Hothouse Flower (Addicted #4)(95)

I grip her ass while she stares at the way my long cock disappears between her legs. She breathes short, choppy f*cking breaths, and when she’s engrained the image, I tilt her back against the dark green sleeping bag.

My hand slides from her knee to her thigh, and I begin to thrust with slow, deep strokes, milking every f*cking movement. I want each one to last for eternity, no rushing, no speeding up this cliff. My ass tightens as I push forward, and I kiss her, combing her damp blonde hair away from her forehead.

I’m inside the girl who has begged for this type of pleasure for years.

And I’m the one finally giving it to her, showing her that sex can be so f*cking good.

Fucking Christ, I’ve wanted this for so f*cking long.

“Ryke,” she starts saying. So much that I have to put my hand over her mouth again. She rocks her hips upwards each time I thrust down, creating friction and extra depth that blinds me with adrenaline. I rest my forearm beside her head, my six-foot-three body hovering over her small frame.

Her eyes fix on mine as I thrust, my pace increasing by a notch. Her hips can’t keep up with me. Her legs hook around my waist. She’s limber enough that I bring one of her legs over my shoulder while my chest is close to hers.

She moans into my palm, and I restrain from coming right there. I hold back, grunting and pushing. Fuck. I don’t feel her breathing, and her eyes flutter.

“Breathe through your nose,” I say roughly, instinctively quickening each thrust. I don’t want her to f*cking pass out.

She finally exhales, and her gaze returns to mine. I slow for a second, but I can tell she’s nearing the end. Her whole body is tense beneath me; her eyes threaten to roll back at any moment. I pound into her in fast spurts, a thin sheen of sweat coating my skin. Fuck.

Fuck.

She’s so tight.

I can’t slow down, even if I wanted to.

My parted lips touch her forehead, and I move until her body lifts against mine, until her head tilts back and her eyes close. Her moans breach my hand, but they’re soft cries that only I can possibly hear. And they’re so f*cking beautiful.

I grunt as I force myself not to come yet. I take my hand off, and I lift her from underneath her arms.

“Ryke,” she says, her tense muscles all softened and melted after that climax. Her eyes fall to my erection, and she frowns.

“Catch your breath fast, sweetheart.” I spin her on my lap, her back against my chest, and I grip my cock, sliding into her easily. She gasps as she has the best visual of me moving up and down inside of her.

I suck her neck, lifting my pelvis up into her in a deep, pulsing rhythm. I knead her breast, my finger flicking over her hardened nipple.

She leans back against me and clenches my hair, letting me f*ck her how she deserves to be f*cked. With attention and so much love. Long minutes pass, and I know I could build her up for hours. I could make her come until exhaustion shuts her eyes, but I want her to be coherent afterwards. As she clenches around my cock, I focus on her body in my grasp, me deep inside of her, and her shallow noises.

I push upwards hard, and I come with her, white lights flashing in my vision, my head f*cking spinning. I exhale a couple times before I slide out of her. I gently lean her against the sleeping bag, and I lie next to Daisy, my body at peace with hers. The flashlight swings above us like a pendulum.

Fucking finally.

Nothing has ever compared to that.

She kisses me, before I can say anything. I smile and kiss her back. Then I cup her face, my legs magnetically finding her smooth ones, tangled once again. “Better than chocolate?” I whisper.

She breathes like I took her on a marathon, not a sprint. “You’re in another league.”

I skim her cheek with my fingers. “Yeah?” I smile. “You’ve finally found the league you’re supposed to be playing in, Dais.”

“I like it here,” she whispers. “The better than chocolate league.” She wraps her arms around me, and I press my lips to her head. “How long do you think this’ll last?” Her voice turns serious, fear creeping in. Now that we’ve slept together, we could lose so much more if someone pulls us apart.

“As long as we want it to,” I tell her. “I’d f*cking fight for you, Dais. You just have to let me.” She can’t be worried about hurt feelings. We’re going to upset people eventually, but if they love us, if they want us to be happy, they’ll accept this.

“Even your brother?” she whispers, her eyes closing as she dozes off.

“Even him,” I breathe, watching her begin to fall asleep. How long it’ll last, I’m not sure. I sit up and turn off the flashlight. I zip open one flap that faces the woods, the moon bathing our tent in a serene glow. I lie back, not closing my eyes. She eases into a peaceful slumber.

And I stay up and recount what I have with her and how much more I want.

One day can change everything.

So I keep hope that one day we’ll finally be there.



* * *



An hour must pass before she wakes up, unable to sleep. She notices that I’m already awake, and she rolls onto my body and traces the outline of my tattoo again, grazing her finger over the dark ink. I hear the faint sound of crickets outside our tent.

Her finger trails the inked chain on my side that’s bound around the feet of a phoenix.