Twisted Games (Twisted, #2)(48)

He wanted me. I knew he did. But I didn’t know whether that was enough.

The water rippled around us. More fireworks exploded in the distance. And still, Rhys didn’t answer.

Just when I thought he would shut me down and walk away, he let out a low curse, turned, and yanked me to him, and I only had time to draw a quick breath before his hand fisted my hair and his mouth crashed down on mine.





19





Rhys





Bridget von Ascheberg would be the death of me. I’d known that the moment I’d set eyes on her, and my prediction was playing out in real time as I devoured her.

The death of my self-control, my professionalism, and any sense of self-preservation I had. None of that mattered when I tasted how sweet she was or felt how perfectly her curves fit in my palms, like she was tailor-made for me.

Two years of watching and waiting and wishing. It had all come down to this, and it was even better than I’d imagined.

Bridget’s arms wrapped around my neck, her body pliant beneath mine. She tasted like mint and sugar, and at that moment, it became my favorite taste in the world.

I pushed her against the side of the pool and tightened my grip on her hair, my mouth not leaving hers the entire time.

It wasn’t a sweet kiss. It was hard, demanding, and possessive, borne out of years of pent-up frustration and tension, but Bridget matched me inch for inch. She tugged on my hair in return, her tongue tangling with mine and her little moans going straight to my cock.

“Is this what you want?” I pinched her nipple through her bikini top. That fucking bikini. My eyes nearly fell out when she’d walked past in her get-up earlier, and I was glad she’d never worn it to the beach. If she had, I’d have to kill every fucker who laid eyes on her, and there were other things I’d rather do on vacation…like take my sweet time exploring every inch of her luscious body. “Hmm?”

“Yes.” Bridget arched into my touch. “But more. Please.”

I groaned. Definitely the death of me.

I gave her another hard kiss before I hooked her legs around my waist and carried her out of the pool and up the stairs to her room. For what I had in mind, I needed more than a pool ledge to work with.

I placed her on the bed, soaking in how beautiful she looked. Wet hair, gleaming skin, face flushed with arousal.

I wanted nothing more than to bury myself inside her so deep she’d never forget me, but even in my lust-fueled haze, I knew that wasn’t possible.

If we crossed that bridge, I would never let her go, and it would ruin us both. I didn’t give a shit about me. I was already ruined.

But Bridget? She deserved more than me.

She deserved the world.

“Bucket list number four. Two rules,” I said, my words filled with gravel. “One: if we do this, it stays here. This room, this night. We don’t talk about it again. Got it?”

It was harsh, but it had to be said—for both our sakes. Otherwise, I could all too easily lose myself in the fantasy of what could be, and that was more dangerous than any predator or enemy.

Bridget nodded.

“Two: no fucking.”

Confusion crossed her face. “But you said—”

“There are other ways to make someone come, princess.” I palmed her breast and swept my thumb over her nipple before taking a small step back. “Now be a good girl and take off your bikini for me.”

A small shiver rippled through her body, but she knelt on the bed and did as I asked, untying first her bikini top then her bottoms with agonizing slowness.

Jesus Christ. I wasn’t a religious man, but if there was ever a time to believe in God, it was now.

Since I couldn’t touch her with my hands—not yet—I caressed her with my eyes. Bold and rough, my gaze dragging from her full, firm breasts to the sweet pussy already glistening with her wetness.

“Touch yourself,” I ordered. “Let me see what you’ve been doing all those nights when you’re alone in your room.”

A deep blush bloomed across her body, turning ivory into rose, and I wanted to trace its path with my tongue. Mark her with my teeth and touch. Proclaim to the world who she belonged to, who she should belong to.

Me.

My fists clenched at my sides.

Despite her blush, Bridget didn’t take her eyes off me as she caressed her breasts, squeezing and pinching her nipples before one hand slid between her legs.

Soon, she was whimpering with pleasure, her mouth falling open and her breaths turning shallow as she rubbed her clit and fingered her pussy.

Meanwhile, my eyes devoured her the way a lion would tear into a gazelle. Fierce. Ravenous. Destructive.

My cock was so hard it hurt, but I didn’t touch it. Not yet.

“You thinking of me, princess?” I asked silkily. “Hmm? Are you thinking of how much you want me to pin you to the bed and tongue fuck that sweet little cunt until you come all over my face?”

Bridget whimpered as her fingers worked faster at my filthy words. She was still kneeling, her thighs trembling from her ministrations. “M-maybe.”

“It’s a yes or no question. Tell me,” I growled. “Who do you think about when you’re finger fucking your tight cunt?”

Bridget shuddered as her head tilted back and her eyes fluttered closed. “You.”