Bedding the Wrong Brother(22)
She screamed as a tidal wave of pleasure slammed into her, only to be amazed when he started all over again.
She screamed as the second orgasm brought tears of wonder to her eyes.
And she screamed as she struggled and strained and fought the pleasure he was determined to give her once more, crying that she couldn't take any more, that he was going to kill her, that no one had ever made her feel this way.
But he gave her no quarter. He worked her body as if she was a deck of cards, something plain and boring and static until he got his hands on it and worked his magic. When he was done, when he gave her a moment to breathe and cradled her in his arms, kissing the tears from her face and stroking her hair, she closed her eyes.
Almost instantly, with her head resting against his chest and his strong heartbeat beating in time to her own, she slipped into the fantasy. She could feel the warm rain beating down on her. The drag of wood against her back an instant before he tucked her in his arms. But mostly she could feel him. Surrounding her. Loving her. And it felt so right to be loved by him.
Rhys, she thought, unaware as she fell into an exhausted sleep that she'd spoken the name out loud.
Chapter Five
Dalton's Magic Rule #6: Seize Every Opportunity To Perform.
“You are so hot. I want to do you over and over again.”
Melina smiled at Rhys's raspy voice, but didn't bother to respond since her mouth was busy doing other things and didn't appear interested in giving up the warm flesh it was sucking on. Instead, she hummed her appreciation for the remark, smiling even more when he groaned.
“I can never get enough of you, Melina. Never, do you understand?” His fingers tangled in her hair and pulled. “Look at me.”
Just for kicks, she resisted and sucked him harder. She swirled her tongue around his broad, mushroom tip, then flattened it against the sensitive spot just below his slit. He hissed in a breath. Rhys fisted her hair more tightly and tugged, forcing her to release him even as she moaned in protest.
“You hog the covers, Ladybug.”
Melina's eyes snapped open and, for a moment, her dream and reality vied for supremacy.
Reality: Her vision was just as it should be without her glasses and first thing in the morning, a little fuzzy but not enough to prevent her from seeing that there was a man lying next to her. A big, naked man.
Dream: The man was Rhys, his head propped on his bent arm. A joy she'd never experienced slammed into her, but then disappeared almost immediately when reality took the lead.
She hadn't been going down on Rhys. He hadn't wrapped her hair around his fists. And, thankfully, he certainly hadn't called her a hog.
Little comfort there.
This was Max, she remembered. And as much as she loved and adored Max, he wasn't Rhys and he never would be. She could never feel the same way about—
Her eyes widened in horror just as he reached out and ran a finger down the slope of her bare shoulder. The events of the night before rushed her like a linebacker in the final inning of a playoff game. Or was that hockey? Baseball? She didn't know any more about sports than she did about magic. Still, she knew that last night hadn't gone exactly as she'd planned.
Not her plan, anyway.
She sucked in a breath as Max's hand slipped under the sheet to cover one of her bare breasts. Just as they had last night, her nipples came to immediate attention, tightening as if to reach out for his fingers. Teasingly, he grazed one, then the other, before he lightly began rubbing one in tiny, firm circles. When she gasped, he smiled. “You're sensitive there. I noticed that last night.”
Dumbstruck, she just stared at him. She never would have thought it was true, but he apparently brought something out in her. Maybe one too many solo test runs had triggered some kind of latent chemical reaction in her? Why else would she have been so heated in her response last night? With Max, she reminded herself.
But present circumstances didn't prove her theory. She'd slept through the night—after three screaming orgasms—and she was still raring to go. Apparently, so was he.
Her eyes widened as another thought struck her. He was raring to go because he hadn't come. She hadn't gotten him off. She jerked to a sitting position, barely clutching the sheet before it exposed her bare chest to the world. “Oh, God. I knew it. Brian was right. I do suck in bed. And not,” she held up a hand to forestall his anticipated attempt at humor, “in a good way.”