine. The last one mattering the most.

Her mouth meets mine again, her tits against my chest. My hand on her hip guides her to slide over my boxer-brief clad cock, making me ache in the worst way, in the best way. And when she moans and sits back up, I fight every primal instinct in me to flip her over and f*ck her into oblivion. She is the epitome of sex right now and all I want to do is taste, take, and sate my desire.

I lean up, the slight twinge of pain in my head drowned out by the desire owning my body, and take the tip of her tit into my mouth. Her cool flesh against my warm tongue only adds to the riotous frenzy within me.

I flick my tongue over her nipple and claim her mouth again while my right hand lamely palms her breast. I know the minute she feels my hand’s f*cked-up grip because she brings her hands to mine, laces her fingers with them, and moves them to her hips.

I groan as she drags her lips from my mouth and leans her forehead against mine, dreading and knowing what she’s going to say.

“We can’t. It’s not safe.”

We can. Fuck safety. Fuck any reason you’re going to deny me because I’m not ashamed to admit I’m a desperate man willing to break every rule to have you.