Twice Tempted by a Rogue (Stud Club #2)(68)

Go to the devil, she told it back.

Rhys was inside her, and next to her, and surrounding her with his embrace, and he needed so damn much. The man had suffered a lifetime deprived of affection, and he clung to all this destiny nonsense because—uncertain, wounded soul that he was—he couldn’t bring himself to ask for hers. This was why he’d never offered her a choice. He was too afraid she’d say no.

She would not force him to ask. Not when she longed to give him everything. Affection, pleasure, a gentle lover’s touch.

“Yes,” she breathed, curling her arm around his shoulders. Stretching her neck, she brushed a kiss against his lips. “Yes, Rhys. It feels right.” She kissed those strong, sensuous lips again, then again, running her fingers through his feathery hair as she did. “Utterly … perfectly … absolutely right. We belong like this.”

He kissed her thoroughly, taking her mouth with feverish, driven passion. With a low groan, he rolled her onto her back and sank in deep.

Very deep. So deep, she gripped his shoulders in shock. In their side-by-side position, he obviously hadn’t penetrated her fully. No, there was definitely more of Rhys to be had. And now he gave it all to her, thrusting hard, working deeper, until his hips met against hers and the breath left her lungs.

“Are you well?” he asked, bracing himself on his elbows.

She managed a nod.

“Good.” Thrust. “Because I can’t stop.” Thrust. “God help me, I can’t stop.”

He thrust again, and his pelvis ground against hers. And she came, just like that. The feel of his strong body, the ragged need in his voice, all the emotion in her heart—she was overwhelmed, in every sense. The pleasure swept her in a hot, unrelenting rush, and she clung to him, riding it for all it was worth.

“God.” The tight growl of his voice told her he was close, too. “God.” He fell on her, lowering his weight to hers. “Hold on,” he whispered in her ear. “Hold me tight.”

She did as he asked, as she wanted to do. Locked her arms around his neck and wrapped her legs over the tree trunks that were his thighs. She cinched her intimate muscles, holding him tight there, too.

And then, when she’d gripped him in every way imaginable—he let go. The force and tempo of his thrusts increased. His mouth fell on hers, and he probed wildly with his tongue as he took her faster, harder, deeper. As though there were something he desperately needed, something that resided at the very center of her being—and to get at it, he would break her apart.

Tearing his mouth from hers, he reared up a bit. Just enough that she could see his face. His eyes were unfocused, and his lips contorted with pleasure. And as the inevitable approached, an incoherent rush of words tore from his chest.

“That’s so … Damn, it’s … Merry … Christ.”

Joy swelled in her breast, and she nearly laughed with it. Because she knew the next thirty seconds were going to be the best of Rhys St. Maur’s decade, and she was just so happy to be there, along for the ride.

He growled as he came, collapsing onto her and burying his face in her neck. She released her grip on his shoulders and soothed his back with caresses down his spine. Her fingers slipped over the sheen of perspiration as he shuddered in the aftermath of his release.

Eventually, she felt his breathing slow to a natural rhythm, washing gently over her ear. His arousal softened inside her. And yet the tremors in his muscles didn’t abate.

“Oh, Rhys.” As the realization dawned, she hugged him tight. “Oh, Rhys.”

He was trembling. This big, strong, indestructible warrior was trembling in her arms. If there’d been any hope of protecting her heart, it slipped away that instant.

She was lost to him. Always had been.

“Thank you,” he murmured, releasing a deep sigh of satisfaction.

She cradled his head, kissed his ear.

“Was it—?”

“Perfect,” she assured him. “In every way.” He rolled to the side, and she teased a fingertip along the whiskered edge of his jaw. Arching an eyebrow saucily, she asked, “So … every day? Truly?”

“Twice. For the first year, twice a day. At least.”

She bit her lip and gave him a pensive look.

“What is it?” he asked, reaching out to playfully muss her hair.

“I’m just wondering whether that includes today. And if so …” She rose up on her elbow and peered at the clock. “How much time is left before midnight?”

The bed shook with his laughter. His arm shot out, flattening her to the mattress. With a flex of his biceps, he rolled her in close, nestling her snug against him. “Time enough, Merry. Don’t you worry.” His big hand stroked through her hair. “We have all the time in the world.”

For the first time, she wished blind faith came so easily to her.

With a sudden burst of energy, she climbed atop him, stretching her body out over his. With her arms stacked on his chest, her toes hit him just about mid-shin. The hair on his legs tickled the arches of her feet. “I’ve just realized something.”

“What’s that?”

“I’ve spent a shockingly inadequate amount of time tasting the area between here”—she stroked a finger over his Adam’s apple—“and here.” She traced a line to the soft spot just below his ear. “Unless you have a complaint, I plan to remedy that immediately.”