Hothouse Flower (Addicted #4)(101)

“What?” I ask, using the extra time to give much needed oxygen to my lungs.

“It’s just something I’ve been thinking about…”

This doesn’t sound good. “It’s not about the… period stuff, is it?” Shut up, Daisy. “I’m on birth control. Everything’s fine now, you know that.”

“Dais, it’s not that.” He draws me to his chest and whispers in my ear, “Have you let a guy go down on you before?”

I don’t want him to think I’m inexperienced or too young to love. But I also don’t want to lie, so I try to brush this one off. “Have you let a guy go down on you?” I ask him the same question with a playful smile.

“No,” he says. He tilts my chin up so I’m looking at him. I didn’t even realize I was avoiding his gaze. “It’s okay if you haven’t.”

“It’s not that I haven’t wanted to,” I explain, courage building to tell him the truth. “It’s just that no guy has offered before.”

His jaw hardens in a severe line, really sexy even if he’s half pissed at these phantom guys that exist in my past. He ends up unbuttoning my shorts, staring down at me with a new determination. “Did someone offer to backdoor you?”

Ack…this answer, I don’t like it either. “Number six,” I say. “I tried it once, and honestly I don’t ever want to try it again.” It hurt like hell. I think I cried it was so painful. Like actual tears.

“I wasn’t going to f*cking suggest it,” he says. “I’m just irritated that number six would do that before even going down on you.” He slides my panties to my ankles. I don’t know what he plans on doing with me; he won’t say.

He’s in his black boxer-briefs, and I pull my shirt over my head, stripping completely. It’s different being in the daylight doing this with him. It feels real, not heightened by nighttime hormones or our closeness as we sleep. It’s just us. On an adventure. Together. Trying to fully figure each other out, no barriers this time.

He steps out of his underwear, and my gaze drops to his package almost immediately. I can’t believe that was inside of me is my first gut reaction. My second: I hope it happens again. Soon.

I close some of the distance between us and run my hands up his abs, across his tattoo and chest. He looks at me the same way he did when he climbed off the motorcycle. Want glimmering in his eyes. His hands settle on my hips, his touch quickening my heart. And like I weigh nothing, he lifts me up on his shoulders. Not his waist.

I smile wide, my legs dangling against his back, and he skillfully kisses the spot between my legs, his hand on my ass, his tongue doing things to a place that loves this new sensation. My head peeks through the cornstalks, able to see the cars whizz by on the street that we abandoned.

I tense and my mouth falls as he licks a sensitive spot. I grip his hair, my hands on his head for support. “Ryke,” I cry. “What…” I want to say what the hell? Have you done this like this before? I’ve never seen this happen. On his shoulders. Legs open. His mouth right there. Not even in R-rated movies.

That’s because this is reserved for the NC-17 stuff. Duh.

Heat gathers on my neck. “Fuck,” I cry.

I can feel him smiling. Yeah, I guess he is a bad influence on me sometimes. But I know the opposite is true too.

I prefer being on his shoulders to the way he went down on the girl in his bedroom. This is better. Sexier. More fun.

He squeezes my ass, and his tongue—

Ahhhh! I moan, which turns into another cry, gasping repeatedly with that sound. All thoughts are deserted. All that’s left is need for something fuller between my legs. Something hard.

My noises get to Ryke because he ends up sliding me down from his shoulders to his waist. I hold onto the back of his neck with both of my hands, still a mess from that.

“Whoa,” I say with a tight voice, breathing heavy. His eyes consume my whole being, and he uses one hand to brace me to his body, the other to push his erection deep, deep inside of me.

There’s a slight pinch when he fills me entirely, but the pain dissipates when he’s all in. Another high-pitched sound escapes.

“Fuck,” he curses, the word so sexual and heady off his tongue.

He begins to f*ck me standing up, his body and strength doing most of the work, thrusting into me while I meet him with my hips a couple times. But really, I can’t keep up with Ryke in this position. He’s stronger and has an easy time forcing me upright and pounding hard against me.

I clutch him so tightly, my body bouncing on his cock, my head dizzy. The pressure so freakin’ wonderful. The sensations too powerful to describe. I am floating. Rising. Towards the bright blue sky.

“Ryke,” I start again, and my sharp gasps return, piercing cries attached that come in succession. “Ahhh…ahhhh…” Oh God. Oh God.

“Dais,” he groans, one of his hands on the back of my head. “Fuck.”

Fuck is right.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuuuuckkk. Oh my God. He jerks forward, coming inside of me, and I tighten around his cock, clenching over and over, riding a wave to the shore. He holds me as I slow down, as I gather my breath, and he rubs the back of my head, gentle with me, even after a pretty rough and deep moment.

I don’t want to disentangle from him. I don’t even want to go back to the motorcycle anytime soon. He appeases my silent command by setting me on his bike jacket, flattening some of the cornstalks. He kisses me from above, though he does pull out. His lips and tongue move with more affection and care, and I rest my hand on his bare bottom, spreading my legs on either side of him.