Hothouse Flower (Addicted #4)(48)

“I thought I was your f*cking pillow.”

I stiffen. “You didn’t want to be my pillow, remember? In fact, you told me to find a replacement.”

“How’s that going for you?” he asks roughly. I can feel him tapping into his * side pretty fast.

“Amazing,” I say. “Sleep has never been better.”

“Must be why you have dark circles under your eyes.”

“You caught me,” I say with a shrug. “I haven’t found a decent pillow replacement, but I’m still on the hunt, per your request.”

With a deep inhale, his muscles flex, and anger shrouds his gaze.

I add, “You replaced me too.” A lump rises in my throat “It looked like you enjoyed going down on her.” He stares unflinchingly, that rage brewing. When he doesn’t reply, I just shrug and add more, “Which is good, you know. You’re dating other people, I’m dating other people—”

And then his lips meet mine, kissing me with abrupt, forceful passion that explodes my chest. A breathless moan leaves me before I can catch it.

Our bodies connect like they’ve been dying for this affection for years. He hikes both of my legs around his waist, pinning me to the wall, to this place, to him. His tongue effortlessly slides into my mouth, wrestling with mine in the most natural way possible. My fingers slide into his thick, soft hair, gripping and exploring in ways I’ve only dreamed of.

He breaks away once, his hand above my head as his whole body weight melds against me. He says in a low masculine voice, “You don’t need to replace me. You can have me, sweetheart.”

I pant for air. “Say that again.”

His lips brush my ear, hot breath warming me. “How about I just f*cking kiss you?” He finds my mouth again, and we attack like we’re thirsty for each other. I drink him in with every kiss, my body curving towards his chest and his hardening against mine.

I cross my ankles around his waist, dying in this heat, in this insane pleasure. I don’t stop to think about what all of this means. I just focus on the feelings, some I’ve never even met before.

He breaks away again, this time to suck on my neck, his lips soft but the pressure hard and aggressive like him. My next moan sounds like a piercing cry. The spot between my legs has found his cock, only the fabric of our clothes separating us. The more he sucks, trailing a line to my breasts, the more my back arches, bucking against him. And in turn, his crotch drives a little harder into me.

I barely notice that he’s untied my hair, the band around his wrist. The long blonde strands stick out wildly. The intensity between us stirs our need, and I thrust forward while he grips my ass, lifting me off the wall. He suddenly spins me around, and my back digs into the stair railing.

He kisses me again. I cry out as he hoists me higher, my bottom resting on the railing now. I sense the forty-foot drop behind me in the stairwell, the danger present, the risk quickening my heart.

He holds me securely, his arms firmly on my hips. And then he grinds forward, his dick right up against the spot that begins to ache and pulse. I have never been so wrapped up in a single person, in a single moment.

Ryke Meadows has invigorated my body and soul.

He is more than just my pillow.

My wolf.

My bodyguard.

He’s my everything.

Every time our lips meet, it’s like a new burst of energy between us. Our hands find new tantalizing places, mine slipping below his jeans, resting on the top of his toned ass. He skims my bare, sensitive skin along my ribs. His incredibly high stamina surpasses mine, and he has to stop kissing to let me catch my breath.

He runs his finger over my tingly lip. “Every theory you’ve ever f*cking had about men, I’m going to prove wrong,” he tells me.

My chest collapses. I may pass out from this moment. I truly thought it would never come. “I had a theory that not kissing is sexier than kissing.” I was so stupid. I could do this forever with Ryke.

“I know,” he says. “And now?” His eyes fall to my lips.

I smile bright. “Just f*cking kiss me.”

And he does, a grin lifting his lips. But the embrace turns just as sensual, just as intoxicating as the last. His hand rises up my shorts, underneath my panties, landing on my ass. He squeezes and I cry into his shoulder.

I dig into him and clench his hair harder, and then I kiss the corner of his mouth, denying him my lips for a second. He tries to go forward to kiss me fully, and I resist, drawing back an inch. He stares at my mouth, his lips parted as he watches me with a lustful gaze. When I close the gap between us, my tongue runs against his, and his muscles harden. A groan catches in his throat.

He’s heated every ice cold crevice. Nothing about being with him is uncomfortable.

It feels right.

I toy with him again. And I lean back, subconsciously thinking a wall will brace me. There’s nothing. Air rushes out of me as I fall backwards, but Ryke supports me with his hands on my bottom. He lets me hang upside down, the blood rushing to my head.

These electric sensations heighten by ten more notches. I laugh, and he lifts me back up. My hair drapes messily in my face like I forcefully came to a stop on a roller coaster.

My voice reverberates off the cavernous stairwell. “I have a theory that skipping foreplay makes sex better, remember that?”

We’ve crossed one boundary, and I know we’re both the type of people to never slow down, to run around the bases at high speed. I want that with him. To freakin’ make a home run like we’re track stars on a baseball field.